#but my cello au responses will be out soon!!!

[theloveinc]

How much hair do you think Kiri finds in his ass crack

[flurry-of-stars]

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈- 𝕴𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂⋆｡°✩ 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝 ⋆｡°✩ Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, fluff. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 7.8k (A/N:  I genuinely was not expecting such a huge response to the first part of this fic. Literally, all the comments and tags have made my week ♡♡♡ ) ⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉⋆｡°✩ 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ An elegant melody fills your ears, your body trembling in response as the tune tickles your brain in a way nothing else can. Your shoulders seem to relax as each precisely, passionately played note soothes you down to the depths of your soul. The purrs of the old tabby on the other side of the table seem to grow louder, making the table tremble softly as he sleeps. You close your eyes for a moment, laying your head back, gold and black ballpoint pen gently laid on the dining table as you take the time to appreciate the song echoing through the small cottage fully, the scent of peppermint tea and the variety of flowers in the nearby vase teases your sense of smell. But something was missing from the melody. Of course, you were no musical expert. In your personal opinion, the cello was played immaculately. Elegantly. If allowed, you would sit here all day, warm cup of tea in hand listening to it being played. You can picture yourself lying in the grass, listening to the rustling branches overhead as the wind carries the melody. But something was missing. And for the life of you, you couldn’t put your finger on what that something was. Your eyes flutter open as you hear the piece coming to a graceful end. Scooting out of your chair, you head through the cozy candlelit cottage, and down towards the living room. There was no television. No radio or game consoles. A fireplace crackles nearby, warming the room up to a pleasant degree.

There are dustless spots on the mantle where it looks like a few picture frames or other treasured items once sat, along with an old Russian Orthodox cross hanging above said fireplace. An antique piano is against the wall, closest to the archway leading into the room. There’s a window seat to your right, but the curtains are drawn today. The author sits in the middle of the room on a padded, upholstered cello chair, facing the entry way. The fire crackles to his right, illuminating his figure in a warm yellow hue, the deep mahogany sheen of his cello reflecting the soft glow as he draws out the last note, pleasantly tickling your brain once more. You carefully step into the room, waiting for him to finish. His eyes are closed, his long lashes gently resting against his pale cheeks, shadowing his already dark-rimmed eyes. You offer a very gentle applause, his eyes slowly opening to gaze up at you through his long lashes. You notice a strong emotion in his eyes for a moment, but it’s gone too soon for you to recognize what emotion it could have been, hidden beneath his strands of raven hair. “That was beautiful,” you compliment, standing a few feet from Fyodor. He turns his body, gently propping his cello up on the stand to his left as you speak, “How long have you been playing the cello?” You notice Fyodor clenching his jaw momentarily as he looks away, a flicker of uncertainty filling your heart. Then, in a surprisingly soft voice, “Since I was six. I wanted to play the cello as soon as I could.” Your eyes widen a little, “You did?” Fyodor still doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes never leaving that of the cello at his side. He holds his bow as he nods softly, his voice much softer than you’re used to hearing from him, “I had a lot of time to dedicate to it as a child...” His fingers touch his bow softly and when he finally turns to look back at you, you see the warm nostalgia in his eyes. For a moment, it almost seems he wants to say something more.

But like a candle being puffed out, it’s gone in a millisecond. He gives you a stern look, his voice returning to that serious tone you’re used to, “Did you finish translating the chapters I gave you yet?” “Ah, I’m halfway done with chapter five…” Just like the second chapter, his writing had begun going on a long tangent again. It was already spanning on twenty translated pages, with many more left to go. On the positive, at least it was the male lead’s mother rambling on this time. That was some form of improvement, right? “I just needed to rest my wrist for a little while, carpal tunnel and all.” You held your wrist as if to demonstrate your point. Fyodor eyes you suspiciously but eventually, he huffs softly, “Very well then. But do not slack off too much. We have a deadline to meet.” You’re momentarily surprised. You’re almost tempted to ask why he allowed you to rest but out of fear of losing your break, you bite your lower lip, silencing yourself. Your gaze turns away from his as he focuses on tuning his cello. That’s when your eyes fall on the dusty white door against the far wall, almost hidden in the corner by the shadows cast by the looming fireplace and Fyodor along with his cello, only revealed now by him turning his body to the side. You could see the dust etched into the crevasses, in the complex door engraving that resembled a floral design. It is stunning that someone carved something so intricate and beautiful into a door. You chew the inside of your cheek as you squirm from foot to foot; that door looked important. Tucked away in the darkness like that, like a hidden treasure. You can feel the door practically calling to you, singing like a siren, begging you to just take a peek inside. Or maybe you were just overworked. 

But it tickled that child-like curiosity in the back of your mind. You could feel a part of you practically giddy at the thought of what could be hiding inside that door. 

What hidden secrets could it hold within? Was it filled from floor to roof with all of Fyodor’s other novels Vivian had told you about? Was it full of all his royalties from his previous books? What if it was the door to another world, full of wizards and dragons and–!

You shake your head, an amused huff leaving you; you were letting your imagination run too wild today. Maybe you shouldn’t have reread all those fantasy novels over the weekend. You sigh, walking towards the grand piano. Sliding out the dusty bench from beneath and patting away a fine layer of dust, you sit down, hoping to strike up some form of conversation with Fyodor. Your mind reels back to what Vivian had said.

He's been through a lot recently. 

You stare at Fyodor as he tweaks the strings of his cello carefully, tuning it without sparing you a glance. And as you do so, you begin to take him in fully. The way his large cloak practically devours his lithe form. He looks so fragile. His pale complexion. He's as pale as you imagined a vampire would be.

His eyes look more tired than usual, the dark circles seeming to have darkened further this past week. You wondered if he was taking care of himself. Was he eating right? Sleeping well? 

You had seen the Russian brew many pots of tea with nothing but the utmost of care and witnessed him enjoying each cup he drank. But you couldn't recall ever seeing him eat anything. ….He must be eating something, right? 

“What do you like to eat?” You blurt out suddenly. Fyodor blinks, looking back at you with narrowed, confused eyes. You sit up straight, thinking of an excuse surprisingly fast, “Sorry, I feel a bit peckish but I'm unsure what I feel like so…” 

You gaze at the cream-coloured floral patterned wallpaper, grimacing, a wave of embarrassment flooding through you. You can still feel Fyodor's eyes on you as if he was trying to peer into your being and pull out the true intentions behind your words.

Maybe you should just go back to–

“There is some fresh fruit in the refrigerator,” Fyodor's voice makes you look up. He's turned away again, back to fiddling with the strings of his cello, “If that does not suffice, there should be half a loaf of bread and some cheese you can have.” 

Maybe it was just because you were so used to Fyodor scowling and scolding you, but even this simple gesture felt really pleasant. You nod, standing up and straightening out the folds of your embroidered skirt.

“Ah…thank you,” you take a few seconds to compose yourself. The carpet muffles your footsteps as you move out of the living room, and back towards the kitchen.

The old tabby is sitting up, licking his paws as you step into the small, open-plan kitchen. He looks up at you, fading blue eyes cautious but fascinated as you move towards the one item in this entire cottage that couldn't be any less Fyodor if it tried.

The pastel pink fridge. It looks fairly new too, possibly only a year old. It was an anomaly amongst the smell of old books and the soft burning of candles. Even Fyodor’s work phone looked like it needed a senior’s discount card. But maybe there was more to Fyodor than you first thought.

Maybe he was the type of guy who loved cats and pastel pink. Perhaps he had an all-pink outfit that he was just dying to show off to you. You giggle softly at the thought, images of your stern boss dressed all in pink, scolding you for not completing your translating making you almost burst out laughing. As you open the fridge, your amusement quickly dies. 

It's almost barren. Considering your fridge is only home to a two-day-old Chinese takeaway box, a half-eaten block of cheese you found on special and some bottles of water, that’s saying something. The bright red apples catch your eye first. There's also a tub of margarine, an almost empty bottle of milk, a punnet of blackberries and not a half, but a quarter loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese. Now you seriously had your doubts that Fyodor was eating much. This looked like it wouldn’t feed a mouse, let alone a grown man. But this would make do for the moment. Taking out the last of the bread, margarine and cheese, you make two simple cheese sandwiches. Placing them on a plate, you move on to washing a pair of apples and some blackberries. Once you’ve sliced the apples and added them and a few washed blackberries to the plate, you serve them in the middle of the table, moving Fyodor’s draft and your translations into the leather bag he usually kept them in. You refill both teacups with the still-warm peppermint tea before calling out, “Mr. Dostoyevsky, can you come here for a moment please?” As you sit at your place at the table, you listen to the sound of Fyodor’s footsteps as he approaches, his steps surprisingly light on the wood floor of the hallway and kitchen. His tired eyes lift in surprise as he takes in the sight before him. His gaze turns cautious, “What is this?” “It’s lunch,” you offer him a small smile, picking up your warm cup of tea. The tabby cat purrs, brushing against Fyodor’s arm the moment he steps close to the table. “I figured since I’m eating, I’d make you something too.” Fyodor scoffs, his eyes narrowing. His jaw clenches tightly, as though he is holding back the words he wants to say. You hear him inhale through his nose, his eyes closing for a moment. Then, he opens them, shaking his head. His Russian accent comes through much thicker as he mumbles, “You didn't need to do this.”

“I wanted to.” You say quickly once more without stopping to think. Your teacup clinks against the saucer as you place it down, backtracking quickly as Fyodor looks at you with a raised brow, one hand patting the top of the tabby’s head absentmindedly. “What I mean is I figured you would be hungry soon as well. So I figured why not kill two birds with one stone?” Once again, Fyodor stares at you as if trying to pull the truth from your eyes. You begin to shift, feeling a little uncomfortable under his gaze before he sighs. He moves towards the table, the legs of his chair squeaking against the floor as he pulls it out, sitting down, “Thank you.” You smile softly, an ember of warmth flickering in your heart as you watch the author nibble away at an apple slice. It may not be an extremely nutritious meal, but at least he was eating something. You could feel your shoulders relaxing, “You’re welcome.” ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “What about something like this?” Trixie spins around, showing off the beautiful emerald green dress she's selected for you. It’s short with a thin ribbon around the waist. Her smile is wide and bright as she twirls around a little, showing off the way the fabric sways, causing her teal jacket tied around her waist to sway with her movements, “I think it would look cute on you!” “Mmm,” you hum, clutching your coat tighter around your body. An earworm of a pop song is playing quietly over the speakers of the shopping centre. A few other customers around you, all going about their day as you eye the dress presented to you.  Although the dress was cute, its price made you hesitate: "I'm just browsing today. Maybe next time when I get paid." "But think about it!" Trixie insists as she follows you towards the sweaters that you've been eyeing, which are half-price - what a steal. She sways the dress once again and says, "This dress, along with that little black coat I have at home, would look great on you. A little bow here and there, and you'd look absolutely darling!" You chuckle softly, smiling at Trixie's excitement. She was a fashion connoisseur, always encouraging you to splurge a little if you could. “I do think it would be an adorable outfit,” you begin to reply, that dangling price tag and those frightened numbers printed on it preventing you from agreeing. You shake your head, resisting temptation. You pull yourself away before your resistance crumbles any further, “But I need to spend my money on something else this fortnight.” Trixie pouts, frowning a little before she puts the dress back. Her smile quickly returns as you gather a few of the reduced sweaters you had been eyeing since walking in. As you approach the cash register to pay, Trixie questions, "Is it wise to spend all your money on Mr. Grumpy after only knowing him for a week?" You let out a chuckle at the nickname. "Mr Grumpy". It certainly suited him well, given how often he scowled and scolded you. As you pay for your items, you respond, "Maybe it's true that he comes across as a grump sometimes, but if I cook for him, I can also cook for myself. It's a win-win situation." You thank the cashier, grabbing your bag as you and Trixie leave the boutique. As you and Trixie walk through the crowded mall, she reminds you that you don't know what he likes. It's a typical busy weekend, so you both have to navigate around other customers and head towards the food court for lunch. You can't help but worry about the possibility of the groceries going to waste if he doesn't like what you serve him. You frown, your eyes trailing down to the cold white tiles beneath your ankle-high boots. That was something you were very nervous about. Especially since you lived on a diet of microwave meals and fast food. You attempted to bring up the discussion about his preferred foods again when you finished translating the fifth chapter. He had given you a side glance, telling you not to bother him while he was writing.

The next day, you both were back outside, despite how cold it was beginning to get. Throughout the period, Fyodor was engrossed in working on the drafts for the upcoming chapters. You could still hear the sound of his pen scratching on the paper in your mind.

Meanwhile, you struggled to translate with trembling hands and chattering teeth, yearning for the comfort of his cottage. You felt like he’d done that just to stop you from asking again. As you slowly look up, preparing to scan the food court to decide what to get, your eyes catch the bold letters of a familiar bookstore. You gasp, your eyes twinkling a little, and a smile breaks onto your face as you nudge Trixie. "Hey, you didn't tell me they opened a larger store." Trixie gives you a playful side-eye, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to spend your entire first paycheck on books. I thought I’d convince you to get a cute outfit first, some make-up or shoes for your new job–” She follows you as you begin making your way towards the store, an excited hop in your step. You hear her give an amused sigh as trails behind you, mumbling, “--But I guess we can say au revoir to your pay now.” "I just want to take a quick look," you insist, feeling irresistibly drawn to the store despite knowing how much money you've spent there before. You start walking faster, leaving Trixie trailing behind, until you finally step inside. The various smells and sights overwhelm you, sending waves of nostalgia through your body. It’s a lot busier compared to the smaller store you typically go to closer to your apartment. A few children are running around and playing between the isles as their mother tries to draw their attention in with a book, flipping between colourful pages as she tries to catch their eyes. You notice a small group of young women in one section, holding books and debating which ones they should get quite loudly as they flip through each book, fanning the pages with their fingers. Meanwhile, there's an older gentleman near the back who's struggling to read the blurb on the back of the book he's tugged off the shelf. He's patting his pockets for his glasses. You can hear more people between the other isles and for a moment, murmuring and giggling. Some even excitedly discuss the books they’ve found. You’re almost tempted to come back later. But the moment the smell of new books hits your nose, along with a hint of a coffee-inspired fragrance from the oil diffuser, you’re drawn back in. Maybe Trixie was right to not bring you here. You could already hear your debit card screaming for mercy in your purse. Speaking of, she sighs as she catches up to you, looking around with a click of her tongue. “Look at that. Books. Almost as many as you still have stored at my place.” She teases, making you nudge her with a grin. "I'm just here to browse," you insist, but your best friend gives you a sceptical glance. You scoff and reach into your bag, pulling out your purse and handing it to her with a smug smile to prove your point. She pockets it, but she still doesn’t seem to believe you, “I give it five minutes.” You scoff again, shaking your head as you begin to move about the store. You slip between other customers, making sure to not disturb anyone as your eyes scan every shelf, every book, new and old alike. This is like your own little piece of heaven on earth. Your own perfect paradise. Though your eyes do linger on the latest releases just a little longer. You move closer to the nearby bookshelf, your heart aching the moment your hands glide over one book in particular.

It looks like a short story for children, judging from the pastel sky and the cartoon unicorn on the cover. The stars in the unicorn’s mane glimmer faintly. On the front of the book there is a sticker that informs potential buyers that every dollar from each sale will be donated to a foundation for abused children. You are about to open the book when--

“You said you weren’t purchasing anything,” Trixie playfully comments, causing you to jerk your hand back as though the book had burnt you. She gives you a playful grin as you shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with admiring the covers!” You insist, grinning back at her as you slide into the next aisle, placing your hand over your aching heart.

As you round the corner, you were expecting to find the Young Adult section right ahead of you. However, to your surprise, you walked straight into the non-fiction aisle instead.

There were all sorts of books on display, from true crime to language books to history books. Although you have dabbled with non-fiction just as much as you have with fiction, you still have a preference for the latter. As you walk the aisle, you scan the shelves, keeping an eye out for any interesting covers when one does catch your eye. You’re passing by the cookbooks when you see a book with the title ‘Classic Russian Meals.’ At once, your promise is tossed out the window as you grab the cookbook, flipping through it swiftly. This…yes, this could be just what you need! Triumphantly, Trixie tells you "I knew you'd cave, bookworm." You plead with her, your eyebrows furrowed. “I have to make an exception for this.” You reply, closing the book and holding it tight to your chest. Trixie’s look becomes more curious as she listens to you. “This cookbook is just what I need." Trixie gives you an unsure look, but you know she’s never been able to resist your pleading. She sighs, reaching into her bag and passing you back your purse.

You grin widely as you hurry away to get in line to pay for it. She joins you a few moments later while you scan through the pages until it’s your turn. You hand the book to the owner, who smiles warmly and asks if you'd like a bag. "That will be $90," she says. You are taken aback as you hear the price. Ninety dollars? It's more than what you had budgeted for. You feel disappointed and disheartened as you realize that you won't be able to buy the book. It could have been a great boon to have, but unfortunately, you have to pass on it. You apologize and inform the seller, "I'm sorry but I can't afford--" Suddenly, a hand with freshly manicured and painted teal nails brushes past you as Trixie places her debit card on the reader. A small green tick appears on the tiny screen as she beams brightly, grabbing the heavy cookbook and passing it over to you.  “No bag today, thank you.” You hold onto your new cookbook tightly as she leads you out of the store. You look up at her with gratitude, and say, "Trix, thank you so much for doing this for me. You really didn't have to." You give the book a tight hug, a warm smile on your face, although you feel a little guilty. Trix waves her hand dismissively, smiling kindly at you. She warmly replies, "You know you're like a sister to me." Then, she grins mischievously and adds, "And who knows, if you master that cookbook, maybe the words on the back of the book will come true~" You frown as you flip the book over to read the blurb. You scan each paragraph until you find it. It’s right at the bottom in bold, white letters, “The perfect gift for any wife!” You can’t help but grin in amusement as you teasingly bump your hip against Trixie’s. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny, Trix.”

She giggles and nudges you back. Her voice is playfully mischievous as she replies, “What? I happen to think Mrs. Grumpy suits you~" ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

There was one problem with your entire plan. You hadn’t taken into account transporting all of these groceries to Fyodor’s cottage. It was close to sundown when you caught the bus that would take you from the mall to the bus stop closest to the woods where Fyodor’s cottage was located. During the initial bus trip, you noticed that some people were giving you odd stares. Some young children who were below the age of four approached you to see if you had any sweets to share. Additionally, an older woman started to badger you about why you didn't take your husband along with you and ended up lecturing you about your lack of spouse. The bus driver sends you a worried glance as you leave the bus carrying an entire fortnight’s worth of groceries for two and a very thick, heavy cookbook, the heavy scent of diesel causing you to cough and shake as you begin your trek to the cottage. You hoist them along the familiar forest path you’ve taken many times now as the birds seem to stop singing the moment you enter. Perhaps even the little sparrows and drongos were shocked to witness you heaving several bags of shopping along by yourself. The trees rustle, causing a cascade of orange leaves to shower upon you. You felt like the tree was supporting you in your struggle. Or maybe it was mocking you. Either way, a few leaves weren’t going to get these bags to Fyodor’s. As you continue on your way, you catch a glimpse of the orange tabby cat as it disappears over the old, rickety fence and up a small flight of cobblestone steps, brushing against the legs of an old, heavy-set woman. “Oh, dear!” Her voice is thick with a heavy Russian accent. It’s thicker than Fyodor’s. She turns her head back inside of her home, calling out to someone else in Russian. A few moments later, a balding older man appears by her side. You’re a little surprised as they approach the rickety fence separating their small cottage from the cobblestone path, warm smiles on their aged faces, though the woman looks a bit more concerned for you. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be dragging all this uphill by yourself dearie.” She looks towards her husband as she fixes her glasses, nodding, “Dima, help her, will you? Where are you going with all these bags?”

