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fridgemissionmaster · 15 days ago

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Can’t Sleep, Love: You can’t sleep and bug your demon about it (bros)

It was too hot. Well, your body was, the world beyond your bed freezing. Your mind could not stop racing, paranoia screaming at you to turn on the lights, look around the corner, to not keep your back to the door. Stress squeezed your lungs, breath shuttering.

It was the middle of the night, and you could not sleep. Even if you tried something deep in your belly knew it’d be restless, nothing but nightmares.

Was this any better though, being stuck in your head, waiting through every agonizing second, eyes flickering to the clock just waiting for morning to come.

Stomach churned, acid threatening to crawl up your throat, that disgusting aftertaste clinging to the back of your tongue, the stress of… everything, making you sick.

You just… could not stand to stay in bed anymore. What then though? Doom scroll knowing you’d only get a headache and placing the final nail in the coffin of you getting ANY rest at all?

Warnings: Lucifer: alcoholism, Leviathan: references to lesson 16, Satan: allusions to death/murder, Beelzebub: references to lesson 16

Lucifer

Surely the workaholic was still awake, signing papers meant for the prince, responsibilities not his own being shoved his way.

Your heart raced, was it the wide awake-exhaustion or the paranoia pricking at the back of your mind, you couldn’t discern.

Foot falls quickly and quietly padded across those wooden floors.

You weren’t sure why Lucifer’s office was hidden away, everybody knew where it was, it practically being treated as another common room like your bedroom or kitchen, yet there was still something… enchanting about having to tug on the out of place book to make the bookshelf jolt, before sliding to the side, just enough for the entrance way to be revealed as well as that staircase beyond it.

You froze for a moment on the top of those steps, those piercing eyes already on you. You expected to find them possibly leering from the desk, but no.

An arm lazily draped over the backrest of the couch, head smooshed and resting against the shoulder he peered over to you, face completely flushed, just about as red as his eyes or his nail polish.

A piano and violin duet drifted through the air.

He just stared for a while before a dopy smile slowly drew on his lips.

The sleeves of his button-up were rolled up, gloves discarded on the table beside bottles, several knocked over empty of their contents.

You knew the man had some alcoholic tendencies but…

You hoped it wasn’t as bad as it had appeared in the moment and that he was just very stressed from whatever nonsense Diavolo discarded for Lucifer to clean up this time.

He made no move but those eyes following after you as you crept down those steps. Once you couldn’t be followed any more, he turned around, grabbing one of those bottles, almost knocking another one over in the process before filling that empty champagne flute.

Cheerily he held it to you, the glass slightly tiled, off kilter in hand, that blue liquid almost spilling out. Quickly you took it, fearing Lucifer would lose his grip.

Those fingers twitched as they brushed against your’s, a soft sigh escaping him as he reached out, a hand on your own feeling that warmth. Delight played across his face as he squeezed your hand. A little giggle came spilling out, lightly jostling himself much more than a giggle should.

His breath reeked of this pungent fruitiness, practically burning as it hit your skin.

You let yourself be pulled in by that weak tug, the pair of you swaying across the room, the situation feeling almost dream-like.

He looked to you smiling ever so bright, so unguarded. Even as he tripped back, not crashing with you there to pull him up, his head thrown back in uproarious, almost hysterical, unnerving laughter. It was a new angle to see how sharp his chin was from the underside, his neck surprisingly thick and sturdy, shoulders broad, hair pulled back obscuring none of his face.

He did not refuse as you pulled him close to sway, his face flopping into the crook of your shoulder, a light pitiful laughter still escaping him, almost like crying.

Somehow you managed to drag him along, the man stumbling and humming all the way, the pair of you still in a dance. You regretted going up the stairs, Lucifer almost falling back, making you swear you got a heart attack from the incident.

Finally you managed to get back to his room. It was easy enough to get him to take those last few steps to bed.

You felt the bed bounce under you, Lucifer’s grip on your shoulder tight as he did as told. Even laying down he still swayed a little, incoherent mumbles melding into soft hums.

He felt so pliant under your touch yet you didn’t have the heart to pull away, not with THE avatar of pride nuzzling into your neck, holding you meekly like he didn’t have the strength to but wanted to keep you close. You couldn’t pull any quilts or sheets over yourselves but you did manage a throw blanket.

He melted and crooned as your fingers carefully brushed through his hair, brushing it out of his face. You shushed him sweetly as he tried to speak, you both needed rest.

WARMTH!

He awoke with a start, almost obliterating the intruder beside him before he saw, it was you.

You were beside him on the bed.

Sleeping soundly.

With a groan Lucifer clutched his head, it pounding and throbbing, that awful pain pulsing through it.

You

That wasn’t a dream, dancing together, not this time. But it was always a dream, having that quiet moment in the late night hours. It HAD to have been! Otherwise!

Desperately he tried piecing together those fragmented moments.

What the hell did he say to you in his drunken stupor!? Did he scream out his love for you? Did he say something unbecoming or beg you to stay with him or…

With a sigh he laid back down.

Just what were you doing up so late…

He didn’t like the dark spots under your eyes. Did he keep you up, had you only started getting sleep in the early morning hours to make sure he didn’t get up and do something stupid?

Holding you close he decided it was best to simply wait and rest after placing you back in your own bed. He could inquire about the night once he sobered up and you hopefully forgetting the incident, thinking it simply a delirious dream.

Mammon

He always broke into your room, why couldn’t you do the same to him. It was only fair.

Dashing down those empty halls, tripping over the stairs, you practically sprinting to his room.

It was always surprising how bright the man’s room was at night, soft glows from game systems, lights in display cases, and most notably of all the ones in the headboard of his bed, keeping the area around it gently illuminated more than the rest of the room.

It was easy for one’s eyes to adjust to this unlike the harsh florescents of Levi’s fishtank.

With a flop you fell on the bed, it shifting more than you expected, but you had awoken your first man, him practically leaping out of the thing with a loud, cutoff yelp.

Damn, and you wanted to poke his sleeping face, it’d of been funny.

Buggy eyes stared at you, your hand clamped over his mouth, a finger over your own, after all if the eldest caught you two surely he’d lecture you both the whole day through, for breaking bed time curfew, DESPITE YOU BEING GROWN DAMN ADULTS!

He glared, the look having no bite before it quickly melted away as it always did.

WHAT TH-

A hand clamped over your mouth before that squawk could escape you, Mammon trying to keep in his cackling, shoulders trembling, a bright smirk on his face, dewy sleepy tears in the corner of his eyes.

He LICKED you hand! THE CHEEK OF THAT MAN!

And you were too slow, seeing the glint in your eye and pulling back, leaving you to look the fool with your tongue sticking out.

Damn it, that smile and laugh too infectious, you couldn’t help joining in as much as you wished to stop yourself and feign indignation at his antics. Then again, you did kinda start this from his point of view, didn’t you…

You fell over, face landing on his pillow. Your demon looked to you, confused. He studied you, Mammon always did, why would anyone not want a closer look at the most precious treasure?

…

He laid down next to you.

Mammon always had that rugged charm, even with hair tussled and drool dried to the corner of his mouth he looked handsome. It was hard to read his expression in that moment, but there was definitely something. Calm… serious perhaps? Well dragons always took guarding their hoard seriously.

And he got up and left?

You sat up, watching as he went up those steps, pausing for a moment tilting his head to the top before continuing.

Well… what else was there to do but follow?

A door to his Demonio open for you, him already behind the driver’s seat, an arm hanging across your seat. But wasn’t this car THAT one? Literally the first thing he ever bought after…

Normally, being in such an expensive and sentimental piece one would be nervous to touch the thing fearing hurting it, and it’s owner’s feelings, however… just like ALWAYS, Mammon made you feel comfortable, relaxed.

He quirked a brow as you just stood there before smirking and coaxing you in.

That sort of… confidence, or whatever one wanted to call it, that sort of soft cockiness. That was one trait one could never deny the man had, even under all that impulsive recklessness that got him dismissed, that stride, that swagger of a man with the whole world in his pocket. A jewel to be held only in a velvet case. Strong, and soft.

Those eyes slightly droopy from sleep and unguarded.

Truly a beautiful contradiction of a person at first glance.

Smile sharp, a fang on full display, giddiness beginning to overtake him. He gripped the wheel tight, the pair of you were going to have to peel out of there fast once the garage door opened, the thing a bit too loud, especially in the middle of the night.

Engine roared the moment his foot slammed on the pedal, tires screeching for but a moment sharply turning!

Colorful lights raced by, the car slowly slowing down after that sudden burst. You were at one of the high paths, the heart of the city seemingly far down below, the castle now in the distance the only thing near your level.

Neither of you reached for the radio, the purr of the engine enough.

Soon lights disappeared, fading into the distance, roads slightly bumpy, gently rocking the car, the occasional soft bump disturbing the consistent movement.

… Were the seats heated? Or had it just been that long since you had last been in a car at night, you didn’t remember it being this cozy though. You looked to Mammon as if that’d magically give you an answer. He still faced the rode, yet he was looking to you too from the corner of his eye.

Actually where were you going anyway?

It didn’t matter really, whatever plan Mammon had, you’d follow, just as he would for you, hell, you didn’t ask questions when following him to the car, so why would you now?

It was nice though…

The road ahead seemed endless.

Damn his neck hurt. As comfortable as his 666 Lexura was, it wasn’t meant to make for a good bed.

Maybe for a demon at least, you seemed just fine.

…

Good, the dark spots under your eyes faded some.

He leaned back, taking in that gorgeous moonrise. He was so tempted to startle ya, it was only fair after the scare you gave him, but… he couldn’t, you were finally asleep after looking so exhausted.

He’d just get his revenge later. For now, since the pair of you were out anyway, where should you go next? Maybe just keep driving, he’d run into something you’d like eventually.

Leviathan

At the very least, you knew with almost certainty that you weren’t the only one awake.

Up the stairs, around the corner that place was not far.

It was almost instinct to knock and recite those phrases when standing before that door, however on nights like these, you had to use a different key. Before even leaving your room you sent ‘.’ in the group chat, then when arriving at that door it was already open a crack.

You always had to cover your eyes when sneaking into the room, the screens and fishtank too bright and blinding, the space no different than it would be during the day.

Keys softly tap, tap, rapped away, the only sound other than the hum of the computer and tank.

You took a minuet to sit on the floor behind that thick bookshelf, it’s shadow blocking just enough so it all wasn’t as much of a strain on the eyes.

It these moments you really got to take in Levi’s room, usually whenever you were here you were dragged straight before some screen or there was an emergency, it was rarer to just… BE there.

Watch as the reflection of the water above shimmered and danced across the floor. It always felt so cold there, but it wasn’t bad like air conditioning blowing directly on you in a winter’s day. No, there was no movement constantly reminding out of it, the feeling hung still in the air tenderly enveloping you.

Occasionally a warped shadow would come by, it broken up into what seemed like many and you’d look up, being greeted by Henry happily swimming along.

Eventually, when you were no longer blinded you’d creep out of that space, taking a blanket out of the tub as you made your way to the beanbag chair in the corner.

His back was to you still, so your gaze drifted back up to those hypnotic waves.

Not long and you heard his voice say something, assumably to the mic on the headset.

In that cozy console corner Levi always had your game within arm’s reach. There was a time when you were here almost every night with the only other one still awake in that haunting house so it was convenient to not have to dig it out every time.

Even after it’s long since been the time of Belphie’s return, and sleep choked your lunges, mind terrified to rest, something screaming this would be the last, there was always a place for you here, every night, no matter what.

A calm farming game…

What were you doing last? It had been so long you had forgotten.

Levi’s character kept waving to you, and you waved back. After taking a few steps away he waved again. Might as well follow.

Through the tunnel, onto the boat, it then dawned on you. You and Levi just unlocked a new farm land.

And so you followed him around, gathering materials and cleaning up the land while he ran around finding whatever was near by.

…

He played thousands of times before you were even born, and yet he always seemed so excited, running around your character and taking you someplace like the waterfall that had that rarer ore or to show you one could recharge more stamina when there were capybaras in the hot springs.

It was a long time after you started to play this together and a long time ago when Leviathan once admitted to you this was one of the first games that really made him happy, no matter how rough the day, it was this one that made things easier, that was why when you came to him that very first time, he brought out this one. You just didn’t want to be alone and would have been content with just sitting beside him… he couldn’t stand it.

All the files were filled and he ended up deleting them all, telling you they were all completed and he’d be needing more room to play again anyway some time soon.

Even this time there was only one file, all the others still empty.

The game wasn’t tedious, but there were repetitive tasks like watering the crops until you implemented sprinklers or petting the animals while gathering their products. The daily pattern was calming, engaging enough to keep your mind away from your thoughts but easy enough you could just… do them not over think about it.

Levi would collect you by the time you were done, give you a meal to recharge your stamina before taking you on an adventure, sometimes a side quest for one of the town’s folk, sometimes going to the woods to befriend a new monster to add to your ranch, sometimes to actually continue the main story of the game for once, sometimes you arrived at a festival or friendship event.

Honestly such a peaceful life, it was no wonder this was once of Levi’s favorites.

It always caught you by surprise when Levi save at the end of the day before quitting, not continuing to another day. Gently he pulled you up before filling his tub with blankets and pillows before leading you inside, and…

…

It was always easy to tell when you were falling asleep, and he didn’t want a repeat of that first night together when he kept you up the whole night and Lucifer ended up getting mad at you for napping in class.

He never went back to gaming too quick, paranoid you’d stumble into a nightmare soon after closing your eyes. He’d simply watch you for a little bit.

Truly a filthy, disgusting person, wasn’t he. To like knowing you’d go to him out of all his brothers, even if it was only for the convenience that he was already awake. Didn’t even have the confidence to tell you he couldn’t play that game without you, with you in his life, he didn’t need the escape, that you brought him more joy in the time spent together than all the happiness accumulated in his endless life.

Pathetic.

The least he could do was keep watching over you, play on one of his portable systems as to not be a TOTAL creep, keep his headphones off and volume low to hear you, glance over to check just in case.

Satan

There was just a chance, maybe Satan had gotten so absorbed in a book he hadn’t realized the time and was still awake too. But did you really wanna risk death by angry demon or collapsing mountain of books?

…

Yeah, you did, better than this torture at least.

Scampering down the halls, holding your breath you tried remembering that light spell, you certainly were not going to attempt going in there blind, you weren’t that eager for eternal rest.

You just hoped no books blocked the door as you tried getting in, you couldn’t stand being stuck in that echoing, creaking hall for long.

Perhaps you used a bit too much force for those imaginary books, the door easily slamming open, before immediately shutting due to the pile behind it collapsing.

…

So it was now an excellent time to run for your life!

Hell, even get caught on your own foot and crash down the stairs, certainly much faster than running down them, right!?

Fumbling in you practically threw your door shut.

Wait…

HE PROBABLY HEARD THAT!

Damn it, and you couldn’t even remember if there was a light in his room or not, did you just wake him!?

HOLD ON maybe, maybe he’d just assume it was a cat??????

OF COURSE HE WOULDN’T WHO WERE YOU KIDDING, YOURSELF!?!?!! AS IF!

Look, he liked you, you’re special and get privileges, maybe he wouldn’t be too mad… Even so you weren’t sure you could look him in the eye. Hi Satan I couldn’t sleep so I thought to wake you up about it. That was just rude and annoying, wasn’t it.

You proceeded to scream into your pillow from the anguish of it all.

Why couldn’t you just sleep like a normal per-

creek

…

RUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRURNRUNRUNRUNRUNRNRUNRUNRUNRRN

Items knocked to the floor, window thrust open with such force for a moment you wondered if it cracked before throwing yourself out hearing the door crash open.

Okay, OKAY woods! Woods are good! Hell, Satan literally got lost in em and thought the pair of you would never make it back in them! PERFECT!

Breath caught in your throat, heart pounding, vision blurred you kept running, even as your bare feet hurt, howls and scratches rang out, branches snapping you kept running.

You j-

Air was knocked out of your lungs as you were tackled hard in the back, yet never did you meet the ground.

And you… fell back? Your view was filled with leaves and branches, the occasional light of a star peaking through as the wind swayed that dark green curtain back and forth.

You didn’t dare move, strong arms trapped you, squeezing you, but not too tightly. Hot breath crawled across your neck in puffs. You could feel a pulse beat against your back.

And there you stayed for a long time, you thought at least, it certainly felt like it.

Slowly you were sat up.

There you were, in Satan’s lap. His eyes, they seemed feral, pupils sharp and thin that dark reflection somehow wider and brighter, his gaze boring through you.

And they closed before nestling his forehead against your’s. His jacket was draped over your shoulders. Despite his slim figure he seemed to lift you up with ease, carrying you along.

Funny how this time it was like he knew the woods like the back of his hand already getting the pair of you out. Admittedly the House of Lamentation was a little off in the distance but still. Of course after that incident he’d memorize the place like the back of his hand.

… Wait, then shouldn’t he have caught you sooner!? How did you get so far!? He seemed to know what you were thinking, his little proud smile shifting to something charmingly smug, simply holding you closer somehow.

It was going to be a lengthy walk back. You were tempted to tell Satan you could walk on your own and he didn’t have to carry you, but something in you knew better.

Under his breath he muttered a spell, any nicks and scratches on your feet and ankles going numb. You almost missed it, his voice so quiet amongst the sound of insects chirping and humming around.

And warm… he felt so warm against the cold.

With you he looked up to those shimmering stars above.

Huh…

He could wake up like this every day.

You and he in one another’s arms, warm and cozy in the quiet.

Idly he smoothed a hand up and down your back watching your peacefully sleeping form.

It was cute how when he tried placing you in bed you still held on to his neck, who was he to refuse your wishes.

He had plenty of time to ponder why you decided to start that little game of cat and mouse last night, but he had to admit after the initial worry that something was wrong and he saw you simply couldn’t sleep and wanted to play a game, he couldn’t help but hug you tighter, a twinge of excitement sparking in his chest!

You could be so cute, did you know that?

But now what? He knew for certain he wouldn’t be wanting to let you go any time soon. Maybe, you were trying to ask for attention in a round about manner, it’d only be fitting to ask you out and get away for the day.

For now, maybe he’d try getting more sleep, a moment like this with you was rarer what with his brothers always around so he should take advantage of this opportunity to simply be with you.

Asmodeus

No, you couldn’t. Asmo was very particular of his routines, including his beauty sleep, you couldn’t interrupt that.

…

Then again, how was he always able to fall asleep like clockwork? Maybe it’d be alright to just wake him up for a moment, ask, then let him go back to sleep. It’d be like nothing happened!

Quickly you tiptoed across the house, making sure not to make a sound as you passed the other’s rooms.

It was easy enough to slip in, no curses to keep others from getting in to pull pranks, steal things or some such.

The only light there was came from moonbeams through the window casting the place in a soft, pale, ethereal glow. Honestly whith how particular the man could be about his athletics he probably arrange for his room to look as such at night purposefully. That and all the flowers around and for a moment your mind genuinely wondered if you had accidentally stumbled into a fairy’s garden for a moment.

… You couldn’t help that twinge of annoyance that even when dead asleep the man was gorgeous. When he was trying he was beautiful but even when he’s NOT trying he still is! Or did he manage to make sure he always slept in the most perfect way to be oh so alluring to any possible passersby…

Who were you kidding, he probably did, if you didn’t know Lucifer you’d think Asmo to be the world class workaholic in the family.

His perfection had always been eerie to an extent, maybe it was something like ‘too good to be true’ that there had to be a catch to all this, you felt getting too close would spell your doom, that this moment was simply a trap. Yet still you dared to sit on the edge of the bed and… just took it in for a moment. The peacefulness.

And you poked his cheek. Very soft. Very squish and plush. 10/10 would poke again, and so you did a few more times, just to temp fate and prove to yourself that your anxiety was panicking over nothing.

It was funny seeing him unconsciously and languidly bat at whatever kept poking him. He was a surprisingly deep sleeper, you just needed to pause for a minuet before he seemed to be knocked out again for you to keep up your timid, ticklish assault.

You froze when those eyes cracked open.

He seemed confused blinking once, twice slowly. Then a pout formed on those lips. Your face cradled in the palms of his hands, thumbs pressing over the area under your eyes.

Did you have dark spots? Could he see them even in the dark? The moon’s borrowed light was at your back casting you in shadow so surely he couldn’t have noticed such a minor difference so easily, right?

With a little high pitch groan and stretch he sat up, an airy sigh escaped him, the one that always did when he had to state the obvious.

Of course he’d notice, he could never overlook a single thing about you even if he wanted too.

Before you could speak and ask your question you were gently shushed, Asmo weakly tugging on your shoulders. Not sure what else to do you followed that force laying down on the bed, silk sheets and fluffy quilt draped over you.

Leaving a peck on your forehead and he was gone.

It was not long and he was back by your side, tugging on your arm. The moment you got up a fluffy robe matching the one he wore was wrapped around you.

Of course it fit you perfectly.

He hung off your arm, leading you along out the house.

You often forgot there was a whole garden here, it was rarer for you to ever come by it, when chores were doled out Beelzebub almost always volunteered to look after it so it was not like you ever got a chance to work on it, and you certainly never had the free time what with angels, demons, monsters, reapers, ghosts and all manner of other beings fighting for your attention for you to take time to properly explore the place.

Rose archways, wall shrubbery, patches of various flowers you didn't know the name of, even a little pond water reeds grew out of. Simple compared to the sprawling maze like gardens of the royal palace that you had grown accustomed too but it seemed lovely all the same, you really needed to make time to properly explore it at some point.

It was nice though, to think there were still things for you to learn of this place and the brothers.

The pair of you stood under one of those archways, Asmo inspecting those closed buds, eyes half closed, an arm still loosely wrapped around your own. After picking a few you were taken back to the house.

Placed back on the bed you waited for him as he disappeared into his bathroom.

A warm moist towel was draped over your neck, a light floral scent drifted from it, likely from those little dark petals.

You didn’t question it as Asmo sat behind you, his hands finding purchase under the towel and robe on your shoulders, his thumbs slowly rubbing circles into you. It felt nice…

When was the last time you just… did nothing like this.

Oh, and when did this cutie crawl into his bed?

It took a moment of admiring you to notice not you or him things like the towel almost falling off your shoulders and those petals…

Did you two do something last night? Surely he would remember, but he couldn’t…

Wait!

…

Nope, still nothing.

But he did recognize those petals and that scent Midnight Bloom Roses, his go to whenever he couldn’t sleep, the scent so relaxing, but what were they doing around you? You looked perfectly well rested and relaxed but were you already like that or was it the flowers?

Well, you seemed content so what did it matter, he’d let you sleep, in in the mean time he could prepare some things to pamper you! You’d surely have the best, most relaxing morning with him setting everything up for you! You deserve it~

Beelzebub

Well, you might as well as wait for him.

You laid in bed, a couple of the hanging lights above you lit, watching as shadows danced through that colored glass.

…

Or would he.

Sometimes he managed through the night. As much as you wanted to see him, you hoped you wouldn’t, it’d mean that maybe, just maybe, no nightmares came to torture him that night, that his stomach didn’t eat him alive, that… that he wasn’t hurt again.

Knock knock knock

It was very soft, so soft that even in deafening silence where one could hear only their breath and the house’s silent groans one could have missed it.

Slowly you got up and made your way for the door.

There your gentle giant stood, he too seemed conflicted about your opening the door, but since you were together, you might as well as make the most of it.

The wall shared by your room and the kitchen was surprisingly thin even after Beelzebub tore it down so you always heard him when he went on one of these midnight kitchen raids. It was actually rather comforting hearing him in those early months into the exchange program, knowing your friend was awake and nearby.

How many times had you done this you wondered.

Beelzebub raiding the fridge while you found something from the snack cupboard. Sitting on the counter, picking at some dried fruit while Beel devoured all that was placed on the table. Eventually on the floor in the corner huddled beside one another trying to not grab something else to fill the void. Quiet talks about everything and nothing that only existed in the moment never to be brought up again.

How many sleepless nights had you been there for one another?

He used to apologize thinking he was too loud and had awoken you which… yes he did sometimes, but he long since learned that wasn’t the only reason you’d be up.

How at times it was… easier to spend time with one another under the shadows of night, his face obscured, his shared eyes behind darkness, hidden away so you could be with only him, in the present.

Only one time did he try apologizing for his twin but you immediately cut him off. Beelzebub had no reason to feel guilty yet he still did all the same like he had hurt you.

This was a mutual need, this time together.

Even after so long and getting on better terms with his twin, it was just hard to sleep some nights, school overwhelming or chaos wrought the day prior still buzzing around in your head.

It wasn’t always like this, before the incident it was because you were unfamiliar with the Devildom, Beel actually ended up giving you a lot of advice in those late nights like how it was rude to look ghosts directly in the eye or if one ever got lost in the Devildom they needed carrot tops or wheat grass on them to find help.

Sometimes it was still like that. But there was something about the night that tended to make one’s mind wander to darker thoughts. And tonight seemed like it had been a rough one for your friend.

Warm milk and honey was simple enough to make, and it was harder to tell if any had gone missing unless the jug was finished. The man was practically perched on your shoulder once he saw you pouring some milk into that pan.

It was more a off hand comment, but he did tell you once the drink was special for him, after all it was the first thing you had ever made for him. You didn’t know he had awoken from a nightmare, that it felt even worse with his twin gone yet somehow you knew he was hurting and made some for the pair of you, you admitted you were hoping to sneak some without anyone noticing to help you sleep, it was hard to what with being in a new place.

Once the milk was heated and divided into mugs Beel set about washing the pan while you mixed in the honey, something he could do for you as thanks.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest taking that first sweet sip, watching as steam gently drifted up, wispy and shaking from the cold.

He wrapped an around you, pulling you close. He was practically a heater, no matter the weather, hot to the touch, in the human world his touch may have been unbearable in the summer or day time, but in the eternal chill night of the Devildom it was so comforting.

… Hesitantly you reached up a hand, wrapping your pinkie around his. With a gentle squeeze he finished his drink before quickly washing and putting away your mugs.

Some nights neither of you wanted to be alone, your silent signal to ask the other to stay a while longer.

If felt childish sometimes however you knew Beel wasn’t a judgmental person and you never judged him whenever he asked the same of you.

Once pinkies were linked he refused to let go, even after you got into bed.

By morning he’d be gone, it was for the best really, his brothers would throw a fit if they found out about these moments and would demand the same. But you couldn’t, this was something for just you and Beelzebub.

There were times where still you couldn’t sleep, but the time didn’t feel as long or the world so harsh. However it seemed like this time maybe you would.

In your bed with you, Beel could understand Belphie better. Body refusing to move, too comfy despite knowing better.

He always hesitated, staying a bit longer than he needed, worrying about making the wrong move and waking you up. And so he watched for any sign, a twitch, an unhappy face, for mumbles in your sleep. Only once he was sure you were resting well could he manage to get up.

He’d sneak away for his early morning stretch and run.

He couldn’t help smiling every time upon his return, breakfast ready and you looking fine and well, if a little sleepy at the table chatting with his brothers or eating something delicious looking.

He could never help reaching out, patting your head as he walked by to the kitchen or nudging your shoulder as he sat beside you. He was just too glad you seemed better and had to do something about it.

Belphegor

The Avatar of Sloth, literally who better to go to when one could not sleep.

It was nostalgic skittering up those hidden stairs, heart racing from the strange shadows that chased after you as you made your way.

The door was already partly open, and peeking in you spotted your prey.

Ironic how he was so desperate to escape and now he freely came back for sleep most of the time…

You noted to yourself to bring this up to Satan, very cat like behavior.

Despite the attic becoming a new lounge area for the brothers it was still about just as dusty as you found it the first time, the dust tickling and getting a few sneezes from you. At least the bed wasn’t with how often Belphegor came to it for rest… Although in the end he was usually covered in dust.

With an unceremonious flop you crashed onto the bed beside him. All you had to do was turn your head a little to see him from the corner of the eye.

Gently you rocked him, calling his name. For you at least he tended to get up more easily than he ever would for any brothers not named Beelzebub.

Now that you thought about it though… you don’t think you ever seen Beel wake Belphie. Maybe something to try some time just to see, if he gets up instantly the info would be good for future emergencies.

Running a hand through his hair got you nothing, poking his cheek got you nothing, shaking his shoulder got you nothing. Odd usually at this point he’s at least grumble something about letting him sleep in a little longer.

If it were anyone else you might have felt guilty for going to extreme measures but, this was Belphegor, he’d just fall asleep instantly again in a minuet and it’d be like nothing had ever happened.

You warned him that if didn’t get up you’d do whatever you had to get him up.

Still no response.

…

So, time to shove him off the bed!

He was surprisingly much heavier than you had expected. That meant you should not have been as surprised as you were at the volume of that thud, yet still it caught you of guard a little.

Leaning over the bed you asked Belphie to wake up once again only to be taken aback!

He was schmunzling! AND DOING A BAD JOB AT HIDING THAT SMI-

WAS HE AWAKE THIS WHOLE TIME!?

Finally that snickering burst out of him and he cracked an eye open to see your ridiculous expression. He playfully groaned about how mean you were, how could you do this to him, so cruel, and at such a late hour too.

It was only fair that he got revenge.

And that was how a pillow was chucked at you with so much force you too fell off the bed.

HOW WAS HE STRONG!?

Already he was curled up on the bed looking at you oh so innocently all the while smirking! What a puntable face, just BEGGING to be smacked, yet he dodged your attack!

Even as you leapt up, going in for a swing, he blocked it with a new pillow!

War broke out! Swings from all directions, blow after blow of fluffiness crashing into another, war cries dissolving into fits of giggles and laughter leaving one out of breath and vulnerable to attack! Truly one for the history books.

Unfortunately so caught up in this little game you fell for Belphegor’s trap, him tackling you knocking the air out of your lungs.

You laid there a moment trying to breath despite all that dust flying about.

Belphegor was surprisingly heavy as you had learned that night, plenty of time he had used your shoulder or lap as a pillow, but it was something else to have all of you be his pillow. Or perhaps mattress would be a more apt word.

Try as you might to push or toss him off the man would not budge. And just as you thought, he was already asleep.

So was this your life now, to be stuck here forever unless the ever napping demon awoke?

…

The demon snuggled into you, so warm and soft, mindlessly you brushed your fingers through his hair again, it wasn’t like there was much else you could do other than follow his lead and try closing your eyes.

What a racket.

He tried ignoring the yelling and crashing that came from down stairs. It’s your fault really, he used to be able to tune out their antics but ever since you arrived and stuck your nose in every one’s business and made the house actually peaceful, disruption from that was harder for his mind to unconsciously gloss over.

For once you were not being dragged around some place or another, his brothers needed to learn that you needed to rest too, aka take more naps with him.

Maybe this scare of you being missing would teach them something about appreciating you and giving you the time and space you need to recharge, hell, they all got you so wound up he had to exhaust you to finally force your body to let you sleep.

And guess what, if you wanted rest, the only demons you could be with without you being dragged into some other world ending crisis was him and Beel, just a coincidence really.

So he let himself drift back off with you. You better remember this favor though, it’s not everyday he sees fit to put effort in for just anyone you know.

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mythblossoms · 2 months ago

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cherry wine

pairing: sylus x gn!reader

content: mutual pining, slight angst, music used as metaphor (poorly), pre-relationship, hand holding and dancing

a/n: sometimes a specific scene sticks in your head and you have to write something around that only. i also just love the sound of a cello ;-;

wc: ~1.4k

Music was honest. It spoke plainly about its desires and was vulnerable. The melodies openly conveyed emotions and stories, imploring those who heard to succumb to their passions. There is a beauty in patterns and themes laced between the harmonies.

At the least, that’s what Sylus told himself as he leaned casually against the gilded pillars decorating the gala floor.

Your invitation to some musicians gala hadn’t been unexpected - the connections and intel privy to him had become a bonus to your missions, and Sylus was happy to oblige. But your openness, that was new. Your willingness to reach out and discuss tactics and invite him as something more, more than a source of knowledge at least.

He was happy to watch you work, your acting skills so finely honed now as you smiled coyly at other guests perched at the bar - your eyes, in contrast, sharply focused on your surroundings. You were an unknown force in your element, poised to strike.

The musicians began their arrangement, the opening notes notifying the guests of the story they aimed to tell.

The aching thrum of the cello, the pining glide of the violin - woven together to create a song of want, grounded by a repetition of keys played softly on the piano. Sylus knows the story that inspired the peaks and valleys of this piece - the undying devotion of some underworld god to his spring bride, the names long forgotten but the sentiments still clinging to the notes. For you, I will wait. For you, I will suffer time and space.

His eyes find your form across the gala floor. You, so warmly illuminated by the overhead chandeliers, cherry wine in hand and the pomegranate stain of your lips. Would you also eat the seeds — if offered? Would you stay — if asked? Your eyes flicked to his, offering a near imperceptible nod in his direction. For you, he would ask again and again.

The low lament of the cello hums through the room as your eyes leave his, searching the faces of each passerby as you swirl the untouched wine. Reasonably, Sylus knows that once you’ve completed your mission, you’ll be gone again. And he will wait again, until he is needed, until you are ready. The constant refrain his own frustrating internal melody - wait, wait, wait — again, again, again. He did not have the patience of some ancient god, and the yearning notes of the song left a sour taste in his mouth.

As the music swells, melodic and mournful, Sylus finds himself pulled to you. He moves across the floor slowly, yet purposefully, eyes never leaving your face.

“Dance with me.” Sylus offers his open palm to you, an open invitation, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slight smirk.

You swirl the wine again in your glass, watching as the dark red liquid briefly coats the glass before settling. “Do you always ask people to dance to tragic love songs?” you mused, placing the glass on the bar. It’s easy, like this, pretending to be two strangers drawn together by the fervor of the strings. The hunger of their pitch echoing the feeling in your chest.

“There’s a - sincerity to tragedy that makes it more memorable.” And for a moment, he seems far away, some distant memory clinging to the edge of his vision before he’s raising an eyebrow at you again.

“People will think you’re some sort of brooding crow.” You tease and gently take his hand, letting him guide you to the near empty floor.

“Do you think I care what people think, sweetheart?” Sylus smirks again, lightly holding your hand in one and splaying his other across your lower back. He pulls you in closer, chests nearly touching as he leans in closely. “I’m more interested in what your eyes see.” His warm breath sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

Logically, you think he means finding your target. Your vantage point from the center of the room certainly allows you to see more faces than you could from your singular place at the bar. And yet - the gentle way he holds your hand, the warm touch on your lower back, the softness in his eyes as he searches yours - you consider the outcomes of being bold, of being honest.

Your hand flattens against the base of his neck, a thrum of energy flowing between the closeness of your bodies - your eyes fixed solely on his. “I’m not sure I’ve seen enough to make an informed decision.” The air stills around you, time seemingly frozen in this moment as the energy between you intensifies, the magnification of something bigger than both of you. “I’ll keep looking though.”

The far away look returns to his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly - unexpressed sentiments hanging in the air. The instruments die down, the lack of sound somehow deafening in your ears, and Sylus slowly releases your waist - breaking the chord that hummed so loudly between you.