You shift a little awkwardly, smiling politely as the elderly gentleman with a greying beard approaches you, preparing to take a few bags off your hands. You appreciate the help but you didn’t want to strain this poor old man with your heavy bags. So you give him the lighter bags, “Oh thank you so much, you didn’t have to,” you reply gratefully, handing over a few bags before adding, “To the heart of the forest. You know, that little cottage near the lake.” The elderly woman gasps in delight. “You’re taking them to Fedyka? Oh isn’t that lovely, Dima?” Her hazel eyes gleam with the joy of a mother hearing that her child has made a friend. Her husband, Dmitry, gives a huff of approval. He doesn’t seem like a very talkative man. She clasps her hands together, smiling widely at you. “I hope he isn’t making you do all the cooking dearie. You make sure he helps out a little okay?” Your smile relaxes a little as you giggle, fixing your grip on the last shopping bags you’re holding while clutching the cookbook closer to your chest, “Yes ma’am–” “Oh sweetheart, there’s no need for that,” she gives a hearty laugh as she straightens out her apron over the top of her dress, giving you a polite nod, “You can just call me Olya dearie. Now you tell Fedyka to come and pay us a visit! You can both come along! We would be more than happy to have you, wouldn’t we Mitya?” “Yes Olya.” Dmitry finally responds. He turns his light blue eyes towards you, nodding softly with a smile, “It would be lovely to have both of you around.” You squirm in place, smiling politely. While you were a translator and you knew how to translate written Russian, you still couldn’t understand it very well when it was spoken. More so, you still struggled to understand people whose accents were a bit thicker, like Dmitry’s. You give a small smile and nod, “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Olga looks at the sunset sky, then back to you two, “We’ll work something out. Now you two best be on your way; it’s almost nightfall. Take good care of her and Fedyka, won’t you darling?” You give a very polite bow as you continue on your path, Dmitry at your side. You smile happily as you hear the birds around you starting to sing again as they fly for their nests for the evening. Fyodor didn't mention his sweet neighbors. Dmitry was friendly but hard to understand when wound up, his accent coming through much heavier the more passionate he got. As you proceed along the cobblestone path, dusted with what was likely one of the last batches of Autumn leaves, he talks to you. A grin on his face is vibrant, despite his age. His voice is slightly raspy as he speaks poetically to you about the nature surrounding you both. You offer smiles and polite nods, not daring to mention that you have no idea what he’s saying outside of a few words here and there. He turned out to be more talkative than you initially expected. Passing through the white archway, you notice a pair of doves on the outdoor table, cooing loudly yet beautifully to one another. A bonded pair, it seemed.

Your heart warms at the sight as yours and Dmitry’s approach sends them fleeing the scene, white feathers standing out boldly against the vivid kaleidoscope of warm colors draped beautifully overhead. You approach the cottage door, placing the groceries you’re carrying down to rasp your knuckles against the wood delicately. You wait a few seconds, expecting Fyodor to open the door.

But he doesn’t. Huh. That’s odd. You look around, listening out for any movement when you hear an upset cat for a heartbeat. You gasp quietly. It must be the tabby. So, you knock a second time. Maybe Fyodor had just been wrapped up in his writing and didn’t hear you the first time. Maybe he even fell asleep on his draft. He did look quite exhausted when you were last here. You shift from foot to foot as you chew the inside of your cheek. You were starting to worry now. This wasn’t like Fyodor at all. You considered the possibility that he had gone somewhere. Fyodor seems like a homebody but surely there are people he visits from time to time? Or maybe he goes on walks to get ideas for his novels? You consider asking Dmitry if he knows where Fyodor could have gotten to, but you’re worried about stressing the elderly man. Nor do you want to let on that you have no idea where he could be.

You consider calling his phone but knowing him, it’s likely still sitting in his drawer on silent after Vivian called on Friday. “It’s a needless distraction.” You’re getting close to trying to find a back entrance. Or maybe trying to break in through a window. But as they say, the third times the charm right? You lift your hand, your knuckles rasping against the wood once, twice and then, the door finally opens with a loud creak. Your eyes widen in surprise; Fyodor looks like death. His bloodshot eyes turn up, meeting your gaze as you stand before him, hands clutching tight back around the bags of groceries. His arm seemed to hang by his side like it was weighted down by bricks, his hand barely keeping its grip on the door knob. It’s been a day. How does he keep looking worse and worse? He almost seemed to be leaning against the door frame as his messy hair clings to his face, his typically distant eyes look at you apathetically as they slowly scan you and Dmitry by your side.

His eyes seem to widen faintly at the sight of the elderly man with you. His lips turn upwards in a small smile that seems to lack energy, “My, my. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His dark eyes penetrate your gaze as you look up, offering a half-hearted smile as you lift the shopping bags off the ground, making them rustle faintly. “Your fridge was empty when I was here Friday, so I figured I’d fix that for you Mr Grumpy–” The name leaves your lips before you can stop it. “Mr. Grumpy…?” Fyodor repeats your words slowly as if taking the time to digest them. You freeze in place, clutching the shopping bags tighter as your heart drops. You swallow roughly as you try to think of a good response. You can’t tell how Fyodor feels about you calling him that as his brow quirks curiously but his eyes remain blank. You wanted to find a hole and bury yourself in it. You seemed to love testing fate and risking your employment, it seemed. Suddenly, a raspy chuckle comes from your right. Blinking in surprise, you turn towards Dmitry, noticing the amused grin on his face. His light blue eyes fill with amusement as he speaks to Fyodor in a warm tone, “Mr Grumpy! That name suits you when you go around scowling all the time, Fedyka! But my, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. Not since–” “It has been a while yes,” Fyodor gently interrupts the older man as the tabby cat curls between Fyodor’s legs, stepping out of the cottage with an old meow. Dmitry chuckles, placing the shopping bags he’s holding down as he crouches, scratching the cat’s chin. "Итак, Господин Толстой наконец-то добрался до дома, не так ли ?" He scratches behind the tabby cat’s ear and under his chin as he speaks to him, scratching the elderly cat’s greying chin fur, "Уже давно пора. Я уверен, Федька скучал по тебе" You pause, frowning a little as your mind reels, trying to understand at least some of the words Dmitry had said. You purse your lips and slowly look towards Fyodor, a curious look in your eyes. “The cat’s name is Tolstoy?” You ask. Fyodor gives a muffled chuckle, a near-praising look in his bloodshot eyes. "That's correct," he confirms with a nod, his lips curling up into a small smirk. "You seem to be getting better at understanding spoken Russian. Maybe if you keep it up, we'll soon be able to have full conversations in Russian instead of English."

Your brow raises; did Fyodor just tease you? His smirk grows as he steps out of the cottage, walking closer to you, “Allow me.”

He reaches out, taking a few of the bags you’re holding. You slide the handles for a few of the bags into his fingertips when he suddenly murmurs, “--Experience the flavours of Russian cuisine–” You gasp, quickly pulling back. A small chuckle escapes Fyodor’s lips, his smirk growing. Though it doesn’t stretch as wide as you’re use to, “A Russian cookbook, hm? Now why would you have that Огонёк​?”

You step back, holding the book to your chest like it was the most valuable treasure you owned. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Your secret surprise had been foiled. Dmitry chuckles again, replying for you, “You know what they say. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! That’s how my Olya hooked me!” Fyodor chuckles, turning his gaze towards Dmitry. There’s a look of familiarity and a twinkle of warmth every time his gaze crosses the old man’s, “I believe she is just trying to make sure I don’t expire before I can finish my novel.”

Dmitry laughs a little harder at Fyodor’s words, a chilly breeze brushing past the three of you. Tolstoy gives a small, upset sounding mewl as he scurries back inside. Fyodor watches him as he steps aside, allowing access to his cottage to you and Dmitry, “Come. The wind is beginning to pick up. And I do believe it is time for dinner.”

You allow Dmitry to enter first before following behind him. You hear Fyodor almost whisper behind you in a tired tone, "You couldn’t have chosen better timing if you tried, Огонёк." ✩

“Are you certain you know what you’re doing?” “Yes.” Your response comes quite quickly. Fyodor gives a huff of amusement as he finishes tucking the last of the groceries away in the fridge. He knows you’re lying. Not just by the way your nose is scrunched up or by your annoyed tone. But because you’re holding the knife backwards. You're attempting to cut into a carrot with the dull side of the knife. He finds it amusing but fascinating. He closes the fridge door as he approaches you, watching as the knife slides off the sides of the carrot as you huff in annoyance. “Are you certain?” He asks again, his voice calm and curious, despite the amusement in his eyes. He reaches out, gingerly grasping the knife’s black handle. You look up at him, a look of stubborn annoyance on your face that reads ‘I can do it.’ He turns the blade around, the sharp end now facing the carrot as he places it back into your hand. His hand slowly curls around yours as he nods, his voice serious, “Curl in the fingers on your other hand or you risk not just cutting the carrot.” He watches as you do so before gently guiding your hand, his cold fingers wrapping around your warm hand, the blade slicing cleanly through the carrot with his guidance, removing the top. He guides you twice more before pulling back, satisfied that you can handle it from here. He moves back towards the pink carnation teapot, filling it with boiling water from the kettle, and dropping the tea infusion cage inside.

He turns his head faintly. He can hear Dmitry talking to Tolstoy in the living room along with the papers of his draft being shuffled and likely read, he assumed. He turns his gaze back to you. You were more observant than Fyodor had first predicted. That was good. For the sake of his novel at least. But he worried how far your observant eye had led you. Did you really just notice the lack of food in his fridge, or did you also take in the way he held himself like his body was forcefully being dragged down by invisible hands?

Did you notice how sloppy his handwriting was? How weakly he was holding his pen? Did you see the ink blots on the pages where he had held the pen too long?

He narrows his eyes, watching as you scoop up the carrot chunks, dropping them into the broth boiling on the stove top before you speak up, “That’s the carrots done. Now the chicken.” Fyodor continues to observe you as you go about slicing the chicken next, tossing the chunks into a small bowl. Although the pieces are much too thick, he doesn’t mention it. He would help correct the mistake soon. Instead, he asks in a serious voice, “Were you not taught the basics of cooking as a child?” He sees you bite the inside of your cheek. You’d taken offence to his question. Perhaps he should have worded it differently.

You’re quiet until you finish slicing the first chicken breast, “I was taught how to make instant noodles and coffee.” You reply, grabbing the next chicken breast. He watches the knife glide through it as you speak, “My father was normally far too busy to cook. So we lived on takeaway and instant noodles most of the time.” Fyodor blinks. You had no experience cooking? And yet you had gone out of your way, purchasing a cookbook and the ingredients just to feed him? He goes silent, processing this information. You were strange. A puzzle he couldn't decipher. He feels a sensation rising in his chest, that familiar warmth flickering in his heart, like a lighter trying to ignite but unable to get the full spark. “Let’s focus on making your first home-cooked meal edible then,” Fyodor replies as he steps closer to you. He slides open the cutlery drawer, grabbing a second knife to slice the chicken chunks into smaller, bite-sized pieces. He nods at you, “Make the rest of the pieces smaller too.” He sees you nod as you go about correcting your mistake, making the pieces more bite-sized and manageable. Once he’s sure you have that under control, he begins working on the onion. Cutting off the root and peeling the skin back, he begins cutting the onion when he hears your question, “What about you? You seem to know what you’re doing so I assume—” “Yes, I was taught how to cook growing up,” he replies softly but quickly, interrupting you, the sound of his knife tapping against the cutting board filling the silent spaces in between, “Mother and I always cooked together, from the moment I was old enough to help her.”

He feels a wave of nostalgia rushing through his tired body before it coils around his heart like a string of barbed wire, cutting so deeply into his heart he almost winces physically. He breathes in, deeply but silently as he keeps cutting the onion, sliding the pieces into a container nearby. He notices you finishing up with the chicken pieces before you pause, hands pressed against the countertop as you mumble, your tone sounding melancholic. “That sounds nice.” Silence seemed to fall over the room as you double-checked the cookbook, adding the necessary herbs and spices into the broth as he stepped back, giving you space to work. He knows you have to make mistakes to learn from them, but he feels a tug in his chest to guide you. He gives a silent huff before turning his attention to the teapot. Right. He’d almost forgotten to serve Dmitry some tea. After checking over your progress one last time, he gathers the hot pot of steaming black tea, along with two teacups on an antique silver tray before he heads for the living room. Dmitry is sitting on the window seat, near where Fyodor had set up a fold-out table to work on his novel for the afternoon. The last rays of the setting sun illuminate the older man’s form as he gives Fyodor a warm, fatherly smile. He puts Fyodor’s draft to the side so he can place the tray down on the table, “I apologise for the delay, my assistant needed me. Will you be joining us for dinner, Mitya?” “I would love to,” he replies while Fyodor begins filling the cups. “But I have a meal waiting for me at home. My Olya too.” He chuckles as he lifts the teacup, taking a slow sip. Fyodor turns, grabbing the upholstered chair from nearby.

He sits across from the elderly gentleman as a raspy chuckle rolls off his tongue. “I was starting to think we wouldn’t get the chance to sit like this again.” He looks up at Fyodor, teacup clinking against it’s saucer as he places it back down, his light blue eyes carefully looking Fyodor over for a few moments, his brow furrowing with worry, “But my, you’re looking a little worse for wear. Has your manuscript been keeping you that busy?” “You could say that,” Fyodor replies, sipping gently on his tea. The warm liquid soothes his aching body as he sighs softly, holding the teacup carefully. Dmitry keeps a close eye on the younger man, a look of sympathy on his face.

Fyodor knew he was starting to put the pieces together. The true reason for his exhaustion. Dmitry was a smart man after all. But rather than pressing, Dmitry nods towards the archway, his smile growing a little, “I have to say, Olya and I were surprised when we saw that young lady. I thought you would never need an assistant?” Fyodor scoffs slightly when he's reminded of his previous statement, causing Dmitry to chuckle. “This is a different situation.” He takes another sip of his tea before speaking once more. “She is merely here to help translate the book for an international audience. Nothing more.”

“But you’re writing a romance novel, yes? Haven’t you thought about asking for a woman’s opinion on love and romance? It may prove beneficial to your novel.” “No.” His reply is short and blunt as his teacup finds it’s place back on it’s saucer. “Because she is here just to help with translations. I do not need any help when it comes to writing my novel.”

He sits back, getting comfortable as Tolstoy begins circling his feet. “I have written enough novels to know what I am doing.” “Ah but our Fedyka has never been in love, has he?” His smile grows softer, his eyes glowing with warmth. “Writing about love is no easy task. Not when it is such a complex emotion. Writing the words is one thing, but experiencing it is something entirely different.” “Then I should come to you and Olya for help, shouldn’t I?” There’s a pause. Then, Dmitry starts to chuckle. He rises slowly from his chair, using the wall nearby for support as he stands, grinning in amusement at Fyodor. “I thought you knew what you were doing, Fedyka?”

A huff of amusement leaves Fyodor as he smiles faintly. Giving one last hearty laugh, Dmitry reaches over, patting Fyodor on the shoulder. “Don’t give the girl too much trouble, you hear?” He gives his shoulder a squeeze before he takes his leave. Fyodor stays in his seat, watching as Dmitry leaves, a hum on his lips. Tolstoy leaps onto his lap, purring, his hand instantly moving to scratch the cat’s chin. He hums quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as he dwells on Dmitry’s words, his eyes transfixed on the honey-coloured liquid in his cup. A complex emotion, huh... “Hey.” Your voice shakes him from his thoughts. He looks up at you, standing in the archway of the living room with a smile that causes that flicker of warmth to glow in his heart once more, “I need a hand with the soup. Um...do you mind?” He pauses. Then he offers a faint smile in return as he stands. Tolstoy gives an annoyed mewl as Fyodor walks towards you, following you towards the kitchen.

He was a little worried about how your first homecooked meal was turning out but a part of him had some faith in you. You just needed a helping hand.

⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘⋆｡°✩ * Огонёк: Little Light * "So, Mister Tolstoy has finally made it home, hasn't he? It's long overdue. I'm sure Fedyka missed you." Dividers: @/saradika

[rayshippouuchiha]

Huge headcanon that Tsuna employs his mother's mannerisms in the future, canon universe or otherwise.

Like when he doesn't want to acknowledge something, such as his guardians destroying the Vongola mansion yet again, or the Varia exceeding their allotted destruction quota and causing budget troubles.

Cue him smiling, eyes closed, all but radiating geniality and the most malewifey housewifey aura possible.

"Ara! You must be mistaken. There is nothing much happening here." (Translation: There is no war in Ba Sing Se, for my own peace of mind. In fact, when I turn around, there better not be any war in Ba Sing Se.)

"Ara! Would you look at that? It seems some strange people believe in budget fairies!" (Translation: The next time any of you destroy my budget, I'll string you up by your intestines while playing a cello in your gut.)

His guardians or the Varia or whoever's responsible immediately start swearing buckets and putting things back in order as soon as they encounter the dreaded 'Ara' mode.

Or when he's at the end of his rope and is about to snap at some idiot mafia don or oyabun or pakkan.

Cue him with one arm wrapped around his midriff, with the other either covering his mouth or cupping his chin like a dainty young maiden, demure Sawada Nana grade smile on his lips,

"Ara! Isn't this just wonderful?"

"Ara Ara! You all have been quite busy I see."

"Araaaa! How interesting! Isn't this all just lovely Reborn? Go ahead and shoot them all will you?"

(Reborn, to everybody's horror, tends to comply with anything Tsuna asks in this mode, because Chaos of the most delightful kind often follows the Ara)

Ooooooooor when he genuinely wants to be oblivious, like whenever Vongola Nono brings up the topic of heirs.

Cue him sipping his tea calmly, with perfect manners, and then, "Ara! I'm sure Xanxus would find someone in due time. Don't rush him!" (Completely ignoring Timoteo choking on his tea and the prospect of Xanxus's kid being Vongola Undici.)

Or when Iemitsu wants to pretend they are close.

"Ara! What's this? Did you hear something Reborn?"

Personally I call this the Tsunarara hc...you know... After the anime Durarara... Ya kind of lame I know.

I see this as the AU in which Tsuna, who has nothing else in his life, decides as a kid that he's gonna be Nana's Disciple and learn the Art of the Housewife since the outlook isn't really good for him otherwise.

Come to find out this makes him terrifying in the future

[lossie92]

MadaTobi musicians AU

Just a snippet of a fic that may or may not happen at some point in the future. The working title is Heartstrings. We shall see if it sticks or not if or when I finish writing it.

The plot is inspired by this post and you can read a bit more about this AU here. 

I would also like to point out that @alyuchiha913 and @incorrectmadatobiquotes are wholly responsible for the existence of this snippet - you have put this idea in my head, now you have to suffer with me 🤷‍♀️

EDIT: Second snippet bc I have no self control 🤦

-

Warnings: swearing, some sexual themes

-

Hikaku came to stand next to Madara, his expression sour enough to put lemons to shame.

“So. This doesn’t look good.”

“You think?” Madara asked in lieu of a greeting and then gestured at the police officers milling around his apartment like a colony of particularly nosy ants. “It’s a fucking disaster, is what it is!”

A few officers looked away from their search at the yell, but Madara didn’t exactly care whether or not his crude language offended them in some way. He was a bit too pissed off for that at the moment.

“Aa,” his cousin acknowledged, but said nothing more.

It was not like he could dispute the claim, after all. Being woken up at half-past stupid in the morning for a drug search, of all things, was unquestionably horrible, no matter how one looked at it. It was also without doubt one of the worst things that have happened to Madara in recent years. In fact, it was almost as bad as that one time when he had forgotten his cello at home and had to postpone a flight to go back and get it, which resulted in him being an hour late for an orchestra rehearsal in Uzushino. The embarrassment of that whole debacle lived in his brain rent-free till this day.

The current situation was definitely up there on the list of his biggest fuck-ups. And it wasn’t even exactly his fuck-up to begin with. No, the person who had fucked up was Madara’s bloody accompanist. Madara would be lying if he said Zetsu hadn’t struck him as a bit fishy, but he had not expected the other man to be on the other side of the law or to get arrested on drug possession charges two weeks before their gig.

Luckily, the chance the cops would find something was close to zero. It was not as if Madara led a particularly exciting life and he had never invited Zetsu over, so the most interesting thing to be found in his apartment was the bright pink dildo he got as a gag gift for his eighteenth birthday and the half-empty tube of strawberry-flavoured lube, and he wasn’t even all that bothered about people seeing either of those things. He was hardly shy about his sex life. Or his sexuality, come to think of it.

“Um, Uchiha-san?” Both Hikaku and Madara turned at the sound of their name. The officer who had approached them was a bit pink in the cheeks, which answered the unasked question whether or not someone had stumbled upon the dildo. “Uchiha Madara-san, the search, well, um... Your apartment is, um... That is to say, it’s, yhm... It’s-it’s clear, sir.”

Despite his shitty mood, Madara felt an amused smile tug at the corners of his lips . “Is that so, officer?” He deepened his voice an octave as he said it and leaned in a little. The man, Officer Umino judging by his badge, turned completely red. Madara was hard pressed not to laugh.

“I-I... Well, um...”

“Thank you for informing us, Umino-san.” Evidently Hikaku was in a merciful mood and decided to take pity on the man. “As I understand, you will be leaving the premises soon then?”

“Um. Yes, w-we... Yes, Uchiha-san.”

Hikaku smiled his best customer-service smile. “Brilliant. We won’t keep you from finishing then. If you’ll excuse us...” He bowed slightly to the flustered man and then dragged Madara by the sleeve of his jumper out into the corridor.

“You’re a horrible person, I hope you know that.”

Madara grinned devilishly. “Oh Hikaku, I simply strive to find joy in the little things in life.”

“And traumatizing unsuspecting law enforcement officers falls into that category?”

“When they decide to wake me up at six-thirty in the morning on a Saturday? Yes.”

Hikaku was silent for a moment and then snorted a laugh as he shook his head. “Touché.”

True to Officer Umino’s word, the police was gone in the next half an hour, leaving behind a mess of turned over cabinets and boot marks all over Madara’s floor. They had at least refrained from touching his instruments too much and were gracious enough not to make too big of a mess out of the sheet music in his study. Nevertheless, Madara’s hands still itched to put everything back in order. Gods, he absolutely abhorred seeing his usually pristine apartment in such a state.

Then again, cleaning the place would likely be enough to keep him from freaking out too much about Zetsu’s arrest.

“Zetsu’s a dealer.” Saying it didn’t make it sound any less surreal. “My accompanist is a dealer.”

“Ex-accompanist,” Hikaku pointed out helpfully as he led Madara to the kitchen and pushed him to sit on one of the barstools at the high counter. “And I will refrain from being petty with the customary ‘I told you so’ only because I refuse to stoop low enough to kick a man when he’s down.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Madara sighed heavily, “I hear you. Should have listened to you, I know.”

“As much as I like hearing that, it doesn’t exactly solve our problem.”

His cousin was, of course, right. “At least he wasn’t named in the contract...”

“A small mercy indeed.”

“But they still want a duet, right? And it’s non-negotiable?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fuck.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

Madara showed him the finger in response and Hikaku returned the gesture immediately without turning away from where he was currently busy measuring coffee beans into Madara’s fancy espresso machine.

“Good news is the repertoire isn’t anything over the top, right? That should make it easier to find someone to substitute.”

“Do you have anyone specific in mind?” Madara asked hopefully.

“Well, I was actually thinking about Izu-”

“Absolutely not!” Madara interrupted before Hikaku could finish that thought. “Izuna’s graduating in a month and he’s already short on sleep, not to mention a few marbles. He would have said yes, but I also have it on good authority that Dad will throw him and the piano out of the house if he ends up practicing even more.”

Hikaku grimaced. “That bad, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he groused. “There’s this guy in his year and Izuna got it into his head that they’re rivals, apparently. The guy’s a prodigy of some sort and a right git on top of that, or so I’m told, and my brother decided to graciously, and I quote, ‘teach this pale-ass shithead a lesson’.”

“That sounds disturbingly like Izuna.”

“Tell me about it...”

[linorangge]

Monarchy | Prince! Hyunjin AU

Among the kingdom, he’s known for his good looks and you can’t help but think that’s all he has to offer. With an uprising waiting to happen, you may be his last resort. (CONTENT WARNING: angst, fluff, cursing, d3ath, suggestive language.) Part 2 | Word Count: 2147

Hwang Hyunjin, heir to the throne, but not anytime soon. He was a prince sure, but he was in line behind a sister, and two brothers. The youngest of four children, the Hwang siblings were elite among the six  kingdoms of Asia. Hyunjin was 20, his eldest brother was 25, his sister 23 and his other brother 22.

You had never seen him in person. You always saw him on national broadcasts and when you did, he never spoke, he was reserved. The kingdom admired him mainly for his good looks, his good posture, his long hair, and especially his long legs and perfect physical appearance.

He was especially popular among young adults and teenage girls, all your friends had pictures of him from newsletters and magazines. He modeled for countless clothing lines. He was the most well known Hwang sibling despite all of them having good physical genes.

Your father was the head military general, therefore he saw the Hwang family often. From what you’d heard from your father, they were all similar, except for Hyunjin. He was the quiet one among them.

Your opinion on the Hwang family wasn’t necessarily the most well formed.

His eldest brother, Hwang Sungho, was most known for being the funny and extroverted sibling. He was polite with people and animals, and he was often seen talking pictures with anything that breathed. You liked him, he didn’t seem all that bad.

His eldest sister, Hwang Eunjung, was the epitome of grace. Every girl aspired to be like her. She was every young girl’s role model. She was a lover of the arts, dancing, sculpting, drawing, photography, botany. She was affectionate with her brothers and she was known for her loving nature towards all who came into contact with her. She wasn’t necessarily your role model, but you liked her, and deeply admired her.

His second eldest brother, Hwang Minjun, was also known as being clever and funny. Minjun was often seen as the “troublesome” sibling because he would often accidentally curse during broadcasts. You thought he was funny but ill-mannered.

And then there was Hwang Hyunjin, quiet, “sit still and be pretty” Hyunjin. You thought of him as just a pretty face, a person with no real personality or good talents. He didn’t have much to offer the kingdom in your opinion, which was okay, considering he was last in line and would most likely never become king.

You had never seen any of the royal family in person, and you didn’t desire to. You were satisfied with the life you were living, and you didn’t have any real aspirations other than to become exactly like your father. Your mother had fled the kingdom a long time ago, just after you were born.

Your father had raised you, and he’d taught you martial arts, and sword fighting at a young age. You slowly developed these skills the older you got. Knights were often men, and you aspired to be the first female knight. With your background and reputation with your father being the head general, this could be easily accomplished.

You were 20, and when you turned 21, you’d be able to enlist to begin official training as a knight.

Well, today was the day of a ball being held at the royal palace. You and your father were of course invited and you were both being strapped into expensive clothes by your maids.

Your maid, Byeol, was tightening a corset around your waist as you looked through different necklaces to pair the gown with.

“Ready miss.” Byeol said as she tapped your shoulder gingerly.

You turned and admired yourself in the mirror, the way the bodice hugged your curves well. The dress had straps that fell off the shoulder, giving it an elegant sort of lazy look. The layers of fabric beneath the corset were beautiful and had intricate stitches that held the various layers together.

“Which shoes?” She said as she organized some shoes on a rack.

“The black ones.” You said as you adjusted the dress, still looking in the mirror.

She came around in front of you and lifted your dress as she helped put your shoes on. Byeol was a good maid, she was the closest thing you had to a mother figure. She respected your boundaries but she had taught you everything your mother didn’t. Sewing, knitting, calligraphy, she even taught you how to play cello. You were disciplined thanks to your father and Byeol.

Byeol brought your case of necklaces and jewelry and showed them to you.

“Which do you think goes better?” You said, sifting through them.

“This one.” She said, picking up a medallion with an intricate design on it.

You nodded and took the case from her so she could put it on you.

“Are you nervous?” She asked as she pulled the necklace chains behind you.

“Not really, I think I’ll just eat finger sandwiches and chat with some old friends.” You said, feeling her clip the necklace on, and letting it fall against your chest.

“Why don’t you try dancing with the Hwang brothers? You’re of a high caste, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too taboo.” She said as she fixed the dress from behind you.

“I’m not interested in them.”

Byeol stopped fixing your dress for a moment, “Are you sweet?”

“Sweet?”

“Do you like women, Y/n?”

You turned your head a bit, “No? I don’t think so. I don’t have any interest in royalty, much less the one who’s my age.”

“Prince Hyunjin is a good looking young man. You have no reason to be so judgmental of him.”

“That’s all he is, Byeol. He has nothing to offer.”

“You sound like the rebels.” She said as she stood from fixing your dress.

“Rebels aren’t even knowledgeable. They’re just drunks who roam the sewers.” You said as you turned to face her.

“Be careful who you say these things to, the uprising is near.” She whispered.

“Father has it under control. The uprising will diminish and so will the rebels.” You said confidently.

“Let’s hope so.” She fixed your hair and fluffed it a bit to give it volume.

“Do I look okay?” You asked.

“You look beautiful.” She said as she patted your bare shoulders.

You heard your father shout, “Y/n! The carriage is here!”

You hastily picked up your dress, “Thank you Byeol, you’re an angel.”

You kissed cheeks and you made your way outside of your home.

Your father helped you inside the carriage and climbed in behind you. On your way there your father reminded you to be courteous and gentle. You nodded along to everything he said and before you knew it, you had arrived at the royal palace.

Royal coaches helped you out of the carriage and you held your father’s hooked arm as you walked down the large corridors towards the ballroom.

The halls were lined with guards, people your father was close to and some who even watched you grow up. You knew all of them, and for some odd reason this fact made you proud.

Your father and you walked to the front of the ballroom where the Royal family was sitting. You paused in front of them and curtsied as your father bowed.

You moved on and went to a table that had a place name with your surname. You were sat with some other generals your father worked with and you were all talking amongst yourselves.

And the royal dances with the Hwang siblings began. You were the oldest daughter at your table, the rest were all 12-15 year olds, therefore they weren’t eligible to dance with them. If your caste was high enough and you were 18 years or older, you were able to dance with the royal family.

The generals and their wives egged you on, and you pretended to be shy rather than disgusted at the thought of dancing with Hyunjin.

Your father gave you a look, “Go dance Y/n.” He gave a tight squeeze on your hand, letting you know that you had to dance, this was no longer an option.

“Alright then,” You said, standing from your seat and quickly fixing your gown before you made your way to the dance floor.

You walked up to the seats where the royal family sat, Eunjung, Minjun, and Hyunjin were the only ones left in their seats. You looked at Eunjung who was talking to a girl and giggling softly along with her. You turned to meet eyes with Minjun, who beckoned you towards him.

You stepped toward him and curtsied, “Prince Minjun, I’m Y/n, daughter of the head general.”

“Daughter of the general?” He said, looking you up and down.

You nodded.

“How old are you, Y/n?” He said, sitting up, fixing his posture slightly.

“I’m 20, my prince.”

His eyes widened. He tapped Hyunjin’s hand that was resting on the armchair. Hyunjin looked at his brother with a bored expression and jutted his chin.

“Dance with the head general’s daughter, it’ll be more exciting than dancing on your own.”

Hyunjin lazily turned his head towards you and looked you up and down.

You hated the way he looked at you. The way his eyes traveled your body and came to rest on the necklace around your neck, before meeting your eyes.

He turned back to Minjun, “I only dance alone.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“C’mon Hyunnie!”

Hyunjin interrupted his brother, “Don’t call me that in public.”

Minjun rolled his eyes, “Whatever, dance or I’ll tell dad to give you fencing lessons instead of dance lessons.”

Hyunjin huffed in annoyance, “I hate you.” He mumbled as he stood.

“You love me! C’mere little bro!” Minjun reached up to try and give his brother a cheek kiss. Hyunjin pulled away before he had the chance.

You curtsied before him, “My prince.” You mumbled before he took your hand and led you to the dance floor.

You reached the middle of the floor with him and people moved out of your way as they stared at both of you.

You curtsied as he bowed and he took your hand and began to waltz with you. His gaze was elsewhere, he wasn’t looking into your eyes and even avoiding eye contact.

“Just so you know, I was forced into doing this too.” You said as you both moved in sync.

He hummed in response as he held your waist, guiding you along as he danced. His dryness annoyed you.

“Do you always dance alone?” You asked, trying to start a conversation.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” He said, finally meeting eyes with you.

“Your eyes remind me of a dead fish.” You said, no longer worried about being polite.

He snorted, “Are dead fishes what entice women these days?”

“I wouldn’t know.” You said as he twirled you and he pulled you back towards him.

“I have a feeling you don’t like me.” He said.

“I wonder why.” You gave him a tight smile as you continued to waltz.

You both stayed quiet for a moment, letting the music guide you around the floor.

You watched his face, the way his expression was enthralled in the melody. His body was moved by the music, he was a true dancer. You could tell by his muscular legs and his toned biceps that you could feel through his suit.

“What kind of dancing do you do?” You asked.

“Contemporary, sometimes ballet.” He answered curtly.

“I thought Princess Eunjung did dancing?”

“She does, but she’s more interested in art and botany.” He said.

You nodded in response.

Soon, the symphony ended and you broke apart. He walked you back to the front of the room and let you curtsy before him once again before you made your way back to your table.

“How was it?” Your father asked.

“Good.” You said as you took a sip of wine.

After a moment of talking and eating little snacks presented in the middle of the table, a butler came behind you and tapped you on the shoulder.

You turned and he bowed slightly before saying, “Prince Hyunjin would like to see you in the orchard madam.”

You looked at your father and gave him a panicked look. He gave you a nod, gesturing for you to go.

You turned back to the butler, “Please let him know I’ll be on my way.”

The butler nodded and walked away swiftly. You stood, fixing your dress once again and made your way to the exit.

A million thoughts were going through your head. Was he going to get his revenge after you were so rude to him? Were you to be beheaded for your ill manners? You were afraid nonetheless.

Why would he need to see you in the orchard?

[eeveedel]

Hi all, I haven’t recced some fics in awhile but...today is fic writers appreciation day! And there are so many fics that I love so very much and have brought so much happiness into my life. 

And it just so happens I have a personal document where i’ve kept track of fics I’ve read for the past 3-4 years, categorized by tropes. So I thought it would be fun to rec you my all-time favorite fic from each of my personal categories! There are so many good fics so I hope you enjoy. And if you want a full fic rec list for any of these categories, please tell me! 

And a big thank you again to all of the lovely authors out there, I hope you have a lovely day and now how valued your work is. 

A/B/O

Sisterwives by jaerie

This was it, the moment Louis had been waiting for his entire life. Giddy excitement bubbled up as he held hands and stared up at his soon-to-be alpha and husband and grinned. The ceremony was small and simple, but Louis didn’t mind. Fresh flowers pinned into his hair and a brand new outfit was all he needed to feel special in front of their few witnesses. It was just some members of his family and a few of the church elders in attendance as was customary for any marriage beyond the first wife within the faith.

First wives were the ones to have elaborate weddings with the whole community involved. An alpha’s first wedding was a celebration of an their coming of age, his first steps into fulfilling God’s prophecy. There were many glories for an omega that came with being a first wife but also many responsibilities. Louis had never aspired to be a first wife or even a second. He wasn’t experienced enough to be the leader of an alpha’s many wives and children and he didn’t think he’d be up to the task.

Louis was just fine in the position he was stepping into as the seventh.

Or Louis thinks he's getting everything he's ever dreamed of. Harry helps him find what makes him truly happy.

Action/Adventure 

The Dead of July by whimsicule

Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

Age Gap

White Pages, White Lace, Big Hands, Pretty Face by thechesirepussycat

“He touches his sides, his neck, his lips, all the places Harry has just been, all the places that still tingle from Harry’s touch. Such a strange feeling Louis has, so unreal and nerve-racking. He can’t begin to describe what Harry has done to him, what about Harry makes Louis want to call him… Daddy.“

Or, a gratuitous Sugar Daddy!Harry and Student!Louis AU.

Angst

Bot by tomlinsunshine (11k)

Zayn builds robots; Harry is a big fan of his latest model.

Break Up

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Canon

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

Classics

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by 100percentsassy and gloria_andrews

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

College/Uni 

Could be Kissing My Fruit Punch Lips by thechesirepussycat

Harry happens upon a porn site that specializes in live videos and sort of falls in love with the cute boy he only knows as Kitty.

And then he gets the surprise of his life when he finds out Kitty attends his university...

Crime

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by haroldslouis 

1997 AU where Harry is a bank robber and Louis falls in love with him

Dom/Sub

No Control Club series by SadaVeniren

Harry, a popular BDSM blogger, writes a negative review about Louis’ club. Louis wants to have a chance to make it up to him.

Dunkirk/Alex

Poison & Wine by tilthesundies

Alex comes home from the war to find a stranger living in his flat.