Before you can step away, he captures your hand in both of his. Delicately, he lifts your palm to his lips and presses a light kiss in the center, holding your gaze before fully releasing you. Your palm tingles with warmth as you squeeze your hand shut, tucking it at your side. “Careful - don’t look too far or you may lose sight of what you're searching for.” His words feel ambiguous, leaving you sifting through context and emotion, the two swirling together as he steps closer. “On your right,” he murmurs before casually walking towards the exit.

This is why pretending is easier, why leaving is easier - even when you knew you would come back. Staying meant confronting whatever ambiguity grasped onto each look or word between you and Sylus. Leaving granted space, a moment to breathe. Exhaling, you locked onto the man on your right, surrounded by others clinging onto whatever syrupy words he spun. Leaving meant gaining some control of this situation.

Sylus did not have the patience of long forgotten gods, but he did have their petulance. Standing at the end of the long hallway, shrouded in the shadow of a pillar - surely this is the type of brooding expected of a deity.

Twice you managed to catch him in a moment. Twice, a fleeting sense of clarity that was quickly broken once he realized his surroundings and the scenario you both were in. You had truly looked at him this time, as if you could see each miniscule crack that deepened each moment spent together then apart. He felt a seismic shift beneath layers of protection he had spent so many years building up. The notes of the cello reverberated through Sylus’s mind, blending with his internal symphony - wait, wait, wait, for you. He had no clear path forward to you, no seeds to offer you - only the notes of song urging patience.

Footsteps interrupted his ruminations, the sound resonating down the hall moving closer to him. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you, the familiar determination underneath the light sound - letting you come to him. “Caught what you needed, kitten?” The teasing nickname falls easily from his lips, but he’s searching your face again - looking for something, anything to flicker across your face. Your determined mask remains in place and you’re barely slowing down as you pass him — leaving again.

“His notes were…off-key,” you state plainly, stepping out into the cool night air. Sylus huffs a laugh in response, bad intel. “But not a total loss, he had some interesting friends. Guess I’ll have to look closer.” There’s a subtle curtness to your voice, dismissive even, as you navigate the city street - Sylus still trailing behind.

“Be patient,” he almost bites out, the irony not lost on him. “True motives always reveal themselves, in the end.”

You stopped abruptly in front of him, turning to face him with a boldness he’d grown fond of. “And if I’m not patient?” Your words are clear, daring to hold his gaze. “What if I’m impulsive?”

“The power is in your hands then - you have to decide how you want to proceed.” Another dance, another song — laced with hidden meanings. Your eyes soften slightly - were you playing the same tune? Did you understand the notes played under his words? Sylus extends his hand to you again, palm open and still. “For now, let’s get you home.”

You smile lightly, the corners of your lips slightly turned up. “It’s early for you - isn’t it?” You take his hand, gently lacing your fingers with his. “Why don’t you take me on the scenic route?”

#love & deepspace x reader #love & deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace #love & deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #i've had the scene about cherry wine and pomegranate stains in my head for like two weeks #also thank you francesca by hozier and the great longing of an unquiet heart by luke howard for fueling this #ᯓ✧#kai𓂃🖊#⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°#m: l&ds

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constantinerkives · 2 years ago

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Unholy Matrimony, YJM // (M)

PAIRINGS: GP Demon! Yoo Jimin x fem violinist reader

WARNINGS: bl00d, demonic ritual, use of classical music as a means of summoning a demon, brief mention of religion, violinist reader, YJM is the daughter of the big man downstairs (if you get what I mean), reader's in her early thirties but she offered herself when she was twenty-three, Karina has poetic rizz, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, mating, unprotected sex (stay safe ya'll), breeding, breeding kink, creampie, age-gap, Karina speaks IN LATIN, who are we kidding, KARINA IS THE MAIN WARNING

SYNOPSIS: It's amazing how desperation can lead from one thing to another. You crave to be recognized, to be valued. And it's selfish - but she approves. After all, it's humane - greed. And she'd be a terrible wife if she doesn't support your one-way trip to eternal damnation. But that's where she comes in, to stop it from happening and give you nothing but luxury and comfort. I guess you can say that being married to a devil isn't bad after all.

A/N: Hi guys! this is my first fic, hope you like it <3333 I've also made some modifications from the original story, hope you guys won't mind. Sorry to keep you guys waiting but I was fighting demons (lmao) for the plot of this one-shot, Happy reading <3!

WORDCOUNT: 9, 535 oops this was self-indulgent AHHAHAHA shi-

THIS IS ALL FICTITIOUS AND THEREFORE SHALL NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.

TERMS AND DEFINITIONS: Melodiam meum - means 'my melody' in Latin Dilecto - beloved in Latin Hermaphrodite - an organism having both male and female sex organs or other sexual characteristics, either abnormally or as a natural condition Brava - well done or very good. It is used to praise a female performer

It's ridiculous

The creature watches with amusement as it eyes the young lady standing alone in her spacious living room. Her silhouette is wrapped in darkness with no source of light other than the soft glow of five white candles circling her. Her face remains in the dark, veiled with desperation with a whiff of mystery.

How desperation can lead you to commit the things you thought you wouldn't do.

"Please," She whispers, "Please work,"

It inclines its head, watching as the young lady pulls out a kitchen knife. The blade glints menacingly in the dark as she positions it atop her wrist.

Do you want to do this?

And cuts her flesh, crimson dense liquid oozes out of her flesh and she directs it to-

The creature sneers. A violin. Her blood coats the strings of the instrument, and traces of her drip down to the floor as she picks up the bloody violin and begins to play a familiar piece; popular with seasoned violinists.

The Devil's Trill Sonata

You are a desperate girl...

She plays with feverish determination all while her wrist continues to bleed. The demon crosses its legs, arms crossed against its chest, and leans comfortably against the velvet settee.

That's it. Keep playing. I am no stranger to greed. Play it with your heart's desires.

Her fingers smoothly transitioned from one note to another, clean and precise. The first movement leads you to a false sense of softness and beauty, and slowly...the devil grins as the young woman slightly loses her balance. She's running out of time, running out of blood. Ah, poor soul. She hasn't even reached the second movement yet. It seems like another soul will perish for nothing. It watches with practiced dismay as the girl's body visibly pales, and she's beginning to lose her energy. She's one push away from knocking a candle and collapsing - losing her life to a meaningless offer.

After all, what the devil played was far superior to what Giuseppe Tartini had played. The creature's lips curl to a sneer. No other violinist had come close to its execution.

Then, with a stroke of luck, the girl regained her composure for some unfathomable reason. The devil blinks, surprised by the sudden change as she grounds her feet against the tiled floors pooling with her blood and strokes the strings violently; the entity's face beams with unbridled pride. The girl plays over four octaves of the note G, with her hands stretched out over three octaves. A move that the daughter of Lucifer can only execute.

Interesting

The human plays with intensity now, and the entity finds itself leaning away from the backrest of the seat, watching with phantom hawk-like eyes as the girl pours every last bit of her living minutes into its piece. For centuries, no one has executed it the same way this mere human did. Anger and envy flash in its eyes as it flicks a hand. The candles' feeble light extinguishes, all except one, and the girl weakly gasps.

The entity hastily stands up from the velvet settee and gracefully stalks toward the confused and terrified girl as she mumbles: "What? What the hell happened - did it work?"

Oh, it did pretty human.

It grabbed the candle as it willed itself to manifest a physical form. The young woman gasps as the creature grabs her by the collar of her blouse, and with its' other hand, it holds the candle next to her features. The woman lets out a pathetic yelp as she looks up only to see two rich ichor irises looking down at her with scorn, envy, and dare she adds amusement.

The demon examines her delicate features, soft brown eyes, fair skin, and a whiff of innocence that crumbles down to greed and desperation.

And fear

It's beautiful

"Have I satisfied you?" The girl meekly starts. Her voice sounds distant. She's hanging on for dear life, and the demon wanted her to fall into the pits of eternal damnation. But it begrudgingly longed for her to play it again. For no human played it as well as she.

The entity narrows its' eyes as the girl begins to lose her balance. Her knees were about to give out if it wasn't for the being holding her by the collar.

The demon leans close, and the girl's eyes visibly shake. It slowly lets go of her collar and reaches out for her cut wrist, its talons almost cutting into her skin. She gasps as she felt a searing burn crawl over her cut wrist.

"Be seeing you," It said, vowed. Before the demon drops the candle and lets go of the girl, allowing her to collapse into her pool of blood before it disappears into thin air.

Years have passed, and you are a renowned violinist of your generation. Here you stand in front of your devoted fans, playing the piece that brought you money, power, and glory in the world of music.

A small smile graces your lips as the curtains close, and the theater erupts in cheers and applause. Another successful concert lands on your plate. You return to your first stance as your posture relaxes, and you make your way backstage. Your handler, Park Sooyoung, her fair complexion glows underneath the lights. Her exquisite red dress hugs her body flawlessly as she approaches you with a wide grin and drapes her arm around your shoulder. "Another successful concert - this calls for a celebration!" She wriggles her brows, and you merely chuckle in reply.

As much as you want to, your muscles crave rest. And a drink.

With an apologetic smile, you reject your handler's offer for a celebratory dinner, promising to eat with her tomorrow, but for now, you need a night's rest.

She understands with a soft smile and gently pats your shoulder. "Of course, you deserve it after playing The Devil's Trill Sonata for almost fifteen minutes." Sooyoung chuckles. "But I'll escort you to your private drinking booth before I, too, call it a night. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," You agree, and the latter takes you to your destination and leaves you to your drink of choice, red wine. Château Lafite Rothschild.

A pleased sigh leaves your lips as you unceremoniously collapse on your seat. Tired eyes examining your surroundings, your booth is a spacious room. Walls wrapped with high-quality velvet wallpaper, expensive paintings depicting pagan Gods, the lights were the same, albeit softer to look at, and plants to give the room a bit of life.

A relaxing sight. You pour your wine and lean comfortably against your seat, your head thrown back, allowing your neck to rest whilst your right hand holds the stem of your wine glass.

That's what life's about, luxury.

And you bathed in it. You crave the beauty of wealth and luxury that your way in life has brought to you.

Just as you're basking in peace, a figure emerges from the shadows in a black blur. You didn't notice it until the atmosphere grows heavy, your skin prickling at the sensation that someone is watching you.

"Indeed, that's what life's all about. Isn't it? Basking in luxury."

"You've done well tonight, Ji Y/N." Says a feminine voice, steely, low, and churning. You snap your head towards the owner of the voice; your face turns bloodless, even at the warm glow of the light, and there sits a resplendent woman wearing a black cropped blazer; underneath it is a matching black tube and matching back trousers and heels. At the base of her slim neck is a layered gold necklace. The outfit was simple, but her features made up for it. The woman sitting before you has a fair complexion that will put the moon to shame, a sharp jaw, plump lips, luscious black hair tied neatly to a high ponytail, and a small face. Not to mention her lean stature and posture. Judging by the way she gracefully sits, she's taller than you. And just like you, she too is holding a wine glass, slim fingers, and perfectly manicured nails secure the stem of her glass.

But something's amiss. Yes, she is human, a beautiful human, and you're no stranger to all things beautiful - but something about this woman's beauty throws you off.

A trip to the uncanny - something about her doesn't match humanity at all.

She lacked warmth, not only in her eyes but her overall presence.

"Who are you?" You demanded, "What are you doing here?"

The woman's lips curl to a grin, showing you her perfect set of teeth. "You don't remember?" She asks in return, unperturbed. Your face twists to a scowl, "I asked you a question." Posture bristling with guarded animosity before you peered over her shoulder. "Security!"

The air grows heavy as the woman holds an open palm up. She is no longer smiling. "That won't be necessary." Her voice was cold and cutting, booming with authority like no other. Then, her grin returns. "Perhaps this shall jog your memory, pretty girl."

She blinks, and her cold, brown eyes change to a rich hue of gold. Menacing and distant.

"Be seeing you,"

On cue, your right wrist burns, causing you to drop your wine glass against the carpeted floor. You back away from her, standing up too hastily, and in return your seat tumbles.

"You," A sharp gasp leaves your lips. No, it's too soon. A cold, hard laugh tumbles from the latter's lips. "My," She sips her drink before gently setting it against the tabletop.

"Are you here to collect my soul?" There it is again, that meek tone. The devil inclines her head to the side, brows furrowed. "Me? Collect you? Oh. No, no. Not yet melodiam meum." You don't know what it means, but the way it rolled off her tongue made your gut churn.

"Then why are you here?" You voiced out.

She eyes you up and down. "You know, my beloved. I am offended by the turn of events." She stands up, and you instinctively back away as she circles the table and stalks toward you. Her hips swayed in a sultry manner as she did. She keeps advancing until your back is pressed against the wall, hands pressed to your sides while the raven-haired enigma delicately brushes her knuckles against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. Her proximity allows you to inhale her seductive scent. The blend of florals with amber and musk is a perfect balance of femininity and masculinity.

"For years, I watched over you. I made sure no harm came to you and only commanded success to fall into your plate. I blessed you with concert after concert - and I know your love for all things beautiful." The devil purrs.

"So I made myself beautiful for you, dilecto."

Not a single lie in sight. "Who are you?"

"Karina," She replies, "My name is Karina Yoo." The latter pauses. Her gold eyes trailed down from your eyes to your lips.

"Do remember that, my bride. I will walk the earth with you until your time here is due. And the world will know me as your companion, your spouse."

And your vision turns black.

You woke with a groan, your head throbs with pain, and you shift in your bed. The white sheets cling onto your skin as you lay on your side, the sun peeking through your curtains, blessing your suite with its light. You stare up at the ceiling, rubbing the sleep of your eyes, and as you regain your awareness. Well, so are your memories of last night.

Your body quickly turns cold, and you sit up, muscles aching in protest, but you ignore it as you check yourself. You are wearing your sleepwear as opposed to the form-fitting dress you wore for the concert last night. Nothing else seems to be wrong except for the fact that you did not change your dress last night. Who brought you to your suite, then? It couldn't be Sooyoung. She went on her way first.

"You're awake," Says a familiar, cold voice.

The hairs at the back of your neck rise.

Slowly, you turn your head to the tall figure leaning against the doorway to your lounging area. Karina, as she calls herself, is no longer wearing her black suit. Instead, she's wearing a white button-up shirt, black trousers that reach three inches above her ankles, and black oxfords. Her rich, black hair cascaded freely like a black waterfall.

"Karina," You rasped, and the devil's lips curled to a smile. "You remembered."

You press your back against the headboard, posture brustling with animosity as your hands' fists the sheets. "What did you do to me?"

The latter frowns, "I did nothing, pretty girl. I merely allowed your body to rest for tonight before-"

"Before what?" You cut her off breathlessly as your forehead begins to sweat, and your body becomes warm with each passing second - soon, your body is veiled by a thin sheen of sweat, making you uncomfortable as you throw the duvet away from your feverish body.

Your stomach churns harshly, and your eyes sting as you fall onto your side, hands clutching your stomach as you look at the entity standing at the foot of your bed, eyes studying your writhing figure.

"What did you do to me?" You sob as the pain doubles, fiery, almost.

Karina's features break to a knowing smile as if she had seen this before and approaches the side of your bed, the mattress dips at her weight and reaches a pale, slender hand towards you, and you find yourself not moving, too feverish, so you let her touch you. And her touch was soothing.

"Shhh," The raven-haired enigma coaxes, "Your body is reacting to its new owner. Best to let me handle this, Y/N."

New owner?

You couldn't process anything, distracted by her touch soothes your hot skin as you slowly relax into the sheets. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as the pain ebbs away.

"Easy does it," She remarks, "Are you feeling better now, delicto?"

"Yes," You reply curtly as you eye her warily. "Wonderful," She gracefully stands from your bed, "Now rest. I'm sure you have questions for me once you recover."

"No," You protest, and her gaze turns sharp, making you shrink in your bed as she tilts her head. "No? What do you mean no?"

"I have a meeting with a sponsor," You stammer under her piercing gaze. The latter pauses, "You have plenty of time to prepare, rest. I'll take care of it."

"Take care of what?"

She flashed her bright golden eyes at you, and once again, your vision turns black. Three hours later, a scandal broke out.

Italy is known for its warm, Mediterranean climate. Summers are always hot, sunny, and dry.

But no amount of summer dresses can protect you from the cold, piercing gaze of your handler who sits across you in a cafe with her arms crossed and her expression blank.

After Karina took care of your meeting with a sponsor, word got out fast and a controversy broke out with your fans shocked at the fact that you are married. Hence the meeting with your handler, who also knew nothing of the situation.

"So," She begins, "You're married?"

You tried not to cringe as you looked at Karina; who was sitting beside you, drinking her espresso with gusto. She wore a black coat with red lapels, a black turtle neck, trousers, and heels.

"Yes," She replies as she sets down her mug. Sooyoung slowly turns to your 'wife' before looking at you. "And since when were you two married?"

"Seven years," Karina smoothly replies. You two shared a glance. Seven years ago, you offered your soul to her.

"And how come I only knew about this after Mrs. Yoo talked to your sponsor?"

"I wasn't feeling well," You wince, "I told my wife-" This coming off from your tongue is a foreign sensation. "That it can wait, but she insisted."

"Y/N was bone-tired last night." Karina adds, "I'd be a terrible wife if I insist that she gets out of the house to speak to the sponsor, so I took it upon myself to go." You softly cleared your throat, "How did the public react to this?"

"They've seen Karina's photos." Sooyoung leans against her seat, "They approve of her." A wry smile graced her lips, "That adds your wife to their list of 'celebrity crushes' I believe."