Dystopian/Apocalypse

things have gotten closer to the sun by starseas

when a solar flare is announced to end the world in twelve days, harry reunites with the people that he used to know better than the back of his own hand.

Enemies to Lovers

you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity 

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry"

Established Relationship

I Only Ever Want You by itsmiz

Louis and Harry's relationship goes through a series of changes while Liam and Zayn discover new things about themselves, as well.

Or: Louis & Harry and Liam & Zayn begin to have sex in front of each other and a lot of kink-discovery results from that.

Fairy Tale

Red by frosteddream 

Shockwaves were sent through the village after the McPherson family was savagely killed. There were people who feared the beast that did it, and then there was Louis, or, as most people liked to call him, Red. (Little Red Riding Hood AU.)

Fake Dating 

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint

Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.

Famous (non-1D AU)

a million roses (bathed in rock n roll) by deLILah 

au. harry sings in smoky dive bars; louis misses his flight home. they go to coney island in the morning.

(aka - harry is lana del rey, and louis makes him a star.)

Fashion

Just my style by thoughtsickles

Harry is sick, and the only thing that might help him is the pheromones from his mate--problem is, he hasn't got a mate.

Louis' just been disowned, and taking part in a medical study where he has to cuddle with some strange alpha seems to be his only option for earning a bit of cash.

The hippies and Omega Rights campaigners are busy changing the world--but all Harry wants is a chance to live.

Fluff

Dreaming of You by velvetoscar

The Begrudging Starbucks AU.

The world is winter and steamed milk and creamy espresso shots. The world is a never ending queue. The world is a Starbucks logo and a pink-cheeked smile from Niall and a bored scowl from Zayn and the world is Louis watching his best mate, Liam, fall in love with their newest customer, Harry. Who may or may not be in love with Louis. The world is cruel.

Frat

Soft Feet, Fast Hands, Can’t Lose by dolce_piccante

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

Friends to Lovers

OmegaVision by jaerie 

Tomlin Networks Presents: OmegaVision starring Louis Tomlinson! The world's first 24/7 reality channel available in over 150 countries worldwide following the life of the first male omega born in over a century. Follow Louis through his daily routine, the ups and downs of growing up or just leave him on for comfort. There are many reasons to tune in but, no matter what yours may be, there's always a part of Louis that is just like you!

Or a Truman Show au that nobody asked for where Louis is Truman and Harry just wants to be his mate

Girl Direction

Never Enough by idekboo

Louis couldn't get enough of Harry and that gorgeous body of hers. She wasn't shy about letting her know.

High School

I found a love (darling just dive right in) by wonderlou

Louis, an omega with very little control. Harry, an alpha with a lot of emotion. Neither of them have any idea what do to with this little thing called love, but they'll be damned if they don't put up a good fight.

Historical

Coax the Cold by MediaWhore 

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Miscellaneous/Unique

the impossible now by stylinsoncity

A wish on Christmas Eve sends Louis to an alternate dimension where Harry is a member of One Direction.

Mpreg

The Things I’d Do to Wake Up Next to You by dirtymattress (36k)

Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

Mythology

Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight by alivingfire

Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they're both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

PWP

mr. tomlinson by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis is a billionaire CEO who makes grown men cry and rival companies crumble. He's also an omega. Harry is the quiet cupcake of a man he calls his alpha and the only one who gets to see Louis as anything less than fearsome.

Roommates

streetwise hercules by bottomlinsons

Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry's boyfriend to scare away his one night stands.

Royalty

feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream by togetherwecouldbealright 

Harry is a journalist with a lot of secrets and Louis is the future king of the United Kingdom; they live together for 60 days.

Spies

never gonna dance again by togetherwecouldbealright

Louis is a spy and Harry is a dancer. The only real thing they know is each other.

Soulmates

Nameless Night by green_feelings

For their 18th birthday, every person receives a letter that reads a simple date. That is the date you'll meet your soulmate.

Harry and Louis have different beliefs, live in different worlds and have different dreams, hopes and fears. Yet, they're not so different from each other when it comes to love. When their paths cross, there is no doubt they belong together. Except for that one, essential difference: they didn't receive the same date.

Or, a fic about differences that make no difference at all: Harry and Louis are soulmates. In every way possible. Featuring Niall as a role model, and Liam and Zayn as a different kind of role models.

Summer Romance

Rivers til I Reach You by embodied

AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

Supernatural

Howls Like a Beast (You Flower, You Feast) by indiaalaphawhiskey (16k)

France, 1754. Château de Versailles.

“You don’t love me,” Louis had said, utterly blasé as he callously fractured the heart of a Harry that was just barely eighteen.

“I do,” Harry had insisted pleadingly, green eyes already watering.

Louis had rolled his eyes, exasperated and flippant in the way only beautiful, young boys could be when faced with the affections of a baby prince. He had run his finger down Harry’s cheek then, had forced him to look into his eyes as he delivered the final blow.

“You’ll change your mind once you’ve seen more of the world,” Louis had teased, pressing a brutally delicate kiss onto Harry’s lovely, pure cheek. “Once you’ve been properly defiled.” He had whispered filthily, delighted by the gasp he heard, the frantic pink blush that had rested high on Harry’s cheeks, the power he had felt at knowing he could make the Crown Prince squirm.

[glitzywisps]

Muse

Dennor Week Day 3: I chose today for my Free Day

Highschool/Human au, Nyotalia

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24122461/chapters/58214002

Mette tapped her pencil, staring at her sketch. There was something off but she couldn't quite place it. Pursing her lips, she looked up again to get a better look at her muse, only to flush darkly. Agnete was looking at her with a raised brow from the desk diagonal from her own. Mette averted her eyes, staring down at her drawing. She was embarrassed at being caught staring and she only hoped Agnete hadn't seen who she was drawing. Of course, that was only wishful thinking because as soon as the bell rang Agnete turned around to lean over the paper curiously. Mette tried to cover it but didn't seem to do it in time.

Agnete's face turned a slight pink and she stood. "Your art is good… Do you take commissions?" Her voice was soft but fairly deep. Mette gaped a bit in surprise, it wasn't often that she ever got to hear the other girl speak in class and it took her a moment to respond.

"Uh- yes! I do, um," Mette got up quickly, gathering her things as she spoke, "I do take commissions- if you're interested, I have an Instagram."

Agnete nodded, waiting for Mette to start heading towards the classroom door. "What is it?" She asked, taking out her phone. Mette told her the username, taking out her own phone to follow back. Agnete smiled softly, moving as if to brush hair behind her ear but it was the shaved section. It must've been an old habit. "I'll message you what I have in mind later."

They turned their opposite ways in the hall to go to their next classes. It took everything in Mette to not bounce and cheer. Not only did the cute punk girl like her art, and was interested in commissioning, but she also didn't embarrass her over the drawing. She was still blushing in excitement as she sat down for her next class, excitedly bouncing. With a sigh, Berwald, her friend next to her asked, "She looked at you?"

"And spoke to me!" Mette exclaimed, turning to grab his arm. "She asked for my Instagram- and she's going to commission me! I've never been so excited."

"Now you can talk to her… Instead of staring."

"Oh, like you're any better! You get a crush on someone and all you can do is 'hmm'. We both need to work on our flirting skills." Berwald glared at her but reluctantly shrugged in agreement. They both had trouble with crushes, but Mette was better at talking to people in general.

Mette anxiously tugged on a short curl, thinking over how she acted. She was definitely too excited and surprised that Agnete didn't freak out when she caught her drawing her. It was pretty weird to draw someone she had never actually spoken to and to become infatuated in the first place. But she just thought she was cool! The piercings, but minimal makeup and tattoos, event the aloof look she usually had. She would've been intimidated by her, but when Agnete spoke she sounded shy, rather than apathetic. As an artist, someone like Agnete intrigued and endeared her. Mette was pulled from her thoughts by feeling her phone buzz against her thigh. It was in the middle of partner work, so she could get away with checking it by claiming to be looking up something. With that in mind, she typed in her passcode.

And just as she suspected, it was an Instagram direct message from Agnete. Mette wasn't completely creepy, so she hadn't even looked at her account yet. 

'I read over your commission post. I think mine might be a bit different than you're used to'

Mette tilted her head but typed back a fast response.

'that's fine! We can discuss it and go over prices, ideas and such'

'i want your help coming up with an album cover'

Her eyes widened and she couldn't hold back a grin. She had no idea Agnete played music and an album cover sounded like an exciting project.

'i am totally down to help you! I can listen to some of your music, and you can send me albums from other artists and bands you like for inspiration!

We can even discuss ideas and samples in person.'

'samples? You don't have to go through all of that…'

'i want to!'

'maybe I could come over then and we can talk in person'

Mette had to cover her mouth at this point. Agnete had just asked to come over to her house. She took a deep breath to calm herself before replying.

'totally fine with that! how does tmw after school sound? I walk home.'

'i can do that. see you in class tmw (:'

"Berwald, she's coming to my house tomorrow and she sent me a smiley face, what does this mean?"

"She's nice..?"

*** 

Agnete had smiled softly and greeted Mette quietly when she entered their shared class, and Mette almost fell from her chair. She grinned, waving a bit and saying, "Hey! Still meeting at the bike path?"

"Yes, if that is okay."

"Totally, yeah!" Mette hummed, now looking back to her work. The class seemed to speed by, and throughout it, she would exchange looks with Agnete. Nothing anybody normal would note since they never even lasted a second. But Agnete had the prettiest indigo eyes, accentuated by her black eyeliner, and Mette wanted to explore them for hours. She took this time to finish her drawing from yesterday, it was only semi-realism but she still wanted to get the details of her nose and lip rings. The bell rang and she tapped Agnete's shoulder. "Here. Since you caught me drawing you without asking."

Agnete's pale skin heated up as she took the drawing. "Thank you… I like it a lot."

Mette wished she had any other classes with her, or at least some in the hall so they could walk together. She really wanted to get to know her and hoped they would talk about more than the commission after school. The rest of her classes seemed to drag on and she constantly caught herself checking the clock every couple of minutes. Her heart seemed to jump when the last bell, rushing to grab her backpack and go out the side door of the school. She waved and spoke to several friends and acquaintances on the way out but didn't linger as long as she usually did to goof off. She held back a skip in her walk when she saw Agnete was already waiting by the fence for her, fiddling with her phone.

"Agnete!" She looked up and gave a two-fingered salute. Mette waved excitedly and jogged the last few yards to her. "Ready to go?"

Agnete nodded and picked up her bag, waiting for Mette to lead the way.

"I'm excited to work on this, I had no idea you did music. Not that we've ever talked before, but you seem to have a pretty big following. What instruments do you play? I should've kept up with my cello," Mette spoke fairly quickly, looking at Agnete with wide eyes. Agnete glanced away, turning pink.

"You talk a lot…" Mette bit her lip, shrugging awkwardly in response and shoving her hands in her hoodie pocket. Agnete gently bumped her shoulder with her own. "It's kinda cute… I play bass, guitar, ukulele, and I'm learning piano still. What kind of music do you like?"

Mette seemed to light up in relief, freckled cheeks red from the compliment. "Oh, I like almost anything! I have a playlist for so many genres. I think heavy, heavy, metal and country and the only two I barely graze. But my favorite genres are definitely soft rock and bedroom pop."

"Varied, huh? I like that stuff too." 

"What genre do you play?"

"Pop punk, and Indie occasionally. I guess you could call some of my stuff bedroom pop…"

"I can't wait to hear it! I'm honestly relieved you didn't think I was totally weird for staring at you and stuff…"

"You're still plenty weird…" She smirked. "But I was relieved that you were simply drawing me and not weirded out by me…"

"Of course I'm weirded out! A cute girl like you wanting to commission me, in person? With such an exciting project. Totally weird." Mette's heart fluttered, watching as Agnete covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a laugh. When she finished, she asked, "Anyway… When did you start art?"

"Ever since I could hold a pencil!" She paused. "But I started taking it seriously when I was hitting my preteen years…" They had been walking for about ten minutes, now in front of Mette's house. She opened the door, dramatically gestured for Agnete to enter. She rolled her eyes and stepped through.

"No parents?"

"They're at work, right now. But they said it was okay if you came over, so we can settle in the living room. Hungry? Thirsty?" Agnete shook her head and sat on the couch. Mette sat next to her, pulling out her sketchbook. "Alright, then tell me about your music and ideas, and play some!"

"These songs are a bit different than what I usually write, so I'm hoping for something a bit out of my style too… It's more soft and emotional than my other stuff," Agnete admitted quietly. She handed her headphones to Mette to use, starting to play her music. Still holding her phone, she pulled up photos of other people's albums to explain what she liked about them. Mette listened closely to the lyrics, stunned into silence. Agnete shifted anxiously, not looking at her and chewing her lip. Only bits and pieces of the songs were played for her, enough to get the idea, most of them were sad or about going through the motions, but the last one seemed to be about awakening and knowing yourself. 

"Is that all of the ones you wanted me to hear? They're lovely, Agnete!" Mette said, handing the headphones back. 

"I started writing the last one yesterday, um…" She blushed. "You can read it if you'd like…" Mette nodded eagerly, waiting for her to open her teal journal. As she read over it, her heart sped up. These lyrics were much more hopeful than the last, they were still a bit doubtful but with hints of hope mixed in. But it was the lines about a girl with bright eyes and a brighter smile. It couldn't be her, right? Maybe Agnete already had a friend or lover to feel hopeful and inspired by. That was fine. It didn't mean Mette couldn't be her friend too. She smiled and looked at her. "I think this is a lovely song to end on. It's really pretty so far, I can't believe you just started this yesterday."

Agnete rubbed the back of her and gave a coy shrug. "I assumed if you got to use me as your muse that one time, then I could use you as mine…"

Mette gaped. "You mean-"

"Don't let it go to your head!" She gently pushed her over onto the other couch cushion. Mette laughed loudly, sitting up straight again to tell her, "I think we're going to become great friends…"

They both knew there was something else implied… And they both knew it was way too soon to fall to short infatuation and were content being just like this...

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

Coffee Au pt 2

PART 3 OF THREE

It was the end of the day, Acylius and Demencia wanted to do nothing more than just sink into one of the comfy seats and doze off but work still had to be done.

 As Flug was cleaning away mugs and other items he could still taste Black Hat on his tongue, lingering in its flavor the apple of Eden, he wanted to bite again, savor him anew but the demon was not exactly famous for being sweet so no doubt the next would be bitter…right?

 “Boy what a day, am I right or am I right tree man!”

 Acylius was silent as he looked over at Black Hat’s empty seat, he’d seen him leave, some work emergency no doubt, money had been left on the table but he’d found himself disappointed that the demon wasn’t still there demanding to be served after hours, crazy as the day had been it had actually been surprisingly fun to have him around.

 “It is strange... “

 “What that he digs you and not me? “

 Demencia teased gently nudging him.

 “Please be serious for one moment, you will not believe this, but I do feel as if I know him from some other life...there were things today that felt... so familiar.”

 Exasperation filling his voice as he walked off to pick up a latte glass that was half full, grumbling they should not order the large if they were not going to drink it all.

 “Oh, like what?”

 “Well, when we kissed after you suggested he could help...”

 Touching his lips as he looked over at the kitchen, whispering

 “It did not feel like the first time.”

 “Pffft seems I was right he wanted to lip lock and suck your soul right out of your-”

 “Demencia, that is enough!” Flug dropped the glass he was holding, it shattered across the floor spilling its cold contents, liquid started seeping through the floorboards, oh dear she realised perhaps she’d pushed a little too far as his eyes lit up and she was dragged forward Darth Vader style only without the throttling . His hand engulfed in cerulean flame, claws extended forward and with a flick she was off her feet hovering, snarling “I am trying to run a coffee shop, not a brothel while we are friends  I do not need you interfering with my love life.”

 In all her years she’d known Acylius, the lizard girl had never seen such a fire as this burning within him, damn Black Hat must have more of an effect than he was willing to admit, rolling her eyes she responded “You think you could put me down, also you old fart what love life, you’re like fifty and have boned like what …once and that was with someone who was for hire to play as Black Hat, I mean I’ve offered cause who doesn’t wanna climb that tree and sit on your branch, but you were as flustered as a sinner in church.”

(Remember demon so not like human 50 XD )

 “Woman…argh!” Acylius tried to keep a straight face, but honestly he could never stay mad at her, a chuckle left him as the demon shook his head and set her down

“You are hopeless.” “Yeah, yeah I know I’m a lost cause, but why is it so hard for you to believe he likes you?” She returned while straightening out her uniform. “Please, I do not think he would find a suitable partner in a barista who tortures people for information on the black market… holy…” Acylius went quiet and blinked looking at Demencia “Is that why the Black market is called that! My alternative profile is in that world...I need a drink ...am I working for him and not…know what no this is too much too soon, I am going downstairs, I am going to drink and torture that man until he is a bloody pile.” Demencia gave him a deadpanned expression in response “One: it is not for you to decide who he wants to bone and two: you seriously only just figured that out, you’re smart but sometimes really dumb.”

 Acylius sighed and just walked off hearing her call out after him saying “And what about this!” It was easy to imagine her gesturing towards the spilt coffee “You clean it up, ASSBUTT!” Demencia huffed; she should never have let him watch Supernatural, mocking his sentence in a whiny voice before getting to work and only smiling as she swore she could hear the muffled voice of him saying “I heard that!” Pffft of course he had, demon senses and all, it was no surprise and yes it probably wasn’t wise to try and interfere with her friends love life, especially when it left her to clean up duty instead of getting to play just how long  can we make our victim scream.

 Picking up the pieces of broken glass she paused looking out the window, wondering up on that high hill where Hat Manor sat, what the old demon was doing now, heh maybe he was even day dreaming of Acylius, that’d be pretty adorable.

 Hat manor stood silhouetted, painted on a sea of blue and purple, diamonds scattered over its surface, there was no moon tonight, though this is not what we are here to do though, while the night sky held its beauty the home held its secrets deep under the foundations. Down winding stair cases of stone, walls lined with torches that came alight as Black Hat passed them with bright emerald flames leading to a room, large extravagant, doors locked with spells reacting to his presence, opening out to show the pristine display with a red carpet. Glass cases that remained in a constant polished state appeared liquid with candle light reflecting off their surfaces, to many people these items would be considered odd in the sense they to anyone else held absolutely no value…but to Black Hat they were treasures and when each one was touched he could remember a small moment attached to each and every one of these things… Recalling how his Acylius had taught him to use a barbers blade for shaving, he himself did not grow stubble or the such unless he wanted to and he had suspected the same of his Doctor, who liked to do human things as simple as that.

It was not that he’d allowed Black Hat to shave his face that had made the memory but that he’d trusted him so close to his throat with a blade, it may not have killed him even if he’d wanted it to slit it.

Though that was the thing with anyone else he would have hacked them to pieces and laughed, in that moment he’d slowly brushed the razors edge along his flesh, intently focused on the task at hand, leaving him mesmerized at just how intimate a simple act could be and how it felt to be trusted by him.

The demon had not been down here in some time, that did not mean what was here had lost any meaning, no on the contrary  at times being here caused so much pain he could hardly bare it.

 Walking slowly through this world of past wonders, there were mannequins in neat rows wearing suits, everyday clothing to swim wear and pyjamas, some clothing items pressed into picture frames, stopping in front of one case in particular a small quirked at the corner of his lips, on a cushion sat an old tattered Bear, blue after some chemical accident when Acylius had been a child or so the doctor had told him. This was kept for more than one reason, one Acylius had loved it dearly and two even as a grown demon he’d found him sometimes napping with the damn thing tucked under his arm, apparently you could never be too old to enjoy a favored gift from the past, claws making soft tapping sounds on the glass.

“What an odd name for a child’s toy…Five o Five…then again there is that silly old bear named Winnie the Pooh…”

 He said to himself in passing thought.

Just being here already felt as if a hand had reached in around the void that passed for his heart and was slowly crushing it, glancing over at the beautiful cello he and Flug had played together, the intimacy of creating music on the same instrument so passionately had near rivaled their passion within the sheets…before you wonder yes Black Hat even had their four poster royal Georgian bed perfectly made as the doctor would have wanted it.

 Lab equipment that museums would beg to have, first edition books that could very well be the only remaining copies of the texts within some of them…yes he’d saved practically everything, did it perhaps make him obsessed…incapable of letting go, you might think so and yes it probably was the case.

He himself could not forget the way the barista had kissed him, it was a perfect match to the way his Acylius performed such affectionate acts, the same passion a memory so real and tactile rising to the surface and layering perfectly to match the movements of want. Thinking back on this afternoon as he’d sat there sipping his hot chocolate, listening at times to the inane conversation of others and hearing the name of the Café he’d failed to read the name of upon entry in favor of warmth than the cold weather. He stared at one dark oak closet a mannequin stood in there locked away, blood stained clothes, the salt of tears within the collar, even a beast could weep when its heart was broken, shoulders tensing just at the minor scent of iron and acid he adverted his gaze. Could that Barista really be Acylius Flug reborn, the man who’d lay dying in his arms , promising him he’d find him amongst the stars…rambling about artists who place their soul upon the canvas, full of hope and pain, madness full of splendid wonder and final words being of love until  there were none. Kisses upon lips that no longer held their warmth as a mournful cry left him whimpering like a child lost in the wilderness of the vast world.

 Acylius’s body no more than a limp doll that had lost its light and as with all demonic forms he turned to smoke and ash washed away with a tender breeze littered with embers while all he could do was watch.

 Even though he had barely understood what his lovers last message had been, for years he’d sought out painters who favoured the night skies, though none matched the pure emotion of which Flug had spoken until one Starry Night in France just outside the Ravoux Inn he came across such an artist. A rough looking creature really with a missing ear, in fact he’d nearly passed him until this man had grabbed his arm and Black Hat had at first thought him mad until he spoke of a spirit tall and pale, scars and ears not human and eyes so blue no matter the blend of colours he’d tried to use the ever changing hue had been impossible to match.

 Up the stairs of that humble place the artist called home he entered, moonlight pouring through an open window, curtains swaying ever so delicately behind the easel sat a canvas not long since painted on, just as promised in thick oil paints of swirling night time wonders, blacks, blues bright shining yellows in a myriad of hues there stood Acylius eyes closed within the heavens.

 “I have dreamt about this man yet I do not know what sins I have committed to bring devils and spirits at my door!” Black Hat given him a look before replying “Even Angels it would seem have mercy on a fallen devil.” He’d without second thought left a fortune upon the old bed in the artists room and taken what was rightfully his, news of his death had been reported not but a few days afterwards which even in the demons opinion was a great tragedy.

 Now on the wall here it hung still years later, framed in gold with a bench for him to rest upon, other pieces at either side by Flugs hand were portraits and sketches of Black Hat…but this one in the center had been a gift from the beyond , a promise that he was coming back.

That barista had to be him, had to be his Flug; the café was named after a painting no one but he and the painter knew about. Could it be, he’d finally truly found him amongst the stars.

(this is a poor version of the Artists work I was inspired by, especially if you figure out who I was talking about...but as my own work I like it XD)

[jinterlude]

Fight for Me (Ch.2)

↳Story Header © @softjeon (do not steal this header!)

➵ Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Female OC (feat. Kwon Ji Yong) 

➵ Genre(s): Historic!AU, Medieval!AU ,Royalty!AU, Knight!AU, Romance, SMUT, Humor, & Angst

➵ SMUT Warning(s): Fingering & Masturbation/Handjob 

➵ Words: 4.5K

➵ Summary: Once upon a time, there was a not-so-traditional kingdom. In that kingdom, the royal family had the freedom of marrying whoever his or her royal highness deems worthy. Now, of course, having that special privilege came with some interesting challenges, but that doesn’t stop a certain head-strong princess from doing whatever her heart’s desire, especially when she has her heart set on marrying her personal bodyguard. Unfortunately, her beliefs might face some hardships when a certain king sets his eye on her. Will her bodyguard continue to fight for her or is it finally her turn?

※ Previously: ch.1 

※ Next Time: ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | final chapter

Chapter 2: Time is of the Essence

Previously

Seokjin mocked her tone, “Fine, if you marry one of them, then I will marry one of your mother’s ladies in waiting.”

Sumin gasped and glared coldly at him, “Which one and I will see to it that she is fired.”

Seokjin chuckled deeply, still finding it fun to push her buttons. The playful knight and the teasing princess continued to tease one another, both not showing signs of ceasing.

While the playful couple was enjoying their own little world, the king and queen eyed them with curiosity in their gaze. They were too absorbed with watching their daughter and her knight joke around with each other that they failed to realize that there was a royal presence lingering in the air.

Soon, the mysterious person cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the king and queen.

           “Ah, King Ji Yong, to what do the queen and I owe the pleasure of your presence on the eve of my daughter’s birthday celebration?” The king spoke in a diplomatic voice.

           “I have come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

A blanket of confusion fell upon the royal parents. Blank expressions and a few eye blinks. The king and queen’s gazes fell onto each other as they grew unsure what to do or even want to say. They were certainly speechless.

           “Well, do I have permission to court your daughter and perhaps propose marriage?” Ji Yong asked; his patience running a bit thin.

King Kwon Ji Yong, on the other hand, was awaiting their responses. The moment he set foot in the castle, he felt a surge of warmth flow through his veins. His heart felt light. His cold, emotionless face finally achieved something that he, himself, thought he would not have the ability to do. He smiled— and it was all thanks to Princess Sumin.

The king stared seriously at the fellow ruler. He has heard rumors of Ji Yong’s harsh tactics, and his borderline dictatorship over his kingdom. Did he honestly want his daughter marrying such a tyrant? Oh, he could not forget King Ji Yong’s wandering hand. Ji Yong was notorious for having a new mistress every week and being not able to commit to a relationship. Even while his parents were alive and well, Ji Yong would dismiss his arranged marriages and simply bed a chamber maid like it was nothing.

The more he thought about, the more Sumin’s father grew against the idea of Ji Yong marrying his precious jewel. Yeah. Ji Yong was not allowed to marry Sumin nor will he ever have his permission.

           “I will talk it over with my wife and seriously think about it. Since it is my daughter’s eighteenth birthday celebration, I would rather not discuss important diplomatic decisions on this joyous occasion.” Sumin’s father paused, holding out his right hand for his wife to take. “Now, if you excuse me, the wife and I have to make an appearance on the ballroom floor.” He bowed politely before standing up with his wife by his side.

Sumin’s parents smiled politely before brushing past him and making their way through the sea of partygoers.

Ji Yong watched them disappear into the crowds of people. A light humming emitted from his lips as a devious thought appeared to in his mind. He rubbed his chin as the plan developed more and more. His mind had been made up already. He was going to take the Princess Sumin as his wife and no one was going to stop him.

Completely in the center of the grand ballroom, the king and queen signaled the orchestra to change the lively tune into the song that was used for the traditional coming of age dance. That specific dance was passed down from generation to generation in Sumin’s family and tonight was no exception.

With a single wave, the violinists and cello player picked up their bow and began to the play. The somber notes echoed throughout the luxurious room. The mixture of high notes and low notes caused a weird sense of relaxation amongst the people.

           “It is time for the ceremonial dance. Princess Sumin, come hither please. Oh! Bring your suitor of choice as your partner.” The king announced; his line of sight aligning up with his daughter, who was busy burying her face in the cold metal of Seokjin’s armor.

Princess Sumin groaned as she knew that it was time to dance with some arrogant prince who can’t keep his hands to himself. Then, by the blessings of the Gods, an idea popped into her pretty little mind. She slowly lifted her burning cheek away from the icy cold armor and gazed upon Seokjin. Seokjin furrowed his brows, wondering what his princess wanted. Then, it hit him. He was about to dance the famous dance in front of millions of royal people.

           “Your father is not going to wait any longer, my lovely daughter.” The two of them heard the king say jokingly, earning himself a few polite chuckles.

Sumin exhaled deeply and then held out her left hand, smiling sweetly at her knight.

           “Shall we?” She asked; her eyes never once leaving his.

Seokjin gently grabbed her hand and politely kissed it, “We shall.”

A roar of applause sounded throughout the large room as Sumin and Seokjin left the comfortable confinements that was their little corner wall. Seokjin felt the envious gazes hitting his entire body; he couldn’t help but smirk proudly as he did. It was not every day where a lowly knight got to share the special dance with a princess.

After what it seemed like forever, walking through many groups of people, Sumin and Seokjin took their position, right in the center of the dance floor. With their hands interlocked with one another, their breathing grew heavy as the nerves slowly swallowed them whole. They would be the second couple ever to execute such a special dance. Sumin’s parents were the first.

With patient hearts and jagged breathing, the anxious pair mentally counted down the beats before taking the first step. Their eyes remained locked onto each other, neither one of them wavering their established contact. Their bodies moved as one as they danced inside the wall of people that surrounded them. A light gush of wind gently fanned their faces as Sumin and Seokjin continued to simply smile at each other, not saying a word. Their stares did all the talking for them.

They continued to dance as they became oblivious to their surroundings. The distinguishable faces became blurred as the bodies disappeared one by one. Soon, it was just the two of them. The lavish golds and silvers were the only guests in that ballroom now. One must not forget the tints of rose in the walls either.

Seokjin twirled Sumin, smiling warmly as his brown eyes bored into hers. His hand never one unlocking with hers as he pulled her back. Her skirt raising slightly as Sumin’s entire body spun around, creating a light breeze.

A soft giggle left Sumin’s innocent lips as she returned to her rightful place— against Seokjin’s body. Her right fingers interlaced with his left as her left hand was placed firmly on his shoulder while his right hand was anchored on her waist.

Nothing but the look of complete adoration was present in the two eyes as the song neared the end. As the final note proceeded, Seokjin dipped low as he mouthed, “I love you”, to her before lifting her up.

The sound of applause and cheers echoed throughout the castle as Seokjin and Sumin bowed and curtsied to their audience. After acknowledging the last section of the crowd, Seokjin leaned down and whispered something enticing in Sumin’s ear. She quickly masked her pleasing smile with one of total professionalism. She then turned to Seokjin and slowly licked her lips before nodded eagerly yet subtly. She tightened her hold on his hand before politely excusing herself to her parents. Her parents saw a certain gleam in her eye and chuckled. They knew that look in Seokjin and Sumin’s eyes as they walked quickly out of the ballroom. They were young once and boy did they rush off to their secret hiding places to— have a little bit of fun.

Not wanting to raise suspicions or a sense of worry, the king clapped his hands and demanded that the party continue. The quiet room was soon filled with lively music as the once frozen people finally left their spots and filled the dance floor. Soon, happy chatter and polite chuckles floated into the air and mixed with the sounds of the orchestra.

On the other hand, in a different part of the castle, a dimly lit room was filled with the sound of messy kisses and articles of clothing dropping to the floor. The skin-on-skin contact ignited a flame of arousal within Sumin and Seokjin. The sense of urgency caused the two lovers to not care about their outfits when they were practically ripping them off one another. A tattered corset laid on the floor as Sumin’s bare back was firmly pressed against the cold stone wall. Her hands were raised above her head as Seokjin’s mouth was latched onto her beautiful breasts.

With one nipple in his mouth and the other being massaged by his free hand, Seokjin twirled and pulled the nub in between his teeth. Hearing Sumin’s precious moans only fueled his hormones and increased his need to take her virginity. His need to possess Sumin in ways that only a lover could do. His need to remind her that she was his.

           “Jesus…” Sumin moaned as her eyes rolled to the back of her head, taking in the pleasure that she was receiving. She felt her core become soaked as she craved something to be inside of her.

Seokjin continued to assault her breasts as his free hand soon left her chest and slowly trailed down her torso. His fingers lightly tickling down her naval before reaching the waist of her skirt. He then decided to tease his princess just a bit, playing with the material as if he was going to undo the ties and let it drop it down.

           “Sir knight… please do not tease me…” Sumin whined; her bundle of nerves throbbing desperately.

Seokjin smirked against her stomach, having left her breasts minutes ago, “Oh? Is the princess sounding needy? Maybe she needs to actually beg if she wants to be touched down there…”

Sumin’s eyes shot open as she lifted her head away from the wall. Her gaze locked onto Seokjin as she unknowingly constricted her walls; the desire for something or someone to be inside of her grew stronger. Was she seriously thinking about giving up her pride as a princess and beg to be touched? Maybe just this once.

           “Please Seokjin. Please touch me…” She paused as an airy moan flew out her lips. “Make me feel something indescribable that has me a moaning mess.” Sumin begged before licking her precious lips slowly, enticing him to take what he so desperately craved.

Seokjin cocked up his brow, lips slightly ajar as his breathing grew heavy. Hearing her begging, pleading for him to touch her turned on something in his handsome mind. Was this how a pair of intimate lovers behaved? Was this how they displayed true feelings of love with one another? Whatever was bound to happen, he was happy that he was sharing this moment with his precious Sumin. His everything.

With the sound of light pants and tiny whimpers, Sumin mentally prepared herself what was about to happen. It was no secret that she eavesdropped on the saucy gossip from her chamber maids and other castle workers. She specially paid attention to the erotic tales that they happily giggled over. Now, it was her moment to shine. It was time for to experience the unspeakable flash of white that the maids spoke of numerous of times. It was time for her feel this sudden wave of euphoria. It was time to become a woman.

Steadying her racing her heart, Sumin bit her bottom lip as she felt his hands slowly trail up her bare thigh. The roughness from his fingers sent goosebumps on her arms as his fingers lightly danced on her skin.

A small whimper managed to escape her lips as Sumin felt his fingers gradually close the gap. Before she knew it, Seokjin was touching her.

           “My god…” Seokjin cursed as his fingers were quickly coated with her juices. That was how aroused she was.

His fingers continued to trace her folds, wanting to memorize every detail of her womanhood. He too started to bite his bottom lip as he tried to contain his raging hormones. He wanted to wait for their wedding night to take her virginity, however, that idea left his mind the moment he encountered her soaking wet core. His index and middle fingers accidentally grazed her entrance as they were softly rubbing her pussy. Feeling her soaking wet entrance was enough reason for Seokjin to at least give her a tiny taste of what it was like to have something inside. He caressed her entrance once more before slowly inserting his index finger, careful to take note of her discomfort. His pace started off slow, giving her some time to get used to his finger. As soon as her face contorted to a look of pleasure, he inserted his middle finger, stretching her virgin walls out.

Sumin rested her head back on the wall as her hand magically found its way in his hear. She began to tug against the roots as he pumped his index finger in and out. His thumb rubbed her bundle of nerves, sending jolt after jolt of pleasure throughout his princess.

Her lips were agape as the soft pants mixed with moans fueled her desire to touch him. It was not fair that she was receiving this insane amount of pleasure, and he wasn’t getting anything in return.

           “My l-love…” She whispered, though, it was difficult since he was still fingering her.

Seokjin continued to thrust his fingers, “Yes?”

A tiny whine left her lips. “It is not fair that I am on the receiving end of our first intimate moment.” Sumin placed her index finger underneath his chin and gently tilted it up. “Permit me to pleasure you.” She smiled alluring.

Seokjin felt his member twitch in excitement. Holy shit. That smile and the fact that she wanted to touch him was making it much harder on him to not throw her on the bed and take her now.

           “You do not have to, Sumin. It is my duty to make sure that the princess is well taken care.” He teased; his fingers picking up the pace, earning himself a couple of loud moans from her.

In that split second, hearing that deep tone in his voice, sent an unspeakable chill down her spine. Sumin knew that she was vulnerable. She was a prey. She was simply putty in his fingers.

Back in the ballroom, Sumin’s parents were in a heated discussion with King Ji Yong. They tried every excuse in the book to try and sway his mind, however, Ji Yong wasn’t going to give up on his princess. Ji Yong was no fool. He knew of Sumin’s kingdom’s customs. He knew that that he had to prove himself worthy of her in order to be granted permission to wed her by her parents. The fun question was, how? How was he going to earn Sumin’s favor when he knows something was going between her and her personal knight? Ji Yong especially observed the knight’s lip movement while they were dancing sweetly. He saw the lowly knight mouthed, “I love you”, to Sumin. Something about that irked him, but he couldn’t understand. At least not yet.

           “I have made up my mind. I would like to stay in the castle and take the time to prove myself to the Princess Sumin.” Ji Yong said, looking a tad disinterested.

The king and queen looked to one another, hoping that either one of them would have another excuse on why that would be horrible. Unfortunately, they could not think of an excuse. That was one of the loopholes that previous generations have yet to find a solution for. While the prince or princess may have made up his or her mind on who he or she is marrying, another suitor was free to still try and win over the affections of the prince or princess.

With a heavy sigh, the king met the Ji Yong’s gaze and courageously stared him down. No matter what, the happiness of his daughter is his top priority.

           “The queen and I grant you permission to stay in one of our many guest suites during your stay here. I do have to warn you though, that it might be quite difficult to win our daughter’s affections as she is not like any other princesses throughout the nation. She is headstrong, intelligent, and charismatic.” The king said, trying one last time to turn Ji Yong off from Sumin.

A sly smile graced his handsome face as Ji Yong’s eyes sparked with someone unreadable.

           “Perfect.”

Amidst the hard attempts of Sumin’s parents trying to convince King Ji Yong to reconsider his marriage proposal, the young lovers were busy filling the room with the sounds of heavy breathing, moaning, and loving whispers.

Seokjin upgraded from simply using his hands to using his hands and his mouth. His tongue flicked and twirled around her sensitive nub while his fingers continued to thrust into her. Her sweet smell clouded his mind as his throbbing member ached to be in his fingers’ position. His hardened length desperately wanting to be the one feeling her walls clench around it; her juices coating him continuously.

Whimper after whimper. Moan after moan. Pant after pant. Those were the only sounds happening during their passionate rendezvous.