You repressed a sigh of relief, "That's good news."

"Don't be too relieved yet," She massages her temples, "You have yet to address this at your conference. I'll have your script ready, and of course, your wife has to follow it as well." She turns to look at the devil disguised as your wife. "Is that okay with you?"

Karina grins and suddenly interlocks her hand with yours. The sudden action surprises you, and she flashes you a look. Your lips form a practiced smile, and you duck your head as if you are flustered.

"Yes, I'm fine with it. So long as this keeps my wife happy."

"Good, the conference starts at 2 PM sharp. Let's get you both ready before then."

Addressing your marriage to the public was easy. The press loved ogling at your 'wife'. You can't blame them though she looked ethereal in her outfit; a form-fitting black, high-neck dress and a black blazer draped over her shoulders, and her hair was freely cascading down to her breasts with diamond earrings as her accessories while you wore white dress. Both of you looked exquisite during the conference, and you didn't forget the way the reporters begin talking all at once upon announcing your next concert and the piece you'll be laying next.

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst.

Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst is not the biggest name in classical music, but his ‘The Last Rose Of Summer’ is notorious among violinists for being a complete nightmare to play. Ernst was an obsessive devotee of Paganini, the original violin rockstar, and he loved to include stupidly complex pizzicato in his music. Karina's soft lips curl to a smirk as she ends the event by taking your hand in hers. You eye her cautiously. This wasn't part of the script?

Still, she raises your hand and brings it to her soft, warm lips, pecking the back of your palm. Your cheeks warmed as the cameras flashed. Your spouse looks at the press and flashes them a jaw-dropping smile. "We'll get going now. May you all have a nice afternoon." Without another word, she leads you down from the stage and to the exit, where a sleek black car awaits the both of you.

"Take us back to the hotel, please." You told the driver. The man nods and was about to close the partition before Karina speaks up. "Take us to Ratanà, Mr. Giovani. I'll treat my wife to a nice meal after the conference."

"Very well, Mrs. Yoo." The driver replies with a thick accent before finally closing the partition. You glare at the latter while she leans comfortably against the leather cushion and looks at you. Karina arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Why the surly look, wife?"

"What are you going to do in a restaurant?" You snap at her. Karina guffaws in amusement.

"I'd like to see how the world changed after centuries." She simply answers. "I'd like to see more of the world with my two eyes."

A huff leaves your lips as you turn away from her and cross your arms against your chest. "You still have some explaining to do."

"Which is why a restaurant is a perfect place for it."

"People will hear you."

"I've booked us a private booth." You snapped your head towards her, "You did what?"

"I won't repeat myself, beloved." She chuckles, "As you've said, I owe you an explanation.

The people inside Ratanà gawked at the two of you as soon as you entered the restaurant. The clattering of plates and utensils stopped as well. You flush at the reaction while your wife places her hand on the small of your back. Even with your dress, you can't help but shudder at the contact as she flashes the crowd a charming smile before leading you to your private booth with a female waiter stationed outside your door.

"We'll order later," Karina's smooth velvet voice coaxed the woman into an agreement before finally entering the private booth.

She pulls out the chair for you to sit on, and you begrudgingly obey as she sits across you. Silence permeated the air. Gone is her alluring aura, replaced by enigma. As if all of it was an act - it is.

"Where to begin, where to begin." She mused wryly.

"Why are you here if not to claim my soul, then?" You snap, "Why waste your time tagging along?"

Karina tilts her head. Her intelligent eyes regarded you.

"Well," She begins with a distant smile. "I visited you every two years, watching from afar while you amassed your concerts just to see how your talent has bloomed."

You wait for her to explain further, "I'll be frank, darling." Your gut churns at the endearment. "Throwing you into the pits of hell after your time is done is nothing but an exercise of futility, a talent like yours deserves to have a place next to mine."

Your brows furrow, "Next to yours?"

Her lips curled, "Why do you think you offered your soul to me out of all the demons out there?"

You replied with silence, and Karina narrowed her eyes in disapproval. "Something tells me that you didn't gather the slightest bit of information about who I am, delicto." She leaned away from the backrest of her seat and interlaced her fingers together. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"A devil who named herself Karina Yoo."

A scoff befalls her lips, "Foolish girl, you're lucky to have offered your soul to me."

"Why?" You snarked, "If I'm so lucky, why?"

Her eyes flashed, "My father," She hisses through gritted teeth, "Is the angel of music. Lucifer was the angel of music. After his fall, he reigned in Hell and has simply lost interest in that title." Her expression darkens, "Which is why I took that spot while I helped humanity discover it with my profound ability that I inherited from him."

Your eyes subtly widen, "Yes," She growled.

"You're sitting with the daughter of Lucifer. His finest creation, second to music." Her eyes glowed to cruel gold. "And you tied yourself to me, Ji Y/N. You offered your body and soul to me. That makes you mine as I am yours."

Something's not right. Why is there an indirect statement of equality?

As if reading your mind, she addresses it with a softer tone.

"As I've said, my beloved: leaving you to burn in hell would be a waste. I have taste in talent just as much as you have taste for beautiful things. In my millennium of harvesting souls, I am nothing but a sponsor to those who offer themselves to me. I will keep you. I've decided to keep you after hearing you play all these years. And I confess that I envy your ability, albeit you're human. I am still superior to you on all levels, but when it comes to music, we are equals."

"So that makes me your actual wife, then?" You squeaked. Karina lets out a rumbling chuckle, "Oh, yes, darling." You hold her gaze, and this time, it's intense.

"That makes you mine as I am yours." She husked, her eyes tracing your features possessively. "So if you had any lovers or flavors of the day, forget about them."

"So possessive," You remark shakily, and the latter lets out a wolfish grin. "I am a demanding creature, Y/N." She then leans away from you. "We can order now. After this, we can return to the hotel, and you can start practicing the piece you'll perform at your concert next month. The earlier you master it, the better. And I will help you along the way."

She's right, of course, but you wouldn't admit it to her face.

"Alright, call in the waitress."

Your routine is divided from going out with your wife to practicing until your fingers go numb.

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst was the last of his Six Polyphonic Studies for solo violin. It is a set of incredibly difficult variations for the violin. The first few weeks were nothing but agony as you practiced in a private setting, preferably away from the devil of music.

For days, it's either you couldn't transition smoothly to another note, or you struck a wrong chord. Either way, it's still a mistake.

This complex set—full of every imaginable and unimaginable technical difficulty—includes an introduction, theme, four variations, and a devilish finale. At first glance, an impossible task. This one requires both physical and mental fortitude. And each mistake drains it out of you.

"Jeez," Sooyoung hisses as soon as she sets foot into the room. "Y/N, get yourself off the floor and sit on the couch, will you?"

A tired groan leaves your lips as you force yourself to get up. Your muscles ached in protest as a result of standing for hours.

"You know what," Sooyoung sighs as soon as you unceremoniously plop on the couch. "How about we call your wife, hm?"

"No," You sigh as your tired mind thinks of a lie. "She's busy."

"Busy doing what?" Shit

"Managing her family's financial reports." Yeah, that should do it.

"Don't be ridiculous," The latter admonishes, "Your wife is never too busy for you. I'll call her."

"Sooyoung no-" Too late, she had dialed her number, and you tuned out their conversation. "She says she's on her way." Your handler informs you as soon as she drops the call, "See, I told you she isn't too busy when it comes to you."

"Whatever," You mumble as you close your eyes to get a few minutes rest.

By the time Karina made her presence known, it was already evening. You scowl at her as you groggily sit up. "What took you so long?"

"You looked peaceful," She snorts, "And besides, you're more tolerable when you're not scowling at me all the time."

"What time is it?"

The devil checks her watch. She bought it a few days ago from Bulgari. "6:37 PM, why?"

"Shit, that's late."

"You needed rest," She reminds you as she sits next to you. You lean away, taken aback by her proximity as she looks down at your fingers, "And your fingers were turning purple. You practiced for quite some time and ignored your body's protests for rest. Hence why you collapsed next to this couch."

How did she-

"Sooyoung told me," She answers. "Why force your body to such limits?"

You rolled your eyes, "You sound like my wife,"

"Because I am your wife," She grins, "So take care of yourself."

You blink at her. For weeks that you spent with her, the older woman did nothing but make sure you were comfortable and safe, sure there was bickering, and dare you say banter. But she performed her duties as a wife should. It's baffling, to receive this treatment from a devil of her caliber.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She questions, her eyes beaming at your attention before you tear your gaze from her. "Nothing, I'm hungry."

"Perfect," She grins, "I discovered a recipe that you might like."

Oh?

"Cooking, you?" You mused, and Karina lets out a carefree laugh. It sounded pleasant. Not that you would say that to her face. "Why yes, pretty girl." She grins, "Now come. I want you to be a witness of me cooking a dish created by humans."

She grabs you by the hand, and your pulse quickens at the contact as she leads you out of the building and to your car, a sleek, gray Bently Continental GT S. The raven-haired beauty opens the passenger door for you. You didn't say anything and entered the vehicle. She closes the door gently and enters the driver's seat, finally driving to your designated hotel.

The smell of roasted lamb chops floods the dining area of your suite. Karina said that it'll be done in a few minutes. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of the delicacy in Karina's bare palms as she places it in front of you. She dusts the lamb chops with garlic, rosemary, salt, and pepper. Your mouth waters at the meal she prepared for you while she sits across from you, eyeing your face with mirth before finally gesturing at your dinner.

"Well? Dig in."

You didn't need to be told twice and began wolfing down your food.

Karina watched you carefully as you ate with gusto before stopping midway. The older woman frowned, "What's wrong?"

You look up at her, "It's not poisoned, isn't it?"

She placed a hand over her chest in faux offense.

"Poison? You?" The raven-haired woman continues: "I would never. You must have faith in me, beloved. I would never poison a pretty girl like you."

Your cheeks change their color to a subtle hue of pink. "Faith is foreign for someone of your caliber, Karina."

"Trust me," She grins, "We're more direct than your trusted angels, beloved."

A hum leaves your lips as you continue to eat. Karina once again watches you before you pause for the second time. "Aren't you hungry?"

"We have a different diet from you humans. Souls, that's what we feed on, your intense emotions, energies."

"Are you feeding from me right now?"

The latter replies with an unbridled smirk, "I am, but at least we're both benefitting."

"Fair enough," You shrug before finishing your dinner.

"Are you having a difficult time practicing your piece?" She asks after you've finished your dinner. A pause, "Yes, but I'll get better."

"Not very reassuring, delicto." She replies as she interlocks her fingers, her expression serious. "Your concert is in three weeks, and your piece has four sections."

"Then what can we do about it?"

"I can help you." Karina offers - no, states. "It'll be quick, and you will save time."

You arched a brow, "By what, cutting my wrist and pouring it over my violin?"

The devil guffaws at your snarky reply, "No, no. You perform. I will proctor your performance and give you feedback accordingly."

You contemplated her offer. It's not that big of a deal. Perhaps guidance from a devil of music could save you time. "Alright," You rub your palms together. "Perfect," She purrs.

"When can we start?"

"Tomorrow," Karina checks her watch, "We'll start after lunch. Is that okay with you?"

You have nothing to do anyways, "Fine by me."

"You missed a note," She looks up from her book. "Again, from the top."

You bite your inner cheek and return to your second stance before slowly stroking the strings. Minutes later, she stops you again.

"Your timing is off."

"Don't I know," You grunt as you return to your first position and begin again.

Hours turn into days. While yes, having Karina monitor your performance saves time, you can't help but feel your patience waning whenever she stops your performance.

"Again,"

"I didn't even miss the note!" You asserted. Karina closes her book and looks at you. You stop yourself from saying more as your bones ache from standing for two hours.

She lets out a hum, a tone that holds no consequence of your assertion.

"I forget that you're human." She says to herself rather than you. "But you have to keep up with me, beloved. Let's take a break. How do thirty minutes sound to you?"

"Wonderful," You groan before you sit on the floor of your lounging area.

It went on for another week with the devil being surprisingly patient with you. Even with your patience cutting short, Karina allows your jabs to fall on her with every mistake you make improves under her watchful eye.

You are forced to stop when you couldn't reach the note. "Crap," You cursed as you messed with the transition to the ending of the piece. Karina took notice of this and tilts her head, "Try to position your hand once more." She instructs, and who are you to disobey? She is your wife, your mentor. And so far, you learn quickly with the techniques she's amassed through the years.

She examines your hand before standing from her settee and moving behind you. You stiffen at her proximity as her pale hand hovers atop yours while the other grasps your waist. A soft gasp leaves your lips as she presses her front against your back. The latter smirks but resumes correcting your finger placement.

"Position your hand like this," She husked. A shudder leaves your lips as her warm breath fans the outer shell of your ear. Your skin tingles at her touch.

"There," She purrs, "Very good,"

But she doesn't let go.

She retracts your hand from the fingerboard of your violin and places it on your hips, securing you against her. "You know," She rasped, "This is by far the closest we've been." She flushed herself against yours as if she couldn't get enough, "As your wife, I've never received an embrace from you, beloved."

"If you wanted a hug," You breathily reply as you lean into her touch. Karina's lips found themselves on the exposed expanse of your neck, ghosting over your skin. "Why didn't you just ask for it?"

She chuckles deeply, and it has your guts churning. "Oh, can I ask for one now?" You balk up a response, and Karina's patience wears thin as she spins you around. Her strength forces you to face her and drop your violin and violin bow. Your eyes blew back at the cruel glow of gold in her eyes. Her black veins surface on the sides of her gorgeous face. Her skin is paler than normal. She uses one hand and grabs your hair from behind, forcing you to look up at her with a hiss.

Your eyes traverse from her eyes down to her kissable lips. Karina notices this and licks her in return. You swallow harshly at the sight.

"I can sense it, Y/N."

"Sense what?" You breathe out, and your wife sharply inhales and leans close. "Your hunger, no, not from food, but for me, beloved. I don't see the point in holding back." Her other hand traverses upwards; to your neck and gently squeezes it, eliciting a gasp from you before she uses that same hand to pull you impossibly close to her.

"Be selfish, be lustful - lose your inhibitions to me, Y/N. I am your wife, your mistress, your servant. Use me as I will use you." She leans closer to the point that your lips are almost touching, her plump lips begging to be kissed by yours.

"Sin with me, darling." Her voice distorts, "For sin is your birthright. Your faith has taught you to deny your desires and it has imprisoned you. Break your restraint. As your wife I encourage it, my love." She sighs as your hand caresses her cheek.

"I am selfish, needy, and demanding. Y/N. And you shouldn't be less than I am. Let me have you, let me spoil you some more, even with the riches that are foreign to the world of the living, allow me to embrace you - you will be my queen. Fair as the sea and the sun."

And while she pours her declaration, Karina Yoo's lips fascinated you. It sickens you all at once, but that is what seduction does to you. Her lips; were plump and inviting. Though you find her frightening at times, you can't help but feel as if you've known her before, that you are perfect for her. If you wanted something beautiful, this woman would be would give it to you. If you have an ideal type, this woman would be your ideal.

You had not known before that you wanted all these things. That you preferred dark hair and a slightly cruel expression, that you wished for tallness, or that a woman embracing you and pouring her confession might thrill you. A whole young life’s worth of slowly collected predilections coalesced in a few moments within you, and Karina Yoo, her eyes glowing with desire, becomes beautiful and perfect.

You shivered, and without thinking, you leaned in to capture her lips with yours. Not on the cheek, not chastely or unchastely, but greedily with your whole mouth. She reciprocates this, she eats your breath in the kiss, and you feel like she would swallow you whole. Your hands shamelessly claw her silk shirt from behind, crumpling the expensive fabric as the daughter of Lucifer deepens the kiss by tilting her head. Her grip on your hair tightens, and her other hand's nails dig against your hips.

Together, your lips move languidly against each other, and the world feels like it's so far away.

You two kiss until your human lungs burn for oxygen, and you push your wife away begrudgingly.

Here you two are, panting and wanting more before she chased your lips with hers. Her mouth is hot against yours. You can taste the feverish desire from her. Suddenly, she bites you. You pull away from her, hurt and surprised as you raise your hand to your mouth. Your fingers are bloody, and Karina's lips were smeared with it. Her eyes gleamed.

You balked. Your lips pulsed where your wife's long, thin canines had cut you.

If you allow her to do this to you, what else will you let her do to you?

Anything,

Karina Yoo, your wife, your mistress, your slave, wiped your crimson blood from her lips. She eyes you with hooded, glazed eyes as she licks it clean.

"Beautiful," She closes her eyes and slowly opens them before her arms circle around you greedily, and your back is suddenly pressed against the mattress of your private quarters.

Her bright eyes are predatorial as she stares down at you. She wasted no time putting her hands on your waist. Her sensual scent invades your nostrils as she presses her lips against yours. You can taste your blood on her tongue as your hands cup her jaw. Karina's tongue glides against your lower lip before breaking into your mouth; only because you let her. She swallows your moan as she slides her tongue in your mouth, and she lets out a guttural growl in reply as your skin becomes hot under her touch.

The older woman leans away and unravels your button shirt, and harshly pulls it off your body, leaving you alone with your bra. Her ichor-hued eyes visibly darken to a hue of copper before her lips attach to the column of your neck. Her hands smoothly go to your back and unclasp your bra, and haphazardly throw it somewhere in the room.