Sumin’s breathing grew rapid as the pleasure built up in the pit of her stomach. Her walls began to constrict around his fingers as the desire for some form of a release drew closer and closer. This was not fair. She wanted to touch him and please him. However, before her mind could focus more on that thought, a sudden sense of happiness rushed throughout her body. Did she experience what the female castle workers called an “orgasm”? Well, whatever it was, she loved the feeling it gave her. She loved it even more since it was Seokjin who gave her that high.

Now, with his fingers dripping from her precious juices, he decided to give himself a little bit of attention. Seeing her come undone like that caused his member to harden even more. It was practically pressing against the fabric of his trousers. That was how aroused he was. Plus, it didn’t help that her smell was still flooding his senses. Every time he took a breath, her sweet aroma came crashing in, sending his hormones into a crazed frenzy.

His hand quickly undid the belt and then reached inside. His aching member twitched even more at the sudden warm contact. With her juices coating his fingers, he slowly rubbed his shaft, mixing his pre-cum with her cum.

Before he could speed up his pace, he felt a familiar hand on top of his. His lips were captured as well.

Once she came down her high and regained her senses, her vision locked onto Seokjin. Her eyes trailed down as she noticed his hand moving up and down at a rapid pace.

Wanting to return the favor, Sumin crawled up to him and placed her dainty hand on top of his. She then captured his beautiful lips before he could protest.

Swallowing his moans, Sumin focused on pleasuring the man in front of him. She wanted him to feel the same high as she felt.

           “Oh my… at this rate, you are going to make me release…” Seokjin moaned as his head flew back. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as well.

Sumin smirked as she hovered her lips over his ear, “Good. I want you to feel good my lord.”

With one simple phrase, Seokjin released. Tiny strips of white shot out, painting Sumin’s hand as she her rubbing slowed down.

A goofy grin graced Seokjin’s handsome face as he came down his euphoric high. He tucked his soft member back inside his trousers before standing up and finding a cloth to clean up Sumin.

After searching for a good couple of minutes, Seokjin managed to find a white handkerchief and walked back to his princess. He handed the cloth to her as he pressed his lips sweetly against her temple.

Sumin muttered a quick thank you before wiping off any traces of intimacy from her hand. Once her hands were clean, Sumin stared at her tattered corset as she wondered how on Earth was she going to explain to her mother and father that her undergarment was no longer presence.

Seokjin noticed Sumin’s brow furrow; a habit she did whenever she thought long and hard about something, “What is the matter, my love?”

Sumin gestured to her corset, “How am I going to explain to my parents that my corset is destroyed?”

Seokjin chuckled, “Well, would it ease your mind that I asked your nurse to prepare a second dress for you?”

Sumin raised her brow, “What do you mean?”

           “Well….”

The joyous celebration continued into the early hours into next day. No one showed signs of wanting to leave the birthday party. After all, it is not every day one gets to witness a princess become a woman.

A mixture of loud instruments filled the ballroom as the princess finished her rounds of dancing with every eligible suitor that attended her party. Unfortunately, her mind was still preoccupied on the events that took place before she walked back into the ballroom— wearing an entirely different dress.

Lucky for her, no one seemed to mind or cared enough to say something to her. However, would anyone want to accuse the princess of something while he or she was in her kingdom? Probably not.

Graciously moving across the dancefloor, Sumin smiled politely and maintained eye contact with the princes she was currently dancing with. With dark raven colored locks, and his dark brown eyes piercing into hers, she continued to make tiny conversations with the annoying prince. Jungkook, she believed to be his name.

           “Am I boring you princess? You do not seem too keen on my talk of my many achievements.” Sumin heard the arrogant prince say.

She quickly mustered a sincere smile, “Oh, forgive my lord, I was just getting hypnotized by your smile.”

Hearing her compliment boosted his pride. Maybe he was going to have the honor of marrying the princess. Unlike his fellow princes, who were currently eyeing him with pure envy.

           “Oh? Has the princess fallen for my charms?” Jungkook inquired, displaying a smile that would make any other princess swoon.

Sumin fought the urge to gag, “Of course. What kind of princess do you take me for?”

Jungkook cocked up his brow, thinking, “A strong mind… I like it.”

The two of them continued to dance all across the ballroom, earning themselves a wave of compliments. The many onlookers smiled and admired how Sumin and Jungkook looked together. Something in their combined aura that made the idea of a union between them favorable, especially with Jungkook’s parents.

As the song played the last notes, Sumin politely curtsied to Jungkook while Jungkook returned the favor by bowing to her. Before parting ways, Jungkook gently took her hand and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles.

           “Goodnight, princess.” He winked at her before walking over to his parents.

Sumin maintained her diplomatic smile until he was far enough away for her to drop it. She let out a small groan before graciously walking over to Seokjin.

Seokjin smirked and looked down on his princess, still having their little steamy meeting embedded in his mind. He secretly kissed her soft cheek as he asked her how her little love dance with Prince Jungkook went.

Sumin rolled her eyes, “Oh, it was magical. Now, I am going to my mother and father that it is Prince Jungkook I want to marry and have many children with.”

Seokjin chuckled deeply, “Do not be like, my princess. I was simply teasing.”

Just as Sumin was about to retaliate, she heard her father give the announcement that the party celebration was officially over. She then, out of the corner of her eye, noticed him gesturing to her and Seokjin.

The two lovers looked to one another; their brows knitted together. Her father’s current expression was unsettling. Something horrific was about to happen, but what.

Now settled in her father’s office chambers, Sumin, who was resting her head against Seokjin’s shoulder, eyed her parents with pure concern. Her heart raced as her stomach did somersaults while patiently awaiting the news from her father.

           “My lovely daughter… you know that your mother and I want nothing but the best for you, especially when it comes to choosing your future husband.” Her father began, trying to find the right words to say next.

           “What is happening, papa?” Sumin interrupted as she gripped her hold on Seokjin’s hand, feeling afraid that something or someone was going to tear them apart.

           “Do you remember meeting King Kwon Ji Yong at the party tonight?” Her father asked.

Both Seokjin and Sumin nodded.

The king exhaled deeply before baring the terrible news.

           “He has taken it upon himself to invite himself to stay in the castle as our guest as he has expressed deep desire to make you his wife.”

Sumin gasped, suddenly losing all oxygen in her lungs. She quickly latched onto the pendant that Seokjin gifted her on her fifteenth birthday with a look of complete dread etched on her face.

           “How long does King Ji Yong plan to stay with us?” Sumin asked softly as Seokjin uttered nothing but loving words in her ear, hoping to ease her worries.

           “However long it will take for you to agree to be his wife.” Her other responded, feeling her own break for her daughter.

Sumin frowned as she buried her face in Seokjin’s chest, hating the idea of marrying someone else that was not her knight.

Seokjin, on the other hand, was fuming on the inside. He was not happy whatsoever with some random king marrying his princess. They were childhood friends. They were blooming lovers. They had history. No one could ever come close to Sumin for him. She was it. Now? He knew that he must do something and quick. He and Sumin had talked about waiting a few more years and was only granted that request earlier in the day. This was all wrong.

           “My majesties, may I request that the princess and I relinquish our wish to wed in a few years’ time?”

           “May I ask why?”

           “I want to marry the princess Sumin as soon as possible.”

A/N: Well how do you like this chapter now? Don’t you love some good old smut mixed with that unwanted cliffhanger? ;) I know I do! Anyway, I will try and space out my “updates” on this story, that way I have a bit of time to work on the first chapter to the sequel (which by the time this chapter is released, I should be done with it! Key word: should lol)

Don’t forget to leave a like/reblog/comment/send in an ask on your thoughts! I love hearing them! :)

- Kim

[yoon-kooks]

Signed in Black- Part 3

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, BadBoy!AU, FLUFF [potential smut in future chapters]

Summary: Min Yoongi. That was the name magically tattooed to your skin. You were told he was your lover by fate. And as cute as it would be to have a soulmate, Yoongi was the last person you ever wanted to be bound to. But thankfully, there was a way to remove the tattoo. All you had to do was convince six Bulletproof Fairies that the two of you were in love.

Word Count: 2.6k

Parts: ONE // TWO // THREE // FOUR // FIVE // SIX // FINAL

A/N: day1 of my min yoongi fluff week! sorry for not updating this in like half a year????? part 4 should be coming very soon~ 🍯⭐️

“You pick the date this time,” Yoongi took a sip of his Americano as he watched you close the shop for the night. As annoying as your “boyfriend” and the whole tattoo situation were, it was at least safer to have someone with you after the sun went down when your shift ended. “Anything you want.”

You’d thought about it a lot after Yoongi had taken you to one of his college classes, and there were two things you wanted to do with the boy: 1) you wanted him to show you his musical talent, and 2) you wanted to show him the stars. Maybe stargazing would be a little too romantic for now, but certainly, you were curious of what instruments Yoongi played, or if he wrote his own songs. After all, you still felt like you knew nothing about him, despite his name being written across your skin. This could be an opportunity to learn more about him beyond his bad boy self. “Prove to me that you’re a musical genius.”

“I can do that,” he nodded as the two of you got into his car. He never said exactly where he would be taking you, but you assumed it either had to be at his school if it was still open, or his home. The latter gave you butterflies that fluttered wildly in the depths of your stomach.

Thankfully, however, Yoongi pulled up to a location you had seen once before. But rather than walking towards the huge lecture hall, he took your hand and led you up several flights of stairs to a much smaller classroom with a whole bunch of different instruments hanging on racks. As you made a circle around the room, you glanced at each and every instrument, from cello to trombone to the snare drum. “Which do you play?” you asked, curious as a kitten.

“Which do you think?” Yoongi challenged you.

“Guitar?” Because that was clearly the secret weapon every playboy used to capture hearts. Yoongi was probably no different.

“Nope. Guess again.”

“I’m tired of guessing.”

“You only made one guess,” the boy narrowed his eyes at you.

“Just tell me.”

Yoongi pulled you over to the largest instrument tucked in the corner of the room and sat you down on the bench in front of its black and white keys.

“You play the piano?” you asked, not really knowing how to feel. The piano produced such a pretty and elegant sound, and you had a hard time believing a bad boy could play one. Though, at a second glance, Yoongi would look awfully handsome as a pianist in a suit and tie. “Do you do recitals and stuff?”

“I compose,” he said.

“Oh, like Gustav Holst,” you made a duck face, proud of yourself for being able to name a composer that wasn’t Mozart or Bach.

“Yeah, him,” he chuckled at you for utilizing the knowledge you had acquired from the one music history lecture he had brought you to. If possible, you wanted to tag along for more classes in the future.

“Can I hear one of your compositions?” As curious as you were about the kind of music Yoongi wrote, you were also a little afraid that you weren’t worth sharing something so personal with just yet. You fidgeted around with the white keys and played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with two wrong notes before the boy gave a response to your request.

He played a slow yet intricate piece with a melody and harmony that crossed fluidly between the left and right hands. His foot eased onto the pedal while his light fingers graced each note, giving the sound more style and flavor. It had an old-school feel to it, but you liked it. And all you could do was sit and listen. It amazed you that not only was he an amazing pianist, but he also had crafted such a beautiful piece.

“I don’t usually play my own compositions for other people,” he said as his fingers slowed and remained pressed against the final notes. “But you’re the exception, Sweetheart.”

“Do you really mean that?” you asked shyly, lowkey reminding yourself that you were dealing with a boy who’d played with your heart once before. “Or is that something you tell to everyone you bring here? Just like how you probably call them all your Sweetheart…”

“You’re the first one I’ve brought here. I don’t let hook-ups leave the bedroom, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Yoongi examined your face, as if to see if you were perhaps a little jealous. “And if you don’t like ‘Sweetheart’, then what pet name should I use? You seem too innocent for something like ‘Kitten’.”

Your face heated up at the way Yoongi said “Kitten” in that raspy voice of his. And he definitely took note of it.

“Ah, so you like ‘Kitten’?” he teased with a smirk.

“Just call me Y/N…!” you puffed your blushing cheeks. “I don’t want you to call me anything you’ve moaned in the middle of one of your filthy hook-ups.”

“Fine, Y/N,” he rolled his eyes. “But I want you to call me ‘Honey’.” Honey. That wasn’t the first pet name you’d expected him to want. Wasn’t that a little too endearing for a bad boy?

“Why?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Because it’s cute,” he began to speak in pout.

“But you’re not cute,” you lied, which earned you an irritated tsk from the boy.

“He is kind of cute,” a third voice echoed through the suddenly silent music room. By instinct, you clung to the closest thing in your vicinity, which happened to be the sleeve of Yoongi’s red flannel. You would’ve been prompt in distancing yourself from the boy as soon as you saw that the coast was clear, but with a pair of dimples to accompany the piercing fairy gaze staring you down, you decided against it. It was the leader of the Bulletproof Fairy Council, Namjoon, sitting at one of the other pianos in the room. How long had he been sitting there?

You gulped as the fairy began to play that scary Beethoven piece that Yoongi the “musical genius” probably knew the name of. Namjoon definitely wouldn’t be an easy fairy to deceive. It’d be all over if he caught you and Yoongi in the midst of your fake love. So you couldn't do anything stupid.

“Mmm, Beethoven’s 5th…” Yoongi left your side and instead slid his ass right onto the other bench next to the fairy to shake his hand rather tenderly. “Shall I play the Moonlight Sonata for you, Namjoon?” he hummed, gazing at the fairy with eyes that reflected both confidence and charm. Their fingers were now interlaced. You would’ve been all flustered with your heart beating out of your chest, but Namjoon remained completely unfazed by the other boy’s flirting bullshit.

“No thanks, I think I’ve heard quite enough,” Namjoon said as he pulled his hand back from Yoongi’s failed attempt and got up from the piano bench. How much of your conversation with Yoongi had he overheard? “And FYI, kissing up to us fairies isn’t going to give you better marks on your love evaluation.” And with that, the fairy vanished.

Yoongi stared at the spot next to him where specks of fairy dust still remained. Hiding beneath the sparkles was an evaluation card with a failing score of 24/100 signed off by Namjoon. You didn’t even want to read the comments—if he even cared enough to leave any.

“Wow, what an asshole move,” the boy shook his head at the pathetic score. “All because you had to say I wasn’t cute.” He was putting the blame on you.

“Excuse me? Last time I checked, you were the one trying to flirt with the fairy.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never flirted with that one fairy with the charming eyesmile.”

“Y/N’s only tried to flirt with me three times,” another voice appeared out of nowhere, only this time, it was from a much sweeter and gentler fairy. Jimin suddenly popped into the center of the room and chose to sit with you rather than Yoongi down at the other piano—an excellent decision in your opinion. Although, it did frighten you to know the fairy had been keeping score on your terrible flirting game.

“Why are you here?” Yoongi got up from his bench and walked towards you and Jimin. He crossed his arms, refusing to look at the cute fairy. It was the exact opposite of how he had acted around Namjoon, and that made you wonder: was he jealous of Jimin?

“Namjoon told me he didn’t grant you his approval,”’ Jimin lowered his head. “He said at this rate, your relationship won’t work out…”

“We’re trying…” You felt bad. As a soul-linked pair under Jimin’s name, if you and Yoongi couldn’t figure things out, the fairy would be at risk of losing his position in the Bulletproof Fairy Council. And the last thing you wanted was for someone as sweet as him to suffer for your stubbornness. “But it’s difficult.”

“Hmm, I think you guys just need to be more open.”

“How?”

“1) Y/N, don’t let it bother you that Yoongi’s a fuck boy,” Jimin spoke to you before turning to the fuck boy, “and 2) Yoongi, don’t treat the Soul Link like it’s a game.”

You snickered at Jimin’s lowkey shade towards Yoongi. But he was right. If you and Yoongi ever wanted to make things work, you’d have to at least try to get along and learn more about one another. And it certainly didn’t help that you could only ever see the bad boy side of Min Yoongi.

“Yeah, yeah. We get it. We’ll try harder,” Yoongi picked the small fairy up off the bench next to you and began escorting him out of the music room. “Now good bye.”

“Good luck, Y/N~!” Jimin called from outside of the room.

You didn’t even get to say bye to the fairy before Yoongi closed the door, as if that would stop another pesky fairy from magically popping inside the classroom. But now that the two of you were presumably alone, you needed to digest all the feedback you had received from the fairies.

“Did Namjoon leave any comments on the evaluation card?” You walked up to Yoongi so you could get a look at the card yourself, but he quickly pulled it out of your reach. “Let me see it!”

“You don’t wanna see it,” he teased as he swatted away your grabby little hands.

“Yoongi!” you whined, half-annoyed, half-amused at his sudden playfulness.

“Call me ‘Honey’ and I’ll give it to you.”

“Honey,” you hissed.

Yoongi gave you a look of dissatisfaction at your lack of enthusiasm, but still dropped the evaluation into your palms. He waited as you read Namjoon’s comments. First you read the ones about Yoongi:

“As far as I can see, Yoongi is making an effort, which says a lot considering he’s a fucking fuck boy. Though, flirting with me was not the smartest move on his part.”

You were genuinely shocked. Yoongi was making an effort? What did Namjoon see in Yoongi that you had failed to ever take note of? And when you couldn't come up with an answer, you just continued on to read the short comment about you:

“Y/N wants to fall in love, but just not with Yoongi.”

You reread the words over and over, your heart sinking a little more each time. Something ached in the pit of your stomach. That was why Yoongi didn’t want you read the comments. That was why he had been so bitter around Jimin.

And you wished you could deny it and say that wasn’t how you truly felt. But somehow, with his fairy brain and powers, Namjoon couldn’t have been more spot-on with your feelings—which also meant, he was probably right about Yoongi making an effort as well. And that only made you feel shittier.

The evaluation card slipped out of your grasp, and a second later you heard it being torn up and saw a pile of confetti accumulating on the floor. “Don’t spend too much time dwelling on it,” Yoongi said, handing you the last piece of confetti from the score card. “All we can do is take their criticism and make adjustments.” You nodded in agreement. That was probably the best solution.

As you walked the tiny confetti over to the recycling bin like a good person, you stopped in your tracks when your eye was caught by the words on the card that Yoongi had ripped off for you: “Y/N wants to find love”. In that moment, that might’ve been a truer statement than Namjoon’s original comment. With a tiny smile, you let the confetti flutter into the recycling bin before walking over to the boy and taking his hand. “Can we go somewhere?”

-

“But why the roof?” Yoongi let out a groan, although you were sure he had to be at least a little curious to see what you had planned. After all, his fingers were still comfortably intertwined with yours as the two of you climbed up the final set of stairs.

The moment you stepped outside onto the roof of the school building, the chilly winds blew your body closer to the boy until your arms were snaked around his. You stared up at the starry sky, trying to figure out what to say. Half of you wanted to apologize, and the other half wasn’t sure what you wanted to apologize for. It wasn’t your fault for wanting to fall in love with someone besides Yoongi, nor was it your fault that you refused to call him cute.

It was, however, your fault for closing yourself off from him, simply because you believed he was a troublesome bad boy. Even when he had shared one of his personal piano compositions with you, you refused to believe he did it with good intentions.

“Yoongi,” you spoke softly, still looking up at the stars. “I really liked your composition, and the way you play the piano so beautifully.”

“And we had to come all the way up to the roof just for you to tell me that?” He studied the sky reflecting in your eyes before glancing up to find the same stars you were watching.

“We came up here because I wanted to share something with you—just like how you had shared your music with me,” you turned to the boy and waited for him to look back at you. “Maybe stargazing doesn’t take as much talent as piano, but I always thought it’d be a romantic thing to do with a lover.”

“Ew, you’re such a romantic,” he teased, earning himself a nudge from your elbow.

“I don’t know if I’m necessarily a romantic, but I’ve given love a lot of thought. And not once did I expect things to turn out like this.” You tugged on the boy’s arm. “So I’m sorry if I seemed too guarded or uninterested.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that, Y/N,” he patted your head. “Just admit that I am in fact cute and I’ll forgive you.”

You gave him a dirty look, and it wasn’t until you saw his little pout illuminating under the starry sky that your expression finally softened. “Okay, fine. You’re cute, Honey Boy.”

“Honey Boy?” he laughed at the cute nickname, even though it wasn’t the exact one he had asked for.

“I think it suits you more than Honey,” you leaned your head against his shoulder. “At least for right now.”

[m0onbean]

strangers to lovers!AU with moonbin

genre: floOf!! strangers to lovers!AU

warnings: orchestra jokes

note: this literally happened to my sister except she didn’t get with him LMAO (and she’s in band but i’m in orchestra so i’m gonna make this AU about orchestra okay suck it candace)

in your school, orchestra is very competitive like... instead of sports being the “big” thing in typical high schools... at your town it was playing string instruments

so of course, everybody who was skilled at playing their string instrument was already deemed cool

you’re.. already at step 1... there’s just ONE problem

you’re last chair of the cellos

(note: in orchestras, the players are sorted in their seating chart by their skill. first chair is the chair closest to the conductor, so they’re the best out of their section. if you’re last chair... well.. you’re the least skilled LMAO)

bUT HEY!!!! you weren’t to blame !!!!

you first started to learn how to play the cello only a month ago

despite your private cello tutor’s efforts to spice you up it just didn’t work much. cellos are hard to play Ok

and even though it is a little embarrassing you can’t find yourself to care bc in the end you’re only doing this for your VPA credit LMFAO + your good friend MJ is also last chair in his viola section so the two of you were the Dynamic Duo. “the strings kings” as he calls it

“MJ never call us that again” “dang Y/N don’t get your bow so tightened” “MJ i swear to god-“

alrighty so your school is having a competition so your entire orchestra has to take a field trip to a fancy concert hall to perform

and so everyone in your orchestra is all panicking and tuning their strings cuz the bus is arriving soon

and when you’re done packing your cello, you look around to try and find MJ and that’s when you find a familiar(?) back and you’re like “MJ!!!!”

so you run up and smack his plush butt since that’s how you always greet him

...but you realize

this man is way too tall....

and when he turns around in utter confusion you’re like

shit........... S H I T

BECAUSE YOU JUST SPANKED THE BUTT OF A STRANGER

AND WHEN HE TURNS AROUND YOU REalize that he’s frEAKING FIRST CHAIR OF THE VIOLINS: MOONBIN

anD in your mind everything is scrambled into a mess bc first of all, it’s tHE FIRST CHAIR OF THE VIOLINS. AKA the king of the orchestra!!! literally he sits on a throne!!! he invented the word “orchestra”!!

AND IT WASNT EVEN LIKE A LOWKEY SLAP... it wAs like a FULL, haRD whack

so you’re out here apologizing several times and bowing your head frantically

but when you look up Moonbin is actually all cool about it

he’s just like “oh!!!! i wAs just... surprised” and you’re like “omfg i’m so sorry just end my life here right now i’m ready to be taken by the gods”

but he’s just like pffftttt i don’t blame you this ass is thicc asf

and you’re like ... wot

then he’s laughing and his eyes are crinkled up and he looks like a puppy & you’re like wow this man is so beautiful

but you remember you’re talking to the FIRST CHAIR VIOLIN and you get all

blushy from receiving this individual attention from him

so you excuse yourself and run away to whoever knows where so you can crumble and die from embarrassment

when the bus arrives and you find MJ to be your seat partner he asks why you look so drained

and you’re like... please i don’t want to talk about it

at the competition you’re still embarrassed bc honestly you technically sexually harassed him and that just goes unexcused but he was so chill about it like how?? and why??

and you don’t realize it but you’re zoning out while shamefully plucking the strings of your cello when suddenly a head pops up in front of you and you’re like bITCHWTF but when you see it’s moonbin you’re like- oh.. Ooh??

and he’s like “are you ready for the concert!!” and you’re like “uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh notreally”

and he’s all smiley and happy that it’s nearly impossible not to at least smile back

yet you still can’t believe you’re talking to him !!!! especially because you’re pretty sure everybody is staring at the two of you talking rn and is like Why is the last chair cello and first chair violin talking ????

you two end up complaining about how the concert hall doesn’t provide you guys free food and laugh about your conductor’s bald spot

the performance goes well and you feel all giddy when moonbin tells you that you did well when you get back to the school

you end up messaging him for the first time on Instagram and apologize once again for slapping his buttkckskskaoa

he ends up dismissing it and assures you that it was nice

and you were like ....???wHAT

but he quickly corrects himself in the next message bubble and is liKE “wAIT I DIDNT MEAN IT LIKE THAT-“

that’s when you start to question his kinks

at school he starts to normally hang around you and even offers to play your cello and for you play to his violin

the star musician is actually better than you at the cello even though he’s only played it a few times before

you don’t even know how to hold the violin bow RIP

whenever you’re not in orchestra class together, he somehow manages to find you while you’re studying in the library or walking around the hallways

at first you’re a little taken aback at how persistent he is to maintain your odd friendship but you actually don’t mind at all

he suggests to tutor you so you can sight read pieces better and you of course take up that offer...

for the first quarter of the “lesson” it was actually learning while the other time was spent lounging on his couch while talking about both of your hardships and goals in life

despite being pressured as the star musician of the school, he loves and can perfectly handle it

his parents and teachers are always praising him and that motivates him to enter a musical college and major in Music Education and maybe start his own teaching business

his dreams are always so realistic and hopeful at the same time that you just admire how hard working he is and how he manages to not crack like an egg under all of this stress honestly

MJ starts getting a little jealous and pouts when you started to hang around moonbin more often but at the same time is secretly rooting for the two of you to hook up wHAT

moonbin ends up spending a LOT of time with you... in fact he spends so much time with you that you can’t recall what it was like not being around him

somewhere throughout the friendship there’s a turning point where you realize he’s not just your friend.. or you don’t want him to be JUST that

it comes at no surprise when you shyly ask him to be your boyfriend while you two are cuddling in your living room while listening to classical music in the background with him reading a book and you playing with his fingers

his response? a little scoff like “isn’t it obvious we are practically already dating”

you’re a bit hesitant to fully submerge yourself into this relationship bc you always need to remind yourself of both of your circumstances... he’s first chair violin and he’s like wayyyyy above you and it worries you bc you care about his reputation

and when you voice these concerns to him he just pets you and softly says “(y/n)... it’s literally just string instruments . nobody cares”

... he’s totally right though. nobody cares at all lmaooolo,, except maybe all of his fans that were hoping to date him... but moonbin is totally oblivious that he has a fan club LMFAO

your relationship is so pure and innocent yet it still makes your head spin and heart feel so tingly

moonbin is romantic af and wouldn’t hesitate to pluck a flower off the ground and tuck it behind your ear casually

he would like to always compliment your voice and say it’s the best music he’s ever heard and will ever hear

likes to compose his own songs and title them very lowkey things that all refer to you such as... Untied Shoelaces or Beautiful Eyes

other times he’ll just flat out title the song “(Y/N)”

likes to kiss you... a lot.

kisses you everywhere and whenever. in the music room, when he’s about the leave your house after a night of studying and cuddling, while you’re just playing the cello and he thinks you look cute, when there’s a red stop light so he can pause driving and peck your lips

you two are so open that it’s so easy telling him anything. for ex you’re constantly worried about your future and feel like you’re lacking. he makes sure to tell you that you’re doing fine and that you’ll succeed at whatever you do

and you comfort him and remind him to take a break since he’s always striving for the best so he tends to overwork and be really hard on himself

Moonbin always teases you for being so entranced by his butt the first time you met and thanks to your butt fetish, the two of you are together now

and you can’t really deny it because... well.. he’s not wrong lmaooo

dates would include him in your room at 10pm complaining about how even though classical music goes underappreciated these days that doesn’t mean that modern pop music isn’t good while laying his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair and nod your head whenever he makes a good point

occasionally he’ll cook for you and you’ll try to compensate by cooking for him too but it never ends up good (AKA you two end up burning all of the food) so you guys resort to ordering pizza

moonbin is so grateful that you understand him and remind him that he is a human that needs a break, too

and you’re grateful that he’s so understanding and genuinely cares about you

he even confesses that one of the main reasons why he took interest in you was because you were last chair cello but you didn’t slack off at all

even though you think he’s the most hard working person you know, he thinks the same about you

eventually MJ meets Jinjin, a trombone player, and immediately goes on a double date with you & binnie

you almost shed tears at how in love MJ is with Jinjin and the four of you are literally the best squad to have happened

in conclusion, you and moonbin love eachother so much and are perfect bye

[everyrubicon]

It’s Yuletide!

I’m here!

Dear Yuletide Author,

First, thank you so much for writing for one of these fandoms!!! I'm really psyched about Yuletide. I'm going to enjoy what you write. So, know that.

Apparently my style is to throw everything up here and let you decide if you want to use any of it. Fandom-specific behind the cut.

story stuff I like: found family/team as family, competence porn, family dinners, undercover as lovers, there's only one bed!, training, first times (of anything), discovery, adventure, romance, journeys (emotional and physical),  vulnerability, talking through their shit, women being awesome, AUs, crossovers and fusions, gen fic, slice of life, learning to work together, missing scenes., case fic, world building, rituals/traditions, powers/abilities explored, time travel/loops, academia, folklore, they're in space!, take your fandom to work day, hygge, game night, five times

random stuff I will always love: flying (space, super powered, airplane, all of it), horses, knives, swords, swimming, libraries, sheets, that feeling of coming back home after a long day/trip, road trips, banter, laughter, concerts/live music, movie nights, old marked-up maps, , people who answer the phone without saying hello they just leap into the conversation or answer the question they know the person calling is going to ask, cellos, books, notebooks, brownies, sunsets, bonfires, that part of the morning where everything's still and it's not light out but it's not still night and the birds aren't even up yet, rain on the roof, leather, the smell of a bookstore

sexy times, should you want to include them: f/f, m/f, threesomes (+), orgasm delay, semi-public sex, enthusiastic consent, poly are all a green light

crossover/fusion fandoms: MCU, Legends of Tomorrow, Killjoys, Agents of Shield, Wynonna Earp, Farscape, X-Men, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, anything else it looks like I post a lot about.

stuff on the no list: rape, abuse, non-canon permanent character deaths, a/b/o, mpreg, watersports/feces, age play, bleak endings/hopelessness, betrayal, longstanding lies

squicks: pregnancy, infidelity, homophobia, hate in general, calling each other mommy/daddy, betrayal [If you, my sweet summer child, are now wondering what the hell a squick is, it's the kind of thing that, when you see it in the tags, you just keep scrolling past, or hit the back button, even if it's your OTP. You're not triggered, but you're not really into hearing it, thanks anyway.]

The fandoms:

Motherland Fort Salem: I love the world building here, but also the relationships between all these women. you don't have to include every nominated character, and feel free to bring others in-- I ran out of slots.   The request's words stand, but if you're looking for a little more... I'm hella curious about Anacostia. What's it like growing up an orphan in a military school? Did she hate that she had to enlist? Could she not wait? What does she do now that following orders got her cadet killed? Is that why she freed Scylla. And speaking of: did she skulk by the house Scylla went to so that she could check it out, or to join, or to just know where the hell the girl went/see if she was safe? Did Scylla know she was followed?

The Gifted: this family is so good for each other. If you wanna include Lorna, that's awesome, if you would like to keep her out of this, that's also awesome. I really enjoyed seeing how these three (and with Lorna, pre-Clarice) leaned on each other in turn, they kept each other going. I'm totally down if you want this to be a John/Clarice/Marcos deal, too. I think Marcos could have used a little more love in season 2, the boy was *stressed.*  

Maybe they've gotta move again? So road trip with the three of them in the car/hotel/side of the road while John goes to get gas he didn't think they'd run out of quite so soon. Training is always good, so maybe they try new power tricks together?

The way Clarice kept John grounded, focused, on the here and now instead of the responsibility and weight of the mission when he got stressed was something I really liked about their relationship.

Marcos and John have been together for a *while,* but they can be very different. One of my favorite exchanges between them happens when Marcos is pining and fretting over Lorna and the baby, and John says hope's a powerful thing, he just has to keep holding onto it. And then Marcos looks up at him and says hope is what's been killing him.

Chronicles of Elantra: I started reading this series back when it started, and then somehow took a break, but this year I caught back up. Now I'm only three behind--the last I read was Cast in Flight. So if you could please avoid spoilers for those last few, I'd appreciate it.

Okay, I totally missed nominations, which means I missed a chance to nominate characters. If you wanna stick with just Bellusdeo, that's not a problem. I like all of them. Teela, Anarion, and Mandoran, with Bellusdeo and Helen rounding out the home squad are my favs. Kaylin and Severn, too-- and him, not Nightshade, for the record. What's it like there on non-world in peril again time? Does Moran ever crash there now? What's Helen like with everybody?  In the books, we only really get Kaylin's pov, so it'd be interesting to see the same place or thing or story through someone else's.  

it's the weirdos and outcasts coming together that I love.

The Old Guard: I really love the side by side ass-kicking duo of Nile and Andy, they've got their shit handled. Or, the fighting shit, at least. I really love how tired Andy is of the world. If anything resonated with me in 2020, it was that. Her yelling at Booker to not leave her alone and living was *painful.* I like to think finding Nile put a little more interest back in Andy.

I have a deep fondness for them using their not-dying to thwart people--the car crash, the far too long fall, the plane in the movie. Yes, I'm a-okay with you using the movie cannon. They're not all that different (yet, just started the second arc), honestly, and I think the actors were prettier than the drawings, so that's who I see in my head.

Nile's whole art history interest is fantastic, too. And you know it wasn't just Rodin Andy knew. But how many "historical figures" did they run into? What have they seen? What do they still want to see? What do they all want to show Nile? (I'm feeling very 5 things about that, and if you are, too, run with it!) What human festival things do they check out? Burning Man? Oktoberfest? Pride? ...have they stood guard ove

I know this is really long, but please remember optional details are optional--if none of this helps, ignore it! I can't wait to read what you write, either way.

[tardigod]

Confession

a note: i rlly like writing cello. its relaxing. anyway, this is an au, of what kind i probably should have figured out before hand.

~~ Alternate title: You Remember ~~

You have never once held a conversation with Cj. You’ve seen each other, sure, and you wave and say “Good morning” or whatever greeting is acceptable, but she’s always too busy to talk.

You want to. She’s really cool and all everyone ever says is positive things!

(Kind of. Max isn’t the most positive, but you’ve learned what he means when he says that stuff, so it counts.)

So as you walk down the hallway to give whoever the files they need, you wave at Cj, as per normal. She waves back, as usual. Then she starts walking with you. Not normal.

You’re freaking out, internally, because what did you do to attract attention to yourself? Cj has stuff to do, you’re sure, why is she wasting time with you?! Did you say something, or phrase something weird, wrong?! How-

“Hey, Elliot, right?” You nod, feeling your curls bounce at the frantic movement. “Nice to talk to you.”

You nod again, cursing yourself for a lack of response. You clench the file out of habit, murmuring, “Yep, right back at you!”

You’re both walking still, and you start running through the names of people around you. Jackson, Felicia - wait she’s back? - Ophie, Sophia, Max...

Oh right! You need to give the file to Frea! You better hurry, she’s not the nicest to late people.

“Where are you going?” Cj is next to you again.

You wave the file, looking at it as to avoid Cj’s eyes. “Frea. Your boss, I think?”

Cj seems to understand that. “You need to go then. Actually,” She grabs your arm, pulling a pen out of nowhere you can see and scribbles a number on your wrist, “call me. I’d like to hang out with you!”

“Alright.” You feel a little breathless. Physical contact feels weird.

“Cj!” You vaguely hear Max yell as you scurry around the corner into Frea’s office. “There you are. F has a mission-”

You nearly fall as the door shuts behind you. You don’t have time for that, though, because Frea’s in front of you immediately and she looks angry. Shit. You hand the file to her frantically and catch the sight of Cj’s scrawly handwriting in the corner of your eye. You smile lightly and Frea catches it, glancing at your wrist herself.

She raises an eyebrow at it, but you think she decides it’s besides the point. She starts ranting about you being five minutes later than you were supposed to be.

...

Cj comes back bloody. You don’t like what you see as you scuffle around the Medical Room. She’s bruised and not speaking more than she has to. You recognize the signs of a hurt voice.

Who the hell decided this was okay? Who did this? Do I need to throw hands?

(Admittedly, you’d throw a flashlight at the person and call it good. But you don’t think about that.)

Frea’s in the room, watching as the two doctors take care of Cj. Max walks in shortly after you, curses flying around the room at the speed of light as soon as he starts talking.

“Cj needs rest!” The taller doctor starts speaking, “One of you needs to leave!”

You know Cj the least, and decide that its best for you to leave. Max has a different idea, immediately fixating on Frea.

“You. This is your fault. You knew she’d get hurt!” Frea doesn’t show emotion. She never does. You think she looks a little wounded though.

“False accusations. But I will take my leave. Stress is not good to have in this room right now.”

As the door slams behind the woman, Cj looks past the other doctor right at Max before seeing you. “Elliot!” Her voice is raspy. You knew she hurt it. Fuck.

“Hey.” You step towards the bed, keeping out of the doctors’ paths.

“Hello, Elliot. Haven’t seen you around lately.” Gwen looks up at you, tapping her clipboard. “You still helping us?”

“Of course, I need to practice still.” You keep your voice controlled, not wanting to feed into the stressful mood in the room.

David hums happily behind you, trying to talk to Max. He didn’t look happy to be stuck with the older man.

“Elliot, you know who I had to find?” You shake your head, feeling pain at how loopy Cj sounded. “C. C! He’s a better fighter than his age would have you believe!”

Blood loss. Gwen taps out and you aren’t surprised. Cj doesn’t recognize the pattern even though she knows morse code - all of you do, it’s required.

“What...” You feel the tears. “What did he do?”