You let out a mewl when she softly bit the center of your neck, followed by a gasp when her tongue smoothens it, she pulls you into an all-consuming kiss, her hands let go of your wrists, and your hands hastily gripped her biceps as her weight doubles making you press against the mattress, her lips muffling your groans and grunts as her teeth bite your lower lip, forcing a gasp out of you and allowing her to insert her tongue inside your mouth, your grip on her tightens as your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

She pulls away for a split second, allowing you to breathe before connecting her lips with yours, her hips bucking and thrusting against your clothed core, making you moan into her mouth as lust ignites between your legs. You tilted your head to meet her kiss as your legs circled her waist.

Karina groans, and she thrusts her hips against yours. You feel something poking against your clothed core. It's hard, and it feels good.

As if sensing your curiosity, Karina chuckles deeply. "We're hermaphrodite beings, beloved. I can pleasure you as a man, or woman, or both." She breathes against your lips. "Which do you prefer?"

"You," You mewl as she kisses your neck. "I want what you are right now, even forever."

The latter grins and bites into your neck, eliciting a yelp from you as she traverses her kiss downwards until she reaches the waistband of your pajamas. Karina's lips curl to a smirk, her hands latching onto the fabric of your pants before she effortlessly rips it and throws the torn fabric away. Your eyes widen while hers light up in amusement as she licks her upper teeth.

"Relax," She purrs as her finger hooks the hem of your panties and yanks down. Your cunt flutters at the exposure, toes curling with anticipation as your wife dips down, her tongue takes a bold lick on the seam of your pussy and shuddering when she retracts and swallows.

"Divine," She darkly grins as her hands pry your thighs to spread and latch onto your folds, eliciting a yelp from you as her tongue breaches your walls. You throw your head back when the warm, wet muscle begins to messily move in circles. Your arousal drips down the seams as she alternates from sucking and circling, eyes closing shut as carnal desire begins to take over the both of you. "Karina," You softly moan, "Fuck, so good - more, give me-"

She cuts you off with a growl, sending vibrations against your cunt. The sensation has your eyes rolling back as her tongue thrusts in and out. You plant your feet against the mattress and buck your hips against her face. "Fuck!"

Karina grunts and bites your clit, this sends white-hot pleasure through your body with carnal rapture seeping inside you as the woman withdraws. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" Des[ote your flustered state, your cheeks reddens. Karina hums and licks her lips which are covered in your arousal and her spit. "Let's try that again, yeah?"

She didn't let you reply and connected her mouth to your folds. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as heat bubbles within your body. You bristle in lust as the woman kept lapping your juices, her tongue working hard on sucking and thrusting inside your core, the obscene sounds were enough to lubricate you, your hand takes a purchase of her hair, tugging on it as moans and mewls befall your lips, evidently pleasing the woman who in turn moaned at the taste, doubling the sensation as she bites your clit again.

Your back arched as does this again and again. Triggering a bundle of nerves. "Karina," You whimper, and you can feel her smirk as she finally decided to have mercy on you, her teeth retracting from your clit and deciding to continue back to eating your out, both your juices and her saliva drip down from your ass to the sheets as she continues to ravage you.

And when her tongue manages to find a spongey spot, she immediately flicks it. Her ministrations made you see stars, hips jolting and accidentally grazing your clit against her teeth, making her moan while eliciting a pleasured cry from you. Walls clenching against her tongue, the woman in between your legs is determined to finish you off as her teeth keep biting your clit; helping her stimulate your orgasm as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, back arching and sweat dripping off every pore as your undoing hits you, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

The woman groaned at your nectar, lapping it up until you were whimpering, thighs shaking, and hands trying to pry away her head.

Karina decided to have mercy on your state and pull away with cum-smeared lips that formed into a smug smirk.

Despite your blurred vision, you can see your wife resting her head on the side of your thigh, kissing the expanse of skin before trailing up to your lower abdomen, giving it a soft kiss and mumbling something incoherent before kissing her way up to your lips, her body looming above you her hands trapping your sides as her lips mold with yours, giving you a taste of yourself as your hands caress her upper body, fingers working on with the buttons and belt of her suit to touch her bare, dewy skin.

Karina made it easier for you by snapping her fingers; she is just as bare as you.

Your eyes shamelessly trail down her body. Karina's body is lithe, though her biceps are slightly defined, so are her collarbones, her toned stomach, and...

Your eyes trail lower, and your core throbs with excitement.

So this is what a hermaphrodite being looks like.

Or maybe, that's just Karina adjusting for you. Either way; you'll take her as she is.

The latter grabs your jaw, forcing you to lock eyes with her.

"Let's see," She rasped, "Just how much you can take from me, pretty mortal."

Her body is never far away from yours, always flushed as her lips wrap around the exposed skin she finds. Your hands grabbed her strong back helplessly as she lodged her cock deep within you, veins rubbing and drilling with vigor while you moaned beneath her. "Fuck," She breathed, pulling out before thrusting back in, eliciting a gasp from you as she fucks you with abandon.

Her talons clawed the sheets, eyes screwing shut with every pound.

"Fuck, beloved." Karina softly moans as she drills deeper into you. The force behind her thrust pushes you upward, and she had to lock her arms around you to keep you from leaving her.

Your lips bite her shoulder to muffle a scream when she hits a spongey area. You heard Karina groan softly when your wall clenched greedily, hips snapping back and forth, your stomach coils, your skin burning with carnal want as your legs lock around her waist, ankles pressed against each other as her essence leaks from your abused cunt to the sheets after going at it for hours. The older woman felt her balls tighten, and her cock swelled as she pressed her forehead against yours, mewling as your release made your walls feel tight. You smell the mix of perfume, sweat, and sex from your bodies as her thrusts get sloppier and shallow to the point that she isn't pulling out anymore, her hips pistoning the same vulnerable spot that she had to muffle your strained moans with an ardent kiss as Karina stills her hips, thick spurts of cum painting your walls; you can only whimper; cunt accepting what she has to offer as this also triggers your orgasm, unannounced.

Karina pressed a kiss against your clammy temple, your walls convulsing, clenching around her incessantly.

Your hair is tousled and unruly, and your neck and collarbones were covered in her marks. The woman above you growls and sets her speed, her warm, thick cock drilling in and out in carnal want, ichor-hued eyes veiled with devouring lust as she throws her head back when you willfully clench your walls around her. Your lips chased her neck, nipping her Adam's apple, and she slightly falters. You can see the veins prominently bulging from her neck, beads of sweat running down her beautiful skin, and her sharp jaw on display for you. You drink in the sight as you pull her back to you, her wet hair sliding back, her kissable lips twitching to a smirk, gasping and whining with every clench of your needy cunt.

The raven-haired beauty presses you harder against the bed, her weight doubling as she flushes her body against yours, her dick pistoning in and out of you, raw. Her pace bristles with an animalistic drive, her breath fans your lips, and grunts and hush moans break past her lips with every pound.

"Are you close?" She couldn't control the distortion of her voice while you shamelessly raked your nails against her back. "Fuck," You mewled, "Yes - close."

The daughter of Lucifer mouths your cheek, mapping your features with her mouth as her toned stomach flexes. Your thighs burn with every pound and tears trail down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you choke a sob. The latter groans and withdraws her cock until only the tip remains and slams back in. You dig your nails harder, leaving crescent shapes and red vertical lines along her back to the point that you're aware of how much that would be painful for her.

"Harder,"

You briefly pull away to lock eyes with her, the obscene sounds of skin slapping reverberate in your room, and she looks at you with a small smile. "Use me," She pecks your lips softly, "As I am using you."

And who are you to refuse?

You hide your face against the column of her neck as the appendage kisses your cervix, and she does this again, and again, and again. She fucks you harder on your mattress, deeper, and you are on the verge of letting go. "Don't hold back," She moans.

Her cock twitches inside you, her hands move to the sheets, crumpling it as if her life depended on it while she fucks you carelessly, and your body heats up.

You bite down on her neck, muffling a scream as you cum, and milk her cock dry, legs trembling like a leaf, and your vision blackens. Karina sighs in pleasure as her cock savors your nectar. She bites the juncture of your neck and keeps fucking you through your orgasm.

And finally, she lets out a high-pitched moan and cums. She stills her hips and hides her head in the crook of your neck that's littered with marks. Her cock spurted out thick warm spurts of her seed, her soft lips kissing the side of your neck, your hand circled on her hip while the other one held her nape, both of you panting for breath.

After a minute of silence, she looks up at you. "Can you do one more?"

You nod mindlessly. Of course, one more always meant more than what you thought Karina said.

Because even as a devil, a daughter of Lucifer; she took you to heaven's door multiple times.

You knew that once she had a taste of you she'd never stop.

Karina...that woman is insatiable.

And of course, you'd let her do anything to you.

A moan leaves your lips, only to be silenced by her hand clamping over your mouth.

You'd let her fuck you an hour before your concert.

The devil looms over your face, the light shielding the smirk on her lips while she fucks you against the sectional couch. The raven-haired beauty moves her hips languidly against yours. Her pace is desperate and strong and you claw her Brioni suit that you bought for her two days before your concert. Her pants pooled her ankles, while you're still wearing your bathrobe, or rather what's left of it. How did this start? You just finished taking a bath and walked past your 'wife' who's already done preparing. She said you smelled good. Bullshit.

"Do you want me to go faster?" She asks, mockery evident in her tone. "Fuck - yes!" You choked a gasp as she jogs her hips firmly, and you let your head fall against the couch chanting: Yes, and fuck, your pussy clenches in gratification eliciting a moan from Karina as she licks a line from your neck to your ear.

"Is that better?" She husked, and you moaned again in reply. The devil growls and sets her speed, her used, hard cock drilling in and out of you in carnal want, her blown, brown eyes flashing gold and veiled with lust. She throws her head back to move her hair that's sticking against her sweaty face. Sweat runs down her pale skin, her sharp jawline in display for you. You drink in the sight - like a lewd statue exclusive to you. Not to mention the suit that compliments her lean form, her hair wet and slid back, soft lips twitching to a gasp, chuckle, and groan with every clench of your needy cunt.

You lean up to capture her neck with your lips, tongue licking her Adam's apple before biting it. Karina moans loudly, and you peck her for it before she turns it into a tongue-dancing session. Karina's hands cup your face and press you harder against the couch. Her weight doubles as she flushes her body against yours, her veiny cock pistoning in and out of you, her pace bristling with an animalistic drive, breath fanning your lips.

Karina maps your features with her eyes before she brushes a familiar spot that have you rolling your eyes in return. Her stomach flexes, your thighs burn from her ramming, and tears trail down your cheeks. You're thankful you haven't put any makeup or skincare on for it. Karina gasps, the sight enticing her, and she momentarily stops thrusting. The devil pulls out eliciting a breathy whimper from you as you pull her close, head shaking sideways as your eyes begged her not to pull away. Karina slams back in. You screw your eyes shut as she abuses the spot again. A vicious grin graces her lips as she fucks you harder, deeper in your fitting room with her other hand clamping over your mouth.

You've reached your limit.

You bite her hand to muffle a scream as the strong wave of your orgasm hits you. Karina bites your shoulder, pointed teeth piercing your skin as you milk her dry, your legs shaking like a leaf, and your vision blackens - your energy drains and your skin is covered in a thick veil of sweat.

"That's it," She groans as she cums inside you. Warm, goopy, and generous. She lays on top of you, her arms snaking on your hips while you caress the back of her hair.

While you're fucked out, the latter seems to bask in the afterglow of fucking. Her golden eyes examine your state before grinning and pressing a kiss on your clammy forehead. "Rest," She gently commands with a soft voice, "I'll fix you up later, okay?"

You swallow harshly, throat dry. "Fix me later or fuck me later minutes before the concert starts?"

Karina's chest rumbles with a chuckle, "The former, though I wouldn't mind fucking all night after the concert."

You groan in reply, and she laughs, "I'm serious, beloved. Rest and I'll take good care of you."

To master 'The Last Rose of Summer' is an ambition for most violinists, and with the devil of music as your wife, success never tasted so good before as you have the audience at the palm of your hand.

The spotlight at your divine figure, at your hands that transitioned from one note to another with angelic grace.

Your eyes are locked with the devil in the front-row seat of Teatro Alla Scala, one of the most famous theatres in the world. It was built in the late 18th Century to plans made by the architect Giuseppe Piermarini, at the request of Empress Maria Theresa of Austria. A range of operas, classical concerts, and ballets are performed during the theatre season, which is one of the most important appointments in the Milanese social calendar.

Karina sat there crossed-legged with a smile, wearing her navy blue, double-breasted wool Plume suit, and trousers, inside, she wore a white turtle neck, and her hair is neatly combed and slid back. Her black hair cascades beautifully for you to see as she watches you with pride and acknowledgment.

You couldn't help but mirror her smile.

Something has changed within you, you can't help but glow at the fact that you've brought back a long-neglected virtuoso piece, creating a performance of pure musical delight.

Your body feels like it's on fire. You didn't care to fathom at all as you basked in the attention.

Yes, be selfish, be cruel, my beloved shouldn't be lesser than I

And as you brought the audience to an explosive end, while everyone else applauded, your eyes were only trained on your wife who stands up, amongst the cheers and howls of the crowd, it was only her voice that gave you clarity.

"Brava," She commends with distortion that no one else seems to hear. No one but you. She spoke again in another language, and this time, you understood it.

"Omnis, surge et accipe sponsam meam et aequalem meam. Aperi portas inferi novae reginae tuae; Ji Y/N."

Everyone, arise and welcome my bride and my equal. Open the gates of Hell for your new princess; Ji Y/N.

Fin.

Thoughts? Oh and if you have requests, feel free to flood my ask box skksks

#karina #karina x reader #karina aespa #aespa x reader #yu jimin #aespa smut #karina smut #wlw post #kpop girls #kpop smut #kpop oneshots #kpop idols #fem reader #gxg smut #gxg imagine

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solannn · 10 months ago

Text

𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐋’𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑

ᥫ᭡ 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎��ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⤷ bsd men ; what’s their fav things to do with their lover ? gn reader, might be hinted male. Established relationship, can be imagine as bf or husband.

˒ ⏤ 𝐃𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐢 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 ;

• ⮑ i feel like, he would love doing chores with you. Like chore dates /hj

• ⮑ like he’s in the kitchen, washing the dishes with you. While he dulled the dirty plates, and made a pile of plates. You rinsed the plates and the piles. He found it fun to do chores with you, he loved it.

• ⮑ he seems like the person who hates chores or duties, however he isn’t. Sometimes he could be lazy to do it, when he isn’t in a mood. He def listen to music while doing it.

• ⮑ he will probably play with the foam from the dishwashing liquid, and put some froth on your nose, for a laugh.

• ⮑ i think, while he scrubing the dirt of the dishes, at the same time he would, he puts some music to enjoy their moments together. (It’s song about sucide) he propose to sang the song, with him. How could you refuse, this guy who was such a tease to you

9/10, it’s pretty cute that he’s helping you with chores, without getting bored.

˒ ⏤ 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚 ;

• ⮑ bikes dates, like he’s showing you his fav place at midnight.

• ⮑ like he’s taking to the countryside, late at night after a long day at work. You’re holding his waist, tightly as you sat on the behind him. As he start the cycle and began to move it forward slowly. The breezing air was going through your long/short.

• ⮑ The warmness of your held, making him smile slightly. Sometimes, on middle of the road, he would ask you if you’re doing okay, or wondering if you’re asleep.

• ⮑ he loves taking you to his favorite place, the landscape is always so beautiful. He does that, with a grin on his face he also does that after a stressful day.

• ⮑ the countryside is mostly a village is often a place where traditional ways of life are still practiced or, has rustic charm, with its thatched-roof cottages and winding streets. It’s so lovely, the ancient woods, which were still used to build houses, the trees and bushes which surrounded several villages. Lights illuminated their view, to better see the landscape. The stars shone brightly, and the moon was reflected by the sun.

10/10 it’s makes me feel sleepy, if someone does that to me, specially if i had a hard day.

𝐅𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲 ;

If you’re a musician/violonist ;

• ⮑ you loved, music, and syncs melody and so does Fyodor.

• ⮑ don’t you think a violinist and a cellist, are the most perfect duo for each other ?

• ⮑ To calm down after a hard day, or you just want to relax with your partner. The music filling in the room, they didn’t need the lyrics, the intrusment was already perfect.

• ⮑ While you play violin, he plays cello with you, creating the most beautiful and elegant melody. The song was relaxing to both of your ears.

• ⮑ A harmonious, and tuneful melodious sound filled the room, Fyodor’s eyes was closed, enjoying the melody you made, with him. You and Fyodor were having fun, no matter what melodious music he started playing, you could follow him, or recognize the music without any problem. Once the music stopped, Fyodor opened his eyes again, looking at you and curve his lips into a grin. Fyodor had noticed, but not you. Nikolai and Sigma were in the same room, they were curious to hear such synchronized music. Nikolai was amused, as he clapped his hands, quickly, whereas Sigma clapped softly, while glaring at the excited clown.

idk what to rate him, i don’t even play instruments

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s0larine · 5 months ago

Text

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐄 [𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐂 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑]

summary ☩ The reader, an undercover Assassin, goes at a high-society masquerade ball to gather information about Templars and unexpectedly meet her former friend, Shay, now fully allied with the enemy. Neither can afford to reveal their true identities in such a public place, but they are drawn to each other through the anonymity of the masks.

[a/n] ☩ [y/f/n] means your fake name because baby we’re playing undercover tonight~ reminder that english is not my mother tongue. UNEDITED

word count ☩ 3,979

pairing ☩ shay cormac x f! reader

content warnings ☩ slight sexual tension, female reader, enemies to lovers, mentions of shay's deflection, fluff, assassin! reader, templar! shay, reader in a gown, shay being a man, shay having a long time crush on reader, mutual pining, ...

　　　New-York, June 1756

“Everything is in order. You can enter, Lady [y/f/n].”