“I don’t know, El! I went in there fine, and then next thing I know? I’m bloody, bruised, my neck hurts, and I have a needle in my neck!”

Information is the first thought that runs into your mind, but Cj’s more important than something she knew nothing of.

(You wonder if she remembers anything from before.)

(You know she doesn’t.)

Gwen snorts at that, doing something in the corner.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Cj adds, but you don’t buy it. Nothing’s ever fine.

You continue talking for a while. Eventually, you motion towards Max and let him take over so you can sneak out to Frea.

...

Storm brewing, you reach Cj’s office two hours after she got out of the Medical.

“Elliot? What’s wrong?” You can barely let her get over to you before your laughing.

You can taste lemon as you speak, keeping an edge of something you don’t care to identify. “Nothing! Just thinking about the fact the Frea destroyed everything I know! And all my memories! Not to mention the old summer camp, and yet I’m the only one that seems to remember!”

Cj looks confused, but you don’t let her interrupt. “David doesn’t even remember! C.C used to work here, ya know? Then he got arrested the first time and Frea took control!” Cj flinches at the name. You don’t notice. “She hated him! I do too, man, but here she is, acting like she’s better! She’s not! She’s worse, because at least Campbell didn’t brainwash us to be killers!

“We killed anyway, at the camp, but this? This is worse!” You’re out of breath and the tears you’ve been repressing are coming back. “I’m never gonna go home and see the only people I love again!”

Cj looks lost now, and isn’t next to you anymore. You think you look scary. “What? What are you talking about? I’ve never-”

“Don’t you remember Connor?! You adopted him, he was your brother! I thought you loved him!” You feel your heart break, seeing Cj shake her head with as much violence as she does now. You feel it break further as you remember seeing the blond boy’s dead body fall down the cliff you’d been huddled on, hiding. You remember being dragged kicking and screaming down the other side.

You remember the needles. The screams. You don’t remember if they were yours. You remember Cj yelling insults as they brainwashed you two into working for them. You remember the blank look that had followed Cj, Max, Nikki, and everyone else you’d known for weeks.

Cj’s holding you now, like she used to, and you feel yourself breaking down. She mutters something before saying, “Connor... sounds familiar.”

“He should.” Your silent. You don’t know what to say. “Hey Cj?”

“Yes, Elly?” You smile against your own will at the old nickname.

“Can we run away together?

~~

idk how to end this. i spent abt an hour on it. whooo. @askthecryptidhunter and @a-creative-camper here! have angst. i want to make a part 2 already but we’ll see.

[terassaras]

The Disorder Ensemble [1/?]

A Joker Game fanfic.

Synopsis: A modern AU in which everybody plays music in the D-Ensemble, which is always in perfect harmony on stage but hopelessly dysfunctional off stage.

Read here or on AO3. Do NOT repost on any other platforms.

Genre: Life musings, humor, light (some mild swearing possible)

Word Count: 2K

Nobody gets more excited than Odagiri about climbing four flights of stairs on a Saturday morning. Even if he has to carry a case big enough for a dead body and weighs about the same. Even if his lungs burn and his neck is on the line for unstable turn he makes on the steps. Even if it costs him every Thursday and Saturday and possibly every holiday he has for the rest of life. There is something thrillingly familiar at the top of the stairs, something which Odagiri can just hear through the cracked doors, and it gets his heart pumping more than the exercise already has.

There is one thing—and only one thing—which can bring this much color into his life, the one thing that had anchored him through the drifting, hazy years of his growing up, and the one thing he can never give up.

It is music.

Straightening his back, Odagiri somehow manages to regain a more regular tempo of breathing before the door. He picks up his bass case from the floor, taking one deep breath before swinging open the door—

And narrowly missing getting beheaded by a flying cymbal.

“Disorder is the order of the floor!”

The cymbal hits the wall behind Odagiri, tumbling down the steps in an earsplitting crash.

“Hell yeah, baby!”

Kaminaga’s loud shout echoes Hatano’s wild words. The latter, despite the fact that he is standing tall, seems to be drowning behind an assortment of drums, xylophones, marimba, and various other percussions, as well as a cymbal set missing one. At the other side, the former is waving a guitar above his head like a pom-pom—and given the guitar is covered in a rainbow of eye-catching stickers, it might as well be a pom-pom.

“Your ridiculous rock band practice is over half an hour ago. Settle down, will you?” Miyoshi suggests with an air of condescension. He is sitting in perfect posture on the front, farthest to the left, rubbing rosin against his bow as his violin rests on the empty chairs beside him.

“Not until Yuuki gets here!” Giggles Kaminaga.

“Yep, no chance!” Hatano confirms as he props the door open and goes to retrieve the poor cymbal, flashing a grin at the poor newcomer. “’Sup, Odagiri.”

“Uh. Hi.” Odagiri mumbles back.

Odagiri is never sure what the correct response to “What’s up” is, just as he’s never sure if Kaminaga and/or Hatano are running high on cannabis, caffeine, or crazy adrenaline alone. He goes to the front chair, farthest to the right, and unpacks his double bass.

“A cymbal.”

Odagiri pauses, noting the voice.

“There. Is. A. Cymbal. On the floor.” A stricken voice surfaces from the stairs. “What is precious ensemble property doing on the floor?”

“Just two idiots playing around as usual, Sakuma-san.” Miyoshi coyly responds.

“Have you any idea how expensive this—all of these—are!?”

“Chill man, I always hit this thing harder than I throw it.” Hatano smirks, picking up the cymbal.

“For God’s sake, when will you learn to take good care of our instruments!? They are NOT your toys! And they cost a lot more than what we make in a single event!”

“Awww, what’s wrong with having a little fun? Isn’t that the whole point of music?”

“You think treating musical instruments like this is fun!?”

Odagiri can’t see Sakuma somewhere down on the steps but he notices Sakuma’s own cello lying sideways beside him. That means Sakuma’s hands are free. Not to mention Sakuma’s appreciation of musical instruments has been nearing a dangerous level of worship, a contrast to Hatano’s more casual treatment (or rather, disregard). But whether Sakuma is fast enough to sock Hatano on the diaphragm is a crucial question.

“Oooh, a bodybuilder and a black belt fighting!?” Kaminaga says, perking up. “I’m here for that!”

“Idiots.” Mutters Miyoshi.

“Place your bets while you can, Miyoshi! Odagiri!”

Fortunately, before Odagiri can either bet or break up the argument—neither of which would end well for him—another person comes along and up the stairs.

“Good morning,” Jitsui smiles at Hatano and Sakuma, clearly in a cheerful mood, swinging his hard violin case with a sure grip like he would with a blunt weapon. “Please step aside, gentlemen, or I’ll turn you to bugs on a windshield.”

Hatano grins, Sakuma grumbles, and the two follow Jitsui back into the ensemble room. Soon enough the conversation rerouted itself among Hatano, Kaminaga, and Jitsui.

Odagiri sighs. He thought he’d come early like always and enjoy a peaceful practice by himself before the actual group practice, maybe even consult the usual early comers like Miyoshi and Sakuma about improving his play, but fate has it that the trouble trio arrives early today—the trouble trio of Kaminaga, Hatano, and any third person caught in their mischief.

Hence, it is a good thing that the next person to arrive in the ensemble room is a quiet one. Fukumoto walks in, cool as a cucumber, until he trips over his own foot and nearly crashes into Odagiri.

Unfortunately, Fukumoto does knock over a half-dozen music stands in the process.

“Sorry.” He apologizes without an ounce of panic, despite the others’ erupting laughter.

“Well, somebody’s tripping!” Someone shouts.

“He’s fainting cause he didn’t have enough breakfast! Somebody feed him!”

“It’s all right. Are you okay?” Odagiri asks, getting up to help Fukumoto fix the music stands.

“Yeah.” Fukumoto responds coolly with the slightest smile. He manages to align the music stands once again before he takes his place at the back of the string section and proceeds to set up his trombone. Odagiri has gone back into his seat.

“Good morning, fellas.” Gamou saunters in with a bright smile and a phone in hand. He looks around, checks his phone, then eases into small talk as he pulls out his viola. Though he looks relaxed, it takes him a while to actually start playing as he continues to check his phone repeatedly, slipping it in and out of his pocket. In time, however, he starts tuning his instrument under Jitsui’s strict supervision.

The next person signals his entrance by a lilting whistling. Tazaki gets to keep his breath and whistle all the way up the stairs because he carries the lightest instrument of all—the flute. Odagiri feels a little envious.

Tazaki pauses his whistling briefly and smiles. “Good morning, everyone.”

Likewise, Odagiri can’t help but be envious of Tazaki’s vast knowledge of music history and theory, things which Odagiri has only recently grasped. At the same time, Odagiri is aware that Tazaki’s knowledge has been accumulated over many years of class and reading and experience, something that he cannot gain that quickly.

 “You can’t do things at someone else’s pace—you have to do it at your own time. Find your rhythm, your own place. That’s the best way to learn.”

Find your rhythm.

Odagiri smiles. The words of his mentor rings true in his mind. He’s certainly not a natural like Kaminaga, experienced like Miyoshi, or quick at learning like Fukumoto, but agonizing over his own current deficiencies would not get him very far. He can’t let insecurities stop with his playing music or getting along with people, no—not anymore.

“What are you whistling, Tazaki? It sounds very familiar.” Odagiri asks as Tazaki settles next to Fukumoto to open his flute case.

“It’s ‘Morning Mood’ by Edvard Grieg,” Tazaki replies, smiling at him. “It’s famous by itself but there are actually two whole suites from which it’s taken. They are written for a play called Peer Gynt written by another Norwegian named Henrik Ibsen back in the late 1800s. Now Grieg himself was actually—“

“Sorry for being rude, Tazaki, but you need to get ready now.” Sakuma interjects, knowing that they have only five minutes till the supposed arrival of their conductor.

“Heh, you just don’t wanna hear another one of Tazaki lectures, don’t you!” Kaminaga laughs.

“That’s what you get from a music teacher.”

“You mean nerd!”

“You’re right, Sakuma,” Tazaki nods calmly. “I apologize.”

“No, I should be the one apologizing!” Odagiri argues. “I’m the one who stopped you and bothered you with a question!”

Tazaki smiles kindly. “Oh, not at all. I’m too happy to oblige. Or rather—I can’t resist to oblige.”

“Ah, I see.” Odagiri says with a clumsy chuckle. “Um. Thanks.”

“You’re most welcome.”

In his awkwardness, Odagiri’s hand starts fidgeting, randomly plucking at his bass strings. A musical instrument is good to way to occupy nervous hands—and nervous minds.

Suddenly, the door opens with an unceremonious bang.

“Morning! I’m sorry I’m late! Or am I?”

Amari rushes in, hair in a messy ponytail and shirt in a half-ironed state, catching his breath. He is holding a trumpet case in one hand and a perfectly dressed Emma on the other.

“Finally, the band leader is here!”

“Yes, hello! Sorry I’m late, guys! I just got up and had to feed and dress Emma and stuff—“

“Papa forgot where he put his car keys again,” Emma said matter-of-factly as she wiggles in Amari’s arms.

“Hey, Emma, you’re not supposed to tell them that!”

“But Papa, you say we have to be honest!” Emma pouts. “This morning I already have my pink shirt on and I turned off the TV and then I put cookies in my bag, so I said we have to go now Papa now, but you didn’t come out. And you didn’t come out because you forgot your car keys.”

Amari sighs and smiles.

“…Emma darling, you just made a very good point, and I regret being a good father.”

The room breaks into another fit laughter. Emma, who doesn’t quite understand the humor, giggles along as Amari pats her hair lovingly.

“Emma is too smart for you, Amari!”

“Take it easy, man!

“We’re still waiting for Yuuki to arrive.”

“Thanks, guys.” Amari laughs. “I walk in and you’re already playing nice like this. I should come late more often!”

Emma jumps down from Amari’s arms and makes herself at home on the corner with coloring book and crayons. Amari has taught her to not bother the musicians and Emma is fully capable of being sweet and quiet when the ensemble plays. Besides, Emma knows perfectly well that when practice is over she could turn everybody into her playmate.

Meanwhile, Amari doesn’t bother with his instrument. He sets up his trumpet and sheet music and put them down. Instead, he makes rounds and asks everybody how they are doing, responding appropriately to each person’s answer. Whatever tension was in the room before he came, it has all but dissipated in his gentle presence. Amari even knows how to persuade the reluctant Odagiri to open up. This ability to connect with and warm up with so many people—Odagiri is pleasantly surprised.

The ensemble members--they are people separated by age, profession, and background. They are different but equally strong personalities and individualities—which often leads to clashes, fist-less fights, and bad humor. But whenever they play music together, which they do often, they easily fall into the same friendly frequencies. The outside world, their worries, their woes—nothing matters but the time that they spend together creating music. Odagiri knows no better experience of living and being in the present than in that moment. It is a time he cherishes most.

Soon, the practice room at the fifth floor becomes filled with the dissonant sounds of voices and overlapping instruments. Despite the lack of heating in the large space, the chatter feels warm. Conversations are all over the place. Some of the men wear fashionable outfits, some prefer loose sweatshirts. Some play music as professionals, others only as a hobby. Some are relatively new to music, others claim to be veterans. Some are quieter, focused on playing and listening, and some are gregarious, eager to share their energy. Some are busy with tuning or polishing their instruments, some are busy socializing, teasing, or laughing at each other. Every practice is different and every practice is unpredictably fun.

There is absolutely no order on this floor—and that, Odagiri observes, is the perfect order of things.

Author Notes:

FIrstly, shout outs to D-Ensemble patrons! @dollofdeath​ @alitheia-to-yonde​ @alifiadjuhana​ !!!

Now,

1. It seems I like to use a lot of words even if not a lot happened. 2. I wrote this on a whim and with no plan whatsoever - all in under six hours. 3. Based on a Modern Musician AU drawing I did for Kai @dollofdeath which led to Kai’s drawing, and then some headcanons, and  then some more, and then this. Will update with new chapters...at some unspecified point in time.

Disclaimer: I have approximately zero hours of musical training so I don't know why I'm even writing a Modern Musician AU. But even so I hope you enjoyed the story!

Critics, comments, and suggestions are welcome.

[thevalicemultiverse]

Things You Need To Know About: Somewhere In New York

Tag: ~V: Somewhere In New York

Premise: A modern-day AU/offshoot of The Forgotten Vows Verse where, after the mess with Bumby, Victor and Alice decided it was time for a fresh start and moved across the pond to America – New York City to be exact. Now parents with a teenage daughter, Madeline, they’re navigating the usual domestic troubles life brings. And sometimes some a little more extreme…

This AU is an exclusive with liddellvxndort – we played a bit with it on the old Forgotten Vows blog, and I once again made it a proper separate verse when I moved over here. The backstory is roughly the same as the main Forgotten Vows Verse, only taking place in the 1990s, with the actual AU picking up after Alice kills Bumby and Victor regains his memories. Happy at first to be free of his tormentor and for his mind to be his own again, Victor soon found that he was uncomfortable living in Houndsditch (more than usual, that is). The memories of the abuse he had suffered there crushed him under their weight, making him seek an escape. He refused to return to Burtonsville, however, and Alice was reluctant to head back to Oxford thanks to her old traumas. So, one day, he suggested something drastic – leave England altogether and start over anew in a whole new country. Alice was in favor of putting it all behind them, and once they were sure the Houndsditch Home was in safe hands with Dr. Wilson and June, they hopped on a boat and crossed the Atlantic, settling in New York City.

After the usual period of adjustment from emigrating across an entire ocean, the two made the city their own. They married in 1996, and two years later were blessed with a daughter named Madeline, born June 9th, 1998. (Victor's joked more than once that she was the best birthday present Alice ever gave him.) Madeline proved to be a sweet (if somewhat clingy) child, who inherited her father's face and music skills (though her preferred instrument was the cello) and her mother's green eyes and boundless imagination. The three lived in (literal) harmony and happiness for years...

And then, when Madeline was fifteen, came The Incident. Victor only saw the aftermath – his daughter bursting in the door, disheveled and sobbing, pouring out a story about a strange man who'd trapped her in an alleyway – but it was enough to let him know what had happened. Utterly heartbroken over the loss of his daughter's innocence, he tried to support her, but she pushed him away, preferring instead to hide away from the world in her room. And when she finally came out...

Well. Victor wasn't sure what to make of it. Gone was the sweet-natured girl who played duets with him in the morning and spent her nights lounging in the comfiest clothes she could find. In her place was a snappish, closed-off woman who seemed determined to show as much skin as possible and often disappeared during the wee hours of the night, only to come back reeking of beer and what he eventually learned was weed. It was like his daughter had been replaced by a stranger. He did his best to support her, offering encouragement and trying to steer her gently away from her more self-destructive behaviors, but for a while, it seemed nothing would bring his beloved Maddie back.

Eventually, though, she seemed to find a balance. She stopped sneaking out and drinking (though Victor notices she still seems to get hungry at odd times), and some of the old comfortable wardrobe returned, at least for nights spent at home. Victor's just hoping that this new Madeline still has time for her father. And that she can eventually find happiness in life again, much like he and Alice did.

Which means if this new boyfriend of hers hurts her, he might have to follow his wife's example of how to deal with unwanted suitors...

While this looks to be mostly a domestic stuff verse, the backstories of all three characters contains rape and assault. Also possible drinking/drug references, since Madeline will indulge over on her own blog. Just keep an eye out!

This verse has no sub-categories – threads can be set anytime without any major changes of location or cast.

Common NPCs:

None so far – decorusmentis is playing the Alice of this verse, and so far I have had no need to NPC anyone. We'll see if anything changes!

Shipping: Victor/Alice, again just like the main Forgotten Vows Verse. Would be weird if it wasn't, given Madeline's their daughter!

NPC Ships: None

Important Facts:

This is liddellvxndort's AU first and foremost – I'd recommend reading her post on Madeline's past if you want to know more about her character and all she's been through. (In particular, it has more information on The Incident and its aftermath.)

Say hello to the oldest Victor (well, oldest who didn't get a post-death reboot back to 19, like In The River Valley's Victor) of my verses! According to Madeline's mun, this version of Victor and Alice got married at age 22, and Madeline was born on Victor's 24th birthday. Since she's about 18/19 now herself, that makes Victor about 43! He's aged pretty well – some more lines around the eyes, some grey in his hair, a few necessary grunts when getting up from a chair. He might not be quite as sprightly as his younger selves, but he does his best to keep up with his teenager.

Thanks to his own backstory and The Incident, you can imagine that Victor's pretty damn protective of the women in his life. Anybody who makes any insinuations in his askbox is going to find out just how scary he can be when he's angry. Especially now that he's a father.

On the flip side, I easily see him as the most domestic of the little family. He bakes regularly, and I imagine him as responsible for most of the regular meals too. I'm going off the idea that he's kind of a househusband for now. (And perfectly happy to be so.)

Threads in this verse are exclusive to my partner liddellvxndort! I will however accept asks, and if someone asks for a headcanon post or simple meme response, I'll probably do it.