The red coat handed you your invitation. As you entered the huge place, your eyes wandered around you, detailing every nook and cranny, taking in and memorising the layout of the area. The grand hall was indeed a spectacle of opulence. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, casting a golden glow over the sea of masks that danced and mingled below. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of violins filled the air, creating a scene that was far removed from the dangerous world you were familiar with.

Your mission tonight was simple: gather information, and your mentor was clear about your purpose here; not to engage at any costs. The Templars were holding this extravagant masquerade in the hopes of attracting allies from high society, and you had been sent by the Assassin Brotherhood with—of course, a fake name—to blend in, to listen, to learn. The gown you wore tonight was unlike anything you were used to—luxurious, intricate, and adorned with a mask that glittered in the candlelight. Your hair was gathered in a half bun and some golden hair clips adorned them. In order to pass for a member of high society, you even took the time to put on a jewellery set; a necklace, dangling earrings and a few bracelets and rings. But beneath the facade of wealth and elegance, your blade was hidden, strapped to your left thigh under your luxurious gown, ever ready. If I'd been born as a man, hiding it and having simple access to it would have been easier, but there's nothing more I can do in this puffy dress… you thought.

As you walked amongst the other attendees, getting as close as possible to people whose clothes meant something to you, such as high-ranked Templars, you noticed a very particular group of men at the other side of the hall. Among them were Colonel George Monro and Sir William Johnson, both members of the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order. Your eyes fell on their silhouettes with their recognisable clothes from beneath your own mask but quickly continued their search. And who else…

What you hadn't expected was to find him here.

Shay Cormac stood with the group of men, dressed sharply in a black tailcoat with accents of silver and red. His mask, a sleek black piece that covered half his face, did little to hide the sharpness of his features or the air of authority he carried. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The same stormy brown eyes that had haunted your thoughts since the day he defected from the Brotherhood.

You hadn't seen him in years, but the memories were fresh, the betrayal still raw.

But there was one detail that made your blood run cold: the young man's eyes were already riveted on you. When has he ever noticed you before? Your heartbeat quickened and you finally looked away, turning to a passing servant. You picked up a glass of champagne as he passed by you and began to sip the golden liquid, your eyes frantically searching for a place to rest in order to pass for an innocent. Maybe it was just a coincidence... No, no, he's far too clever to think that I'm just a random young woman...

You risked looking back up at the group of men he was with, but he had already disappeared. Your breathing quickened and you turned away from his previous location towards a random group of people, just to pass for a guest sympathising with others. Your heart raced as you opened your senses; you knew he was coming for you and you couldn’t do anything but pray he hadn’t recognised you yet. This was supposed to be just another mission, a simple infiltration, but now everything felt different. Could you approach him without giving yourself away?

A voice behind you jolted you from your thoughts, soon followed by a delicate

"Would you care to dance?"

You freezed. A delicate palm soon rested on the small of your back and another one entered your field of vision from the right, at the level of your own right hand. Closing your eyes, you inhaled sharply before turning; you found Shay standing before you, his right hand still extended and a dangerous smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat once again at your inattentiveness. You needed to be more careful around him… The recognition in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. He definitely knew. He had seen through your disguise, just as you had seen through his.

But you couldn't afford to let him know the depth of your awareness, not here, not now.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension that coiled in your chest, giving away your champagne glass to a passing servant. You placed your right hand in his left, feeling the warmth of his grip, and he led you onto the dance floor.

The music swelled around you as Shay pulled you close, one hand resting firmly on your waist, the other holding your gloved hand in his. His touch was confident, and his movements were smooth as he guided you effortlessly through the steps of the waltz. The crowd around you faded into the background, your focus narrowing to the man before you.

"You've been watching me, [y/n]," Shay said softly, his lips barely moving as he leaned in. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hidden challenge.

You met his gaze, your mask hiding the flash of defiance in your eyes. "I could say the same about you, Shay."

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough," you whispered with clenched teeth, your voice sharp despite the graceful steps of the dance.

Shay's grip on your waist tightened slightly, which made you tense, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between you. "You always did have a way with words. Tell me, are you here for pleasure, or are you working tonight?" You did not fail to notice his gaze sliding down your neck to the start of your cleavage, checking you out shamelessly.

Your cheeks flushed, feeling like a lamb trapped in the fangs of a wolf. You felt the heat of his breath as he spoke, the proximity making it difficult to keep your composure. Every instinct told you to draw your blade, to end this now, but the crowd was thick, and the consequences of a public confrontation were too great.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" you replied, your lips curving into a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

He twirled you effortlessly, the skirts of your gown swirling around you as you spun, and when you came back to him, his hand was lower, lingering just above the hidden blade at your thigh. He didn't touch it, but the threat was clear. He knew exactly where it was. Your blood ran cold at the thought that he had found your dagger.

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, his voice a soft warning. "This is a delicate dance we're doing. One misstep and it could get… messy."

From being riveted on his chest, your eyes looked back up into his own, the familiar storm clouds swirling with something darker, something more dangerous. "You think I'm afraid of a little mess?"

Shay's lips quivered into a smirk, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the man you once knew, the Assassin and friend who had fought beside you. But that man was gone, replaced by the Templar before you.

"You should be," he whispered, pulling you closer as the music slowed.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the crowd, the mission, the masks—all of it dissolved as the tension between you reached a boiling point. The weight of your shared history hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. You had fought side by side once, and had trusted him with your life. And then he had betrayed everything.

But here, in this moment, with his hand on your waist and your bodies moving in sync, the lines between enemy and ally blurred. You hated him, you were sure of that, but the way your heart pounded in your chest told a different story. There was something more, something you had never fully understood.

"Tell me, Shay," you said, your voice barely more than a breath as the music began to wind down. "Why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on us?"

Shay's expression darkened, the playful smirk fading as his eyes grew hard. "You wouldn't understand, [y/n]."

"Try me," you insisted, your grip on his hand tightening.

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours. And then, just as the final note of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong."

With those words, the music ended, and Shay released you, stepping back with a final, piercing look. He bowed slightly, a mockery of the formal dance, and then turned, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there in the middle of the dance floor, watching him go back to his Templar associates. You were unable to move, your heart racing, and your mind spinning. His words echoed in your ears, and for the first time, you weren't sure where your loyalties truly lay.

As the night wore on, you realised that this masquerade was more than just a mission—it was the beginning of a far more dangerous game. One that you and Shay Cormac were destined to play, whether you liked it or not.

The evening continued around you, but it felt as though you were standing still. The swirling skirts, the clinking of glasses, the murmurs of conversation—they all faded into background noise as your mind raced with Shay’s parting words.

“Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong.”

Your hand unconsciously grazed the hidden blade at your thigh, the familiar weight suddenly feeling heavy. Shay had betrayed everything you once stood for. He had walked away, abandoned the Creed, and joined the very enemies you had sworn to fight. And yet… there was a flicker of doubt creeping into your thoughts, a doubt you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

The Brotherhood had given you purpose, structure, a cause greater than yourself. But now, for the first time, you wondered if Shay’s defection wasn’t just a selfish act of betrayal. His eyes when he spoke had held something you hadn’t expected: conviction.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No. I won’t question the Brotherhood. Not now, not because of him.

But that resolve felt brittle.

You caught a glimpse of Shay again through the crowd. He had made his way toward the far end of the ballroom, mingling with Templar officials, exchanging pleasantries. But his eyes kept darting back to you, just as yours did to him.

What was his game?

Your mission was still clear. Gather information. You weren’t here for personal matters. You couldn’t afford to let Shay’s presence distract you. But despite your attempts to stay focused, your thoughts kept wandering back to that dance, to his touch, to the way his breath had brushed against your ear when he whispered those final words.

Suddenly, a hand landed lightly on your shoulder, jolting you from your reverie.

“Care to join me for a drink, my lady?” The voice belonged to a man in a silver mask, a high-ranking Templar based on the insignia on his sleeve. His eyes were sharp, watching you with interest. It was clear he had noticed your distraction.

Forcing a smile, you nodded, reminding yourself of your mission. “Of course.”

As you followed him to a quieter corner of the room where the drinks were principally gathered, you could feel Shay’s gaze burning into your back, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The Templar was speaking now, sharing something about the recent victories they’d secured in the colonies, but you weren’t really listening despite the purpose of your mission tonight. Your mind was still with Shay, turning over everything he had said—and everything he hadn’t in a way. After a few minutes of absent-mindedly drinking champagne and listening to the man recount his false prowess, you finally excused yourself from the conversation, your head buzzing with alcohol and of course the weight of your conflicting emotions. You were a little hot and needed air, away from all those rich folks.

You headed for the balcony overlooking the formal gardens of the period building. Stepping out onto the balcony, you took a deep breath of the cool night air, leaning against the marble railing.

It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Opening your senses once again, you closed your eyes and you instantly knew who it was.

“You always did like your quiet moments,” came a familiar voice.

You didn’t turn around immediately, your hands tightening on the railing as Shay approached. You could feel his eyes boring into your back, or even your bum, and the tension rolling off him.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” you said, still facing the darkened city beyond. “You’ve made your point. Or was there something else you wanted to say?”

Shay didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped beside you, his presence warm and solid in the cool night air. You could feel him watching you, studying you, but you refused to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “do you truly believe in everything the Brotherhood teaches? Or do you just follow because that’s all you’ve ever known?”

The question hit harder than you expected. You had spent years training under the Creed, living by its rules, carrying out its missions without question. But standing here now, with Shay beside you, that certainty felt… shaky. He wasn’t just talking about betrayal; he was challenging everything you had built your life around.

“Why are you asking me this?” you shot back, turning towards him and leaning against the fence that was now behind you. The action made the dark-haired man's eyes slide towards your protruding chest, and they stopped there for a few seconds before returning to rest in your eyes. You frowned slightly, licking your lower lip, you decided to ignore his gaze and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. “You’re the one who abandoned us. Who betrayed your brothers and sisters. You walked away, Shay. And now you want to question my loyalty?”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes never wavered. “I didn’t betray the Brotherhood. I saw the truth. The Assassins… they’re not as righteous as you think. They preach freedom, but they’re willing to sacrifice anyone who gets in their way.”

You inhaled sharply, your chest suddenly pressed against the corset of your dress. You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips. There was a certain fire in his eyes, a depth to his conviction that shook you. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t manipulating you. He believed what he was saying.

“I followed the Creed because I believed in it, just like you do, [y/n],” seeing that you didn’t speak, Shay continued, his voice steady. “But I couldn’t ignore what I saw—the innocents we put at risk, the people we hurt for the sake of an ideal. The Brotherhood is supposed to protect people, not destroy them.”

You felt a pang of anger, but also of confusion. Shay wasn’t wrong about some of the darker sides of the Assassins’ work. You had seen it yourself—the collateral damage, the grey areas where right and wrong blurred.

But you had always trusted the Creed to guide you, to show you the path forward.

“And what about the Templars?” you countered. “They’re no saints either, Shay. You think they’re any better?”

“I don’t think they’re perfect,” Shay admitted. “But they offer something the Assassins never could—order, stability. A chance to build a world where people don’t have to live in fear of chaos.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away again, staring out at the city while shaking your head, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Part of you wanted to reject everything he was saying, to cling to the teachings of the Brotherhood. But another part of you—a part that had been growing ever since Shay’s defection—couldn’t ignore the doubts.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” you asked quietly, your lips quivering with sadness.

Shay’s silence was heavy before he finally spoke. “Because you deserve to know the truth. And because I don’t want to lose you to the same blindness that I was caught in for so long.”

His words were raw, unguarded. For a moment, you weren’t an Assassin and he wasn’t a Templar. You were just two people standing on the edge of something far bigger than either of you.

Your heart ached with the weight of it all—your history with Shay, your loyalty to the Brotherhood, and the undeniable pull you felt toward him. The night had begun as a mission, but it had become something far more dangerous. The real question was: what would you do now?

Slowly, you turned to face him a second time since you stepped on the balcony, the air between you charged with everything unsaid.

“What happens now, Shay?” you breathed, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Shay’s eyes held yours, the storm of emotions mirrored in his gaze. He stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Now, we decide what side of history we’re on. Together.”

The weight of Shay’s words lingered in the cool night air, settling between the two of you like an invisible barrier. His eyes held yours, intense and searching yet soft, as if he was trying to read the turmoil inside you, to understand the emotions you weren’t sure you could admit to yourself.

“Together?” you echoed, your voice softer than you intended.

Shay stepped even closer, his tall frame casting a shadow in the moonlight, towering over your gentle but firm and well-trained one. The tension between you shifted, no longer just the push and pull of conflicting loyalties. There was something else—something that had always been there, beneath the surface, but never acknowledged.

The air around you seemed to thicken as he closed the distance. His gloved hand reached up slowly, hesitating for a moment, before gently lifting your mask. The gesture made you swallow your saliva in order to get rid of the lump that was starting to form in your throat. The intricate piece slid off, exposing your face to the night’s cool breeze. His gaze softened as he studied you, no longer the dangerous man who had left the Brotherhood, but someone familiar—someone who had once meant more to you than just a fellow Assassin.

“I never wanted to lose you,” Shay murmured, his voice lower now, more intimate as his eyes gazed at your opened lips. “Even after everything, I never stopped thinking about you.”

His confession sent a jolt through you, and you had to look away, your heart pounding in your chest. The years of anger and betrayal clashed with the warmth that was blooming inside you now, a warmth you hadn’t felt since before Shay had turned his back on everything you believed in.

“Shay, we’re on opposite sides now,” you whispered, though even as you said it, the words felt hollow.

He didn’t back away. Instead, his hand moved to your chin, gently guiding your face back to meet his eyes. “Does it matter? Here, right now, do sides really matter?”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was dangerous—not just because of who he was, but because of what you felt for him, what you had always felt. His hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so dangerous, so conflicted.

“I couldn’t let you go then, [y/n],” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I can’t now.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his gaze, disarmed you completely. All the questions, the doubt, the anger—it melted away in the warmth of his touch. For so long, you had convinced yourself that you hated him, that what he had done was unforgivable. But now, standing here, feeling the heat radiating from him, you realised the truth: you had never stopped caring for him.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours. You could feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your heart pounded in rhythm with his, the magnetic pull between you undeniable.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you either,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath as your gentle eyes switched from one to another of his and sometimes stopped on his chapped lips for no more than half a second to switch back to his eyes.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Shay closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second. His hand on your cheek slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, sent a shiver down your spine. The world around you disappeared—the masquerade, the mission, the war between Assassins and Templars. None of it mattered. Not now.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath the fabric of his coat, and absent-mindedly stroked the Templar sigil on his torso. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. The kiss deepened, the slow burn of passion igniting into something more urgent, more desperate. Years of unspoken tension, of denied feelings, seemed to pour into that kiss, both of you trying to make up for the time you had lost.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb gently stroked the side of your neck, a soft, intimate gesture that made your heart race even faster.

“I don’t care about the sides anymore,” Shay whispered against your lips, his breath warm. “I care about you.”

His words sent a wave of emotion crashing through you. You knew it wasn’t that simple—nothing ever was in your world—but for this moment, it felt like it could be. Like the war, the betrayal, everything else could fall away, leaving just the two of you.

“I don’t know if we can ever go back,” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. “After everything that’s happened…”

Shay’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer. “Maybe we don’t need to go back. Maybe we can start something new.”

You directed your gaze to meet his own eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his eyes—the pull of duty against the pull of his heart. But there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way forward together.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted, chuckling softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his collar.

Shay leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself savour the moment, the feel of him against you, the warmth of his embrace. For now, that was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, it could be enough for whatever came next.

　　　PART 2 in writing...

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

#shay cormac #shay cormac x reader #assassin's creed rogue #assassin's creed x reader #x reader #x female reader #shay patrick cormac #ac rogue #shay patrick cormac x reader #fluff #two shot #one-shot #part 1 #part 1/2

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 months ago

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(BBC Sherlock) Sherlock x Reader: Holiday Cheer

Author's Note: I struggle publishing Sherlock fics because as a Christian I personally disagree with his statements about God on the show and find it insulting actually. However, I otherwise enjoy the show and enjoy writing fics with his character.

Just a little blurb about the holidays with the Baker Street boys! Enjoy!

Word Count: 954

You slowly lifted the mug of hot chocolate, pausing to inhale the rich, sweet scent of the beverage and feel the liquid’s warmth waft against your skin. With a smile, your lips skated over the dollop of whipped cream as you tilted the mug to take a sip.

Mrs. Hudson was known for keeping the flow of cuppas constant at 221b Baker Street, but since the Christmas season had begun, she came walking up the steps with a tray of hot cocoa and an assortment of cookies instead.

The flat was all decorated for the holiday with strings of soft, glowing lights hanging on the wall and wrapped around garlands. Holiday knickknacks decorated the area. A few Christmas cards had arrived as well, so you and John took turns arranging them nicely on the fireplace mantle as you received them in the mail.

At the moment, you were seated comfortably in one of the living room chairs, eyeing the decorations and occasionally gazing wistfully out the window at the heavy snowfall that covered London streets in a blanket of white. A lovely Christmas tune on the violin drifted through the flat as Sherlock practiced. Despite it being an afternoon in, he was fully dressed in a dark blue suit. John was at the table, typing away on his laptop about a recent case. It was evident that he was trying to record many details because the click-clack of the keys was rapid and constant.

Occasionally, he paused to check the notes he had previously jotted down.

You turned your attention back to the fire crackling in the fireplace.

What a scene, you mused to yourself.

You took another sip of the hot chocolate and savored the rich flavor.

John glanced up from his laptop at you. “That looks good.”

“It is. Mrs. Hudson really knows what she’s doing.” You proceeded to pour him a cup, dropping a dollop of whipped cream in with a spoon. John set his laptop aside and rubbed his hands together in anticipation before you handed the mug over to him.

“Mm.” He took a sip and nodded in approval.

Sherlock had paused his playing, setting the instrument down to instead gaze out the window in silent observation. You wondered what was going through that mind of his. It wasn’t always a mystery. Sometimes he uttered his musings aloud for anyone nearby to hear his train of thought. Other times, when he was in the deepest of thoughts, he fell silent.

You always wondered what thoughts could prompt that. The great Sherlock Holmes loved to hear himself talk. It gave him some sort of satisfaction to sprinkle in his genius observations into everyday conversation. More than that, he enjoyed a long spiel to summarize his logic and make a final statement about his conclusion of the solving of a mystery just to observe the shocked and impressed faces of those around him. You and John both discovered that after working cases with him for as long as you had.

“I was thinking,” John spoke up, setting his mug down on the tray.

Sherlock’s voice sounded as a deep rumble from across the room. “That’s dangerous.”

John, now used to his roommate’s antics, continued on, ignoring him. “I was thinking about taking a stroll tonight to see the Christmas lights. Would you like to come?”

Excitement welled up inside you at the prospect. London famously had spectacular lights around the holidays. Whole streets were lit for passers by to see, and they made for lovely walks.

“That sounds like fun,” you replied enthusiastically. John smiled, and both of you turned to the consulting detective. “What do you think, Sherlock? Want to come?”

“I have other matters to attend to,” he said over his shoulder.

“Oh, well, okay then.” You shrugged, hoping to disguise your disappointment. “John and I will go.”

“I said I have other matters to attend to. I did not say I wasn’t going.”

John’s brows furrowed in a look of confusion. “Okay…?”

Sherlock proceeded to take up his violin again and play another holiday tune. You stifled a chuckle in frustrated amusement of your friend. John exchanged glances with you and shrugged.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“Oh, how beautiful!” You exclaimed in awe.

The street was very festively lit with strands of lights hung overhead. You and John were enchanted by the sights while Sherlock walked beside you with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. His expression was guarded, though you caught him glancing around. The great Sherlock Holmes was not impervious to holiday cheer, even if he tried to act like it.

John stopped to look at one fixture in particular, and you turned to Sherlock, who was already inches away.

“What do you think?” you asked, trying to look unphased by the close proximity. It was difficult enough with any other person, but especially with the detective. You were very aware of how he could pick up on the smallest details. He probably already saw your pupils dilate, or noticed some other telling sign of your affection for him.

He tilted his head so that he was face-to-face with you, eyes flickering down to meet your gaze. His eyes were like ice, but with the twinkling lights shining in them, they didn’t look quite so cold as they regarded you. “It’s not so bad,” his voice rumbled lowly.

You were frozen in place, lips parted to speak, but with no words coming out. Neither of you moved for what felt like ages until John spoke up somewhere ahead. Sherlock took a step back to create a little distance, though he paused so that you could walk beside him before the two of you continued your stroll down the lane.

#sherlock x reader #sherlock bbc #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock reader insert #sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfiction #john watson #sherlock x reader fanfic

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sakshisahu · 21 days ago

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I've written my first ever proper fic!

"Rosie’s Big Day"

Chapter 1: The Announcement

The morning started with the sound of clinking dishes and the faint hum of a violin from the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. John was at the kitchen counter, buttering toast for his eight-year-old daughter, Rosie, while Sherlock sat at the table, examining a suspicious-looking vial of liquid.

“Daddy,” Rosie began, her voice heavy with determination.

“Yes, sweetheart?” John responded absently, placing the toast in front of her.

“I’ve decided I want my ears pierced.”

The butter knife slipped from his fingers, landing with a clatter on the plate. Sherlock froze mid-inspection of the vial. Both men turned to her, though their reactions couldn’t have been more different.

“Absolutely not,” Sherlock said immediately.

“Oh, come on, Sherlock,” John said, waving him off. “It’s normal for kids her age. All her friends probably have them.”

“Exactly my point,” Sherlock countered, setting the vial down. “Blind conformity to societal trends is—”

“I’m not conforming!” Rosie interrupted, puffing out her cheeks in indignation. “I just want to look pretty. Clara got hers pierced last week, and everyone said she looked so cool. Besides, it’s my choice!”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “A choice made under peer pressure is no choice at all.”

“Sherlock,” John warned, seeing Rosie’s eyes narrow.

“You’re the meanest dad ever!” she declared, crossing her arms with a huff.

Sherlock blinked, looking vaguely affronted, as though she’d just accused him of not understanding chemistry. John suppressed a grin and crouched down beside Rosie, his hands resting on her chair.

“It’s not about being mean, Rosie. Sherlock’s just worried about you,” he explained gently. “Getting your ears pierced can be a big deal, and we need to make sure it’s done safely, okay?”

Rosie considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But I am getting them pierced, right?”

John glanced at Sherlock, who sighed deeply, his reluctance clear. “Fine. But only after we’ve conducted thorough research into the safest possible studio,” Sherlock conceded.

Rosie squealed with excitement, throwing her arms around both her fathers. Sherlock stiffened under the sudden hug, muttering something about sentiment being impractical, but John caught the faintest hint of a smile.

---

Chapter 2: Planning the Piercing

The following week was a whirlwind of preparation. Rosie, ever the combination of her dads, approached the task with equal parts meticulous planning and enthusiasm.

“Daddy Sherlock, can you help me pick the best place?” she asked sweetly one evening.

Sherlock, flattered despite himself, immediately began analyzing reviews online and interrogating staff over the phone. Rosie perched beside him, doodling earrings in her notebook. John, meanwhile, supervised with an amused smile.

“Is this really necessary, Sherlock?” John asked, leaning over Sherlock’s shoulder to glance at the screen.

“Do you want our daughter to risk an unsterile environment?” Sherlock replied. “Look at this review—‘The technician’s gloves appeared slightly loose.’” He snorted. “Amateurs.”

By the end of the night, they had a list of three studios, one of which Sherlock deemed acceptable. Rosie beamed.

---

Chapter 3: The Big Day

The piercing studio was bright and cheerful, with posters of smiling children on the walls. Rosie bounced on her toes, holding John’s hand tightly. Sherlock followed behind, his sharp eyes scanning the room for flaws.

“It smells too strongly of lavender,” he muttered. “Clearly an attempt to mask something.”

“Sherlock, please,” John hissed.

Rosie chose pink heart-shaped earrings, which she declared “perfect.” She climbed into the chair, swinging her legs nervously.

“You can hold my hand, Rosie,” John offered, crouching beside her.

“I’m not scared,” she insisted, her voice wobbling slightly.

The piercer explained each step of the process, but when the needle approached, Rosie’s bravado crumbled. The first piercing was met with a loud wail, followed by fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Why did you let me do this?” she cried, burying her face in John’s shoulder.

John rubbed her back soothingly. “It’ll be over soon, love. Just one more, and then you’ll be all done.”

Sherlock, standing awkwardly nearby, cleared his throat. “Perhaps a distraction?” He pointed at the certificates on the wall. “Do you know what an autoclave does, Rosie?”

“No!” she sobbed, hiccupping.

“Sterilizes equipment,” he explained. “Crucial for avoiding infection.”

John shot him a look. “Not helping, Sherlock.”

After much coaxing, the second earring was finally in place. Rosie sniffled, clutching her teddy bear while John wiped her tears.

“See? You did it,” John said softly.

Rosie nodded, her voice trembling. “I guess I’m pretty brave.”

Sherlock arched a brow but wisely said nothing.

---

Chapter 4: A Celebration Turns Sour

The celebration was short-lived. A week later, Rosie’s left ear was red, swollen, and tender to the touch. She winced when John inspected it.

“It’s infected,” he said grimly.

“Impossible,” Sherlock declared. “We vetted that studio thoroughly.”

John shook his head. “Doesn’t matter how clean the studio was. Sometimes infections happen, especially if the piercing is fiddled with too much.” He shot a knowing look at Rosie, who had the grace to look sheepish.

“Did you touch it, sweetheart?” John asked gently.

“I just wanted to see if it was okay!” Rosie protested.

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is precisely why I argued against this in the first place.”

“Not helping, Sherlock,” John snapped.

John cleaned the piercing carefully, applying antibiotic ointment while Rosie whimpered. She squirmed as he prepared a tetanus shot, her eyes wide with fear.

“No needles!” she cried, tears spilling over.

“Rosie, love, I know it hurts, but this will make sure you don’t get really sick,” John said softly.

Sherlock, surprisingly, crouched beside her, his voice calm. “Do you remember when you scraped your knee and refused to let me clean it? This is the same thing—preventative measures. Think of it as science, not pain.”

Rosie sniffled. “Science?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “And you can yell at me if it hurts.”

Rosie hesitated, then nodded. She squeezed Sherlock’s hand tightly as John administered the shot. She cried, of course, wailing about how unfair it all was, but by the time it was over, she was curled in John’s lap, hiccupping softly.

---

Chapter 5: Recovery and Reflection

Over the next few days, the infection began to clear up, thanks to John’s care. Her piercings were removed. For all the wanting "piercings", Rosie didn't even ask for wearing them again; when John told her she could wear them again after the infection's healed. Rosie was milking her “ordeal” for all it was worth, demanding extra treats and bedtime stories.

“I’ll never get my ears pierced again!” she declared one evening, nestled between her dads on the sofa.

“Wise decision,” Sherlock murmured, earning a nudge from John.

“Don’t listen to him, Rosie,” John said. “You just had bad luck. Next time, we’ll be extra careful.”

Rosie shook her head firmly. “Nope. Earrings are stupid. I’m gonna be like Daddy Sherlock and never wear jewelry.”

Sherlock looked pleased. John rolled his eyes. “Great. Another victory for stubbornness.”

---

Epilogue

That night, after tucking Rosie in, John and Sherlock sat in the quiet of the living room.

“She’s going to remember this forever, you know,” John said.

“Good. Perhaps it will teach her to listen to reason next time,” Sherlock replied.

John chuckled. “Parenting with you is never boring.”

Sherlock tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Nor is it with you, Doctor.”

In the baby monitor, Rosie’s soft snores filled the room. They both glanced at the screen, watching their daughter sleep.

And in that moment, all was right in their little corner of the world.

#bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #fanfic #my 1st fic #sherlock fanfic #Sherlock fic #rosie watson #sherlock bbc #john watson #johnlock #sherlock x john #johnlock fic

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ashtxrie · 24 days ago

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summertime (jeongin)

PAIR. musician!jeongin x reader GENRE. angst, right person wrong time, missed opportunities, pianist x violinist, reader fumbling, jeongin deserves better WORD COUNT. 2.1k WARNINGS. mentions of drinking NOTES. oh yeah it's the post-finals ash comeback !

i think i’ll miss you forever like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky

june 00

summer had begun.

sunlight draped through the windows in veils of liquid bronze, winking off of the steinway in the center of the room. yang jeongin sits at the bench, fingers flitting across the monochrome keys. he locks eyes with you momentarily, your violin on your shoulder. you both exchange one of your secret smiles. we’re doing well.

yang jeongin was only supposed to be your accompanist for one concert, a little over a year ago. it was his first time; his mentor had called in sick that day, so he — a novice of age eighteen — was called on to play with you for your concerto. you were also eighteen at the time — a violin prodigy, a local legend.

it only took that one concert to note that the chemistry was undeniable. instead of one instrument line chasing another, it was as though time itself warped to fit your tempo. the pianist, no matter how skilled, was never to distract the audience from the soloist — but together, both of you shined the brightest. and so he was called on for your next concert, and the next, and the one after that — until the two of you became some sort of a package deal, where one was never in a concert hall without the other.

tabloids called it a dual sensation, a collision of harmonizing colors. later, you’d jokingly call it fate. you’d miss how elated jeongin was from your statement, eyes squinted in crescents for the rest of the day.

“you’re a star,” jeongin smiled one time, after a particularly successful performance. you had received a standing ovation.

“if i’m a star then you’re the sun,” you replied, expression mirroring his. “just look at the way everyone gravitates toward you.”

even you? jeongin wanted to ask, but he swallowed the question.

june 01

at nineteen, summer had arrived again. jeongin was going to confess today. after a year of nearly blurting it out loud, he hid flowers in the corner of the room, waiting for the end of this rehearsal. you were shining, as always.

you reached the end of your cadenza. suddenly, you turned around. “i’m not sure if i told you already, but i’m moving to the states in three months. i was going to tell you earlier, but couldn’t really find a good time to,” you breathed a little laugh. “it shouldn’t really affect you though; you’re really famous around here already anyway.”

jeongin’s eyes shifted to the corner of the room, where he could barely make out the pale pink petals. he waited too long. he had smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “that’s such a great opportunity, i’m so happy for you.”

“i’ll keep in touch,” you assured. words thrown out, haphazardly. it wasn’t a promise, and jeongin knew it. but in his mind, he hoped it was.

you picked up your violin, and jeongin faced back toward the piano like you always had before. you both didn’t say a word for the rest of the rehearsal.

july 01

one month had passed since then.

somehow, the two of you have gotten closer than ever before. jeongin seemed to find himself going to the cafe with you after practice, texting you late into the night, and running useless errands together.

“i’m going to get new strings. come with me?” you ask. jeongin knows you just changed it two months ago, far too recent to need a replacement. but he doesn’t dare ask you about it and agrees to go with you anyway.

maybe another version of yourself would have loved him. and maybe he would have been brave enough to ask you on a proper date, if he was a better man. but he isn’t, so he hopes and dreams and damns himself.

august 01

two months in. one month left.

jeongin gifts you a music box: a delicate wooden contraption of two figures dancing, lacquer smiles plastered on their faces. he’d spent his month’s paycheck on the custom-made design, and even more on the musical mechanism.

“play it,” he smiles eagerly. he leans forward, clasping his hands.

and you do, using both hands to wind it up. it plays a sweet melody, one you recognize instantly. the woman and the man, spinning around and around. you play it again after the song is over.

later, as you’re cleaning up your sheet music, you find the find the first piece you and jeongin worked on together. the same score that you both had used for that very first concert, the one he landed by chance.

“let’s play it again? for old-times’ sake?”

of course he agrees. jeongin could never say no to you, always a call away.

now you’re sure that you’ve heard that song before, the one in the music box. it’s playing now, after all.

september 01

your last performance. jeongin would never forget it.

maybe you both were good, really good, or maybe you were terrible. jeongin doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t care, because he’s playing to your cadences, and you’re playing to his tune.

after the encore, you rushed over to hug him, thanking him for the past year.

“do you ever have dreams?” you looked up at him, eyes glistening.

“dreams?” he laughed. “well, i’m in one right now, aren’t i?”

october 01.

it was no longer summer when you left.

without the sun, jeongin’s days are dimmer. he runs through his warm-ups in an hour, sitting through a limbo between consciousness for the other twenty-three.

in the morning he’ll call you, and that is the only time he feels alive.

you talk about places, and things. sandy beaches and wide roads, skyscrapers and subways and neon lights. jeongin says to wait a few more years, when his brother moves out for college, and he’d fly over too.

he hangs on to the sound of your voice, ever a hoper, a dreamer, and imagines hearing it for years to come.

december 01.

the last day of the year. an almost-snow crowds the corner of his window. jeongin gets to stay in his apartment for half a week.

his neighbors are more festive than ever before. he hears the sounds of plates clambering, eager footsteps, and a steady drum.

jeongin calls you, the line connecting on the second try. there’s the faint sound of a piano playing in the background, of you laughing at a residual joke that someone made. he’s alone in his apartment.

“hello,” he smiles.

“hello jeongin,” he imagines you smile back.

“it’s new year.”

“sure is.”

“what are you doing?”

“talking to you.”

he laughs. you smile.

“did you hear the news?” you ask.

“what news?”

“orpheus’ orchestra is coming around. they invited me to play a concerto with them. i just met my accompanist today, he’s really nice.”

“oh.”

was that who she was laughing with before? he wants to go. with you. you should go together.

“i’ll buy your tickets,” he starts. you both know it’s impossible.

“front row seats, i hope?”

“whatever you’d like.”

his neighbors change the channel. sometime, sometime, it sings.

long after you hang up, jeongin leans against the wall closest to the radio. phone leaving red imprints on the side of his face.

“happy new years, darling,” he says, softly.

the radio plays. aren’t you a little in love, too?

march 02.

you don’t pick up jeongin’s calls much these days, and when you do, it’s always brief, ended abruptly. you’re always busy, always needing to go.

the walls are thin. jeongin thinks of calling you.

half of the time you don’t pick up, but he likes you, and he wants you to like him too.

so what if he stalls a little on your calls? two minutes into three, three into four, four into five–

he squints his eyes against the sun.

he dials your number, and he hears the piano again. a two-minute reverie before you have to leave again — the shortest call yet. you hang up mid-goodbye.

you don’t call again for a while after that.

october 02.

it’s been six months since he last heard from you. his neighbors had moved out not long after, and a young man around his age had moved in. his name was kim seungmin — the vocal protege who was relocated here for a local tour — and he was desperate for a piano accompanist. they bonded quickly, and a little part of jeongin reignited at playing an accompaniment part for someone again after so long.

tonight, in particular, they had decided to grab a drink together. mid-way through the fourth shot, jeongin’s ringtone suddenly plays.

yang jeongin’s eyes wander over the foreign digits on his phone. an incoming call from an unknown number. he excuses himself and goes outside; he picks it up anyway.

he hears a familiar voice from the other line. “hello?”

“sorry, who’s this?” he wonders if he’s drunk already.

��oh shoot, sorry wrong num– wait. jeongin?”

“yes?” realization hits him. he calls out your name softly, apprehensively, afraid of it sounding foreign on his tongue. it’s been so long, after all.

all the walls he’s built for the past six months break, going back to the dreamer of a boy he was one year ago. maybe it was the fact that he missed this sound for so long, or maybe it was the alcohol, but he asks the person on the other line to stay just a little longer.

“okay,” you say, and it’s silent on both their ends.

don’t let it end this time, he says to himself, when the line dies. don’t let it end.

october 05.

it’s been three years. jeongin’s gotten into fashion, met friends who he regards as family, found a love for diabolical footwear. his days are a lot less lonely now, with him performing with a full-time ensemble with seven other members. they were touring in america, for god’s sake! he finally got to visit the place he wanted for so long.

he’s known as another name now, remembered as the artist “i.n” instead of jeongin, the one who accompanied you all those years ago. but he never forgot.

jeongin walks into a thrift store on one of their tour stops with hyunjin, tasking the older to “rate the fit” as he looks for what he describes as “peak vintage sustainability.”

browsing the aisles, he pauses at a familiar object. a music box, with two figures dancing.

“you can go ahead actually,” he says to hyunjin, waving him on. “there’s just something i want to look at.”

he takes a while staring at at his own reflection in the figure’s glossy face. twenty-four, he counts out. he’s almost twenty-four. that means you are too.

hands shaking, he twists the handle of the music box. he closes his eyes, and lets the familiar melody play until it unwinds completely. he wished it never ended. it would make it all too real.

jeongin wonders if this is yours. he wonders if you still think about him from time to time, like how he does of you every day.

he pays for the music box and leaves.

in the morning, on the train, there’s a woman sitting across from him. she looks to be about the same age as him. the same age as you. he’s in america now, after all. she smiles down at him, hands clutched above at the handle. he’s holding the music box.

a second, then she is gone. jeongin looks into the sea of people of wherever he’s arrived, when the train’s stopped and he has to leave.

jeongin wonders if he would still recognize you on the street if you walked by. he’s scared. he’s afraid that his memory of you is becoming hazy, and replays your voice in his head until your last half-assed cut-off goodbye is all he can hear.

and he finds you, in the girl with a red scarf and the lady with polished fingernails. the musician with a violin case and the girl with a dog.

maybe you’re not in this city at all. maybe you’re out, in the streets of another foreign town.

under the roof of a korean cafe.

at a cheap motel, payment upfront.

it doesn’t matter who you are. he’ll find you everywhere.

in a broken-down apartment, at the last stop of the train.

he’ll be yours for all of them.

TAGLIST : @star-sim @boyfiejay @jlheon @jwsdoll @dimplewonie @suneng @en-gelic @mygnolia

*tagging my previous gen taglist for this one but from now on the ppl i tagged above will only be tagged in my enha-centric fics! if you'd like to be added to the general taglist (which is everything!) or the skz-focused taglist, please lmk with an ask or comment <3

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armpirate · 1 month ago

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Until You're Mine || Choi San | Ch. 5

MASTERLIST Previous || Next

Pairings: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, obsession, mafia love

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, explicit language, mention of drug and guns, violence, rough sex.

Summary: San, a notorious and feared mafia boss, has always lived in the shadows of power and violence. When an ambush leaves him wounded and on the run, he finds refuge in an empty event hall. Inside, Y/n, a rising star in the world of event planning, is nursing her own wounds -a career on the line after a confrontation with a powerful client. The last thing she expects is for her night to take a dark turn when San stumbles into her life, bloodied and dangerous.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Y/n can't turn away. She helps him clean up, binding more than just his wounds in the process. What begins as an intense, chance encounter spirals into a dangerous obsession. San, used to being the hunter, becomes fixated on the one woman who dared to help him, even in his darkest moment. Meanwhile, Y/n, caught in the mystery of that powerful man, finds herself tracking his every move, unable to shake the dangerous allure of his world.

Neither knows that their fascination with each other is mutual. In a city teeming with danger, power, and deceit, their secret obsessions will pull them deeper into a deadly game -one where love, power, and obsession intertwine, and nothing is as it seems.

Chapter duration: 14 minutes

Y/n shut the door behind her, leaning against it as the cool wood pressed into her back. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a rapid, unrelenting rhythm she couldn't quite settle. She exhaled a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she reached for the light switch.

Her apartment felt suffocatingly quiet, a stark contrast to the lavish world she'd just left behind. The glittering chandeliers, the soft hum of violins, and his presence -towering, magnetic- still clung to her like a second skin. She stepped out of her heels, wincing at the slight ache in her feet, but even the physical discomfort couldn't distract her from the weight of the evening.

She glanced at the sleek black box sitting on the coffee table. It hadn't been there before the gala. The sight of it sent a chill racing up her spine. Her thoughts flashed back to the necklace she'd found by her door just days ago. This... this was too much. Too close.

Y/n hesitated before crossing the room, her bare feet making soft sounds against the hardwood floor. She lifted the lid with cautious fingers, revealing the contents inside: a delicate bracelet, the design understated yet undeniably elegant. Next to it was a card, blank save for two handwritten words:

"You're unforgettable."

Her breath caught, and she set the box down as though it burned her fingertips. She paced the room, rubbing her hands over her arms as the memory of his touch invaded her thoughts. The way his hand had rested on the small of her back during their dance—possessive yet gentle, commanding without effort. The way his eyes had searched hers, dark and inscrutable, as if he already knew every question that had been swirling in her mind.

Why had he invited her? Why had he singled her out?

And why couldn't she shake the feeling that every step she took only pulled her deeper into his orbit?

She moved to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine to calm her fraying nerves. The red liquid glistened in the dim light as she took a small sip, her thoughts spiraling. She should feel violated. Angry. This man -a stranger, really- was worming his way into her life without her consent, without her permission. And yet...

She set the glass down, staring at the rippling surface.

She couldn't deny the pull she felt toward him. It wasn't just attraction, though there was plenty of that. It was something darker, deeper. A gnawing curiosity that refused to be silenced. He was a puzzle she couldn't resist solving, a fire she couldn't stop herself from touching.

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her trance. She reached for it, her pulse spiking as she read the name on the screen. Maya. It was her friend, the same one who'd helped her create the fake identity for the party.

—Hey —she said, keeping her voice steady.

—Hey? You said you'd call me —Maya sighed on the line—. It's not like I was awfully worried, but still...

—Everything went well —Y/n mentioned, her bare feet moving over her place.

—Did you get to see him?

—Hmm —she confirmed out loud, getting momentarily lost in the memory of his touch and aura.

—How was it?

—Good —she mumbled—. Good... better than good. Seeing him this second time was way better than what I expected —she finally admitted, the mischievous smile forming on her face without any control.

Maya cheered on the other side, the little gasp and scream of happiness forcing Y/n to move the phone away from her ear for a second. And it was happiness and support, until one of them came back with common sense, grounding the conversation with something Y/n was willing to ignore.

—I need to know —her friend began—: are you sure about this? Getting involved with someone like him... it's dangerous, Y/n. People like San don't play by the rules. If you're not careful, you'll get burned. I've heard stories about him...

Y/n swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter.

—I know San isn't the most approachable. But I need answers.

—Answers about what?

She paused, glancing back at the box on the table. The card's two words stared back at her like a challenge.

—About why I can't stop thinking about him.

The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Finally, her friend sighed.

—It's a crush, you'll get over it —she let her know, hoping her friend would answer back, but she was only answered with more silence. Her tongue clicked, taking the defeat in the conversation—. Be careful. People like him... they don't just let you walk away.

Y/n ended the call and turned back to the bracelet. Her fingers brushed against it, and a shiver ran down her spine. Her friend was right, San wasn't the type to let go.

But maybe, just maybe, she didn't want him to. And maybe, just maybe, Y/n was learning that she was the type that also didn't want to let go.

The soft glow of her laptop illuminated Y/n's face in the darkened room. The clock on her bedside table read 2:43 a.m., but sleep wasn't an option. Her mind buzzed with restless energy, fueled by unanswered questions and the intoxicating memory of San's presence at the gala.

She scrolled through public records, news articles, and archived reports tied to Obsidian Ventures, her fingers flying across the keyboard. On the surface, everything about the company appeared pristine, too pristine. The deals were clean, the partnerships seamless, and the profits soaring. It was a textbook example of corporate excellence.

And that was the problem.

—No one gets this successful without leaving a few cracks —she muttered under her breath, leaning closer to the screen.

She paused on an old article about a luxury property development, an ambitious project spearheaded by Obsidian Ventures years ago. The location was a small, unassuming industrial zone just outside the city. At first glance, it seemed legitimate, but something about it gnawed at her. The project had been abruptly terminated midway, leaving behind a half-finished complex with no explanation.

Y/n frowned, chewing on her bottom lip as she clicked through the article's sources. One name stood out: Blackthorn Holdings, a minor contractor hired for the project. She couldn't find much about them, save for a handful of vague mentions in legal documents. But the name had resurfaced in another article months later, tied to allegations of money laundering.

Her pulse quickened.

She scribbled the name into her notebook, along with the location of the abandoned complex. It wasn't much, but it was something, a breadcrumb on a trail she couldn't resist following.

Still, her hand hesitated over the notebook. She stared at the words, her gut twisting with unease.

San had warned her at the gala, cryptically, yes, but the message had been clear. Whatever world he was a part of, it was dangerous. And yet here she was, willingly stepping deeper into the shadows.

She leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. The rational part of her screamed to stop, to close the laptop, and forget this ever started. But another part, one fueled by curiosity, defiance, and something she couldn't quite name, refused to back down.

The memory of his dark, piercing gaze flashed through her mind. He knew she was digging, and still, he'd let her. Why? Did he think she'd give up? Or was he daring her to keep going?

Y/n let out a shaky breath, shaking off the thought. She couldn't afford to dwell on him, not now.

Grabbing her notebook and keys, she slipped on a hoodie and sneakers. The industrial zone wasn't far, and her contact, an old colleague with a knack for bypassing locked doors, had agreed to meet her there. If Blackthorn Holdings or the abandoned site held any answers, she was going to find them.

Before stepping out, she glanced out the window. The street was quiet, bathed in the dim orange glow of streetlights. No black car. No sign of anyone watching her.

For the first time in days, the absence of his shadow didn't feel like a relief.

Y/n steeled herself, clutching the notebook to her chest as she stepped into the night. She had questions, and nothing, not San, not her own doubts, was going to stop her from getting answers.

Opposite to what she thought, getting there was a waste of time. Nothing in that place gave her answers, nothing in that place screamed San's name. It was an empty useless place, something not even homeless people used to sleep in.

4 a.m and her legs were shaking nervously under the sheets, her body kept rolling under the covers, trying to find the right position, but never finding it. Her hand slid over the nightstand, reaching her phone to take a quick look at it, ending up digging in her social media.

She was hopeful she'd find him among the pictures of his own event, but there was nothing. Instead, she found a blonde tall woman, almost the same height as him, appearing in several pictures with him, her account tag almost covering her right arm. Looking through her account, she found out that woman, Mila, frequented San's events more than she'd like. Her guts squirming on her insides at the possibility... No, it couldn't be.

She bit her lip. Maybe it was a good way to keep tabs on San, to know what parties he'd throw, to know what his surroundings were like... It was just a door to information about a man she knew nothing of.

It was innocent.

Y/n sat at her desk, her fingers idly tapping against the surface as she reviewed the details of her upcoming event. The afternoon sun streamed through the wide office windows, bathing the room in a warm glow. Despite the normalcy of her surroundings, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease lingering in the back of her mind, an ever-present whisper that something was off.

A soft knock at her office door pulled her from her thoughts.

—Come in —she called, sitting up straighter.

The door opened, and her breath caught. San stepped inside, his presence as commanding as ever. He was dressed sharply in a tailored suit, his crisp white shirt open just enough to hint at a relaxed confidence. In the confined space of her office, his energy felt overpowering, making the room seem smaller.

—Miss Y/s —he greeted smoothly, his lips curving into that enigmatic smile—. I hope I'm not interrupting. Your boss told me you'd be able to assist me.

—Mr. Choi —she replied, masking her surprise with professionalism—. This is unexpected. How can I help you?

He closed the door behind him and stepped further inside, his movements measured and deliberate.

—I came to discuss a potential collaboration —he said, his tone light but his eyes scanning the room like a predator sizing up its prey—. I've heard your company is the best when it comes to organizing events. Obsidian Ventures is hosting a high-profile gathering in a few weeks, and I thought I'd reach out to the best.

Her brows knit together, suspicion flickering across her features.

—You already have an in-house team for events, don't you?

—I do —San admitted with a slight shrug, his gaze never leaving hers—, but I prefer a personal touch for something of this scale. And after hearing some opinions about your work, I knew you'd be the right person for the job.

—That's flattering —Y/n forced a polite smile, her instincts on high alert—. I'd be happy to look into it. Do you have specifics in mind?

—Of course —he replied, taking a step closer—, but before we dive into details, may I trouble you for a glass of water? It's been a long day, and I didn't want to ask the receptionist at the entrance. She seemed busy with a call.

Y/n hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding.

—Of course. Give me a moment —she stood and made her way to the small kitchenette down the hall, her mind racing.

Why was he there? Was all of that really about an event, or was there something else he wasn't saying?

The second the door clicked shut behind her, San moved swiftly. His calm demeanor didn't falter as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, discreet camera no bigger than a button. His eyes scanned the room, landing on a spot just above the bookshelf in the corner.

Perfect.

With practiced precision, he secured the device in place, ensuring it was nearly invisible against the decor. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he adjusted it, the angle giving him a clear view of her workspace.

By the time Y/n returned, carrying a glass of water, San was back in the center of the room, his hands casually clasped behind his back. He accepted the glass with a gracious nod.

—Thank you, Miss Y/s. I appreciate it.

—No problem —she said, her tone polite but wary—. So, about the event... what's the occasion?

He launched into a rehearsed explanation, outlining vague details of a charity auction Obsidian Ventures was supposedly hosting. As he spoke, Y/n couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on her, as if he was studying her reactions.

Despite herself, she felt a flicker of unease. Something about him always seemed calculated, as if every word, every action, was part of a larger plan. She couldn't shake the sense that there was more to that visit than met the eye.

—Thank you for considering us —she said once he finished—. I'll need to discuss it with my team, but we should be able to accommodate.

—Excellent —San said, his smile widening—. I'll have my assistant send over the details. I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with, Miss Y/s.

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at her.

—Oh, and one more thing... your office has a certain charm to it. It suits you.

With that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, glass still in hand, her heart pounding for reasons she couldn't explain.

San leaned back in the sleek leather chair of his office, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the minimalist space. A single monitor on his desk glowed faintly, displaying the live feed from the camera he'd planted in Y/n's office. His dark eyes were locked onto the screen, his usually calculating expression softened by something more intimate, almost tender.

He watched as Y/n tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her brows furrowed in concentration as she reviewed something on her computer. The light from her desk lamp illuminated her face, highlighting every delicate feature. Her lips moved as she muttered something to herself, too quiet for the feed to pick up. Even the smallest of gestures, how she tapped her pen against her desk or adjusted the sleeves of her blouse, held his attention in a way that nothing else could.

San wasn't sure how long he had been watching. Time seemed irrelevant as he sat there, captivated by her every movement. There was something almost hypnotic about her presence, even through the grainy lens of the camera. She had no idea she was being observed, and yet, her natural grace and focus drew him in like a moth to a flame.

His phone buzzed on the desk, breaking the spell. He glanced at it briefly, Mingi's name flashed on the screen, but he ignored the call, his attention snapping back to the feed. Y/n stood, stretching briefly, her movements fluid and unguarded. He leaned forward, his jaw tightening as she began tidying up her desk, shutting down her computer for the night.

She reached for her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and with a final glance around the office, turned off the lights. The camera feed dimmed as the room plunged into darkness, the faint outline of her figure disappearing as she closed the door behind her.

San exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. The emptiness on the screen left a hollow ache in his chest, a restless hunger that had only grown in the hours he'd spent watching her. It wasn't enough. Staring at her from a distance, no matter how intimate the view, was nothing compared to being near her, to hearing her voice, seeing the flicker of emotion in her eyes, feeling the electricity that sparked whenever they were in the same room.

His fingers drummed against the edge of the desk as a dark thought settled in his mind. He needed more. Watching her like this, confined to the edges of her world, wasn't enough to satisfy the possessive pull she ignited in him. He wanted to be closer, to become a part of her life in ways she couldn't ignore or escape.

But if having that in person would be too rushed, he thought he'd be okay with something else, even if it was at a distance.

The faint buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts again. This time, he picked it up, swiping to answer.

—What is it? —he asked curtly.

—Just checking in —Jongho's voice came through the line—. Anything else you need us to handle tonight?

San's gaze flicked back to the darkened screen, his mind already formulating his next move.

—Not tonight. But I'll need a detailed update on her schedule tomorrow.

—You've got it —Jongho replied, and the call ended.

He sighed, noticing how his men were starting to get so used to his commands about her, that he didn't even need to specify or mention her name.

San placed the phone down, his lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. He couldn't deny it any longer: that obsession, that need for her, was spiraling into something he couldn't control. And for once, he didn't want to.

Leaning back in his chair, he let his mind wander, the thrill of the chase intertwining with something far deeper, far more dangerous. It was no longer just a game. Y/n had become an integral part of his world, and he wasn't about to let her slip through his fingers.

Taglist: @a-tiny-thing @brown88

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chaioticcoffee · 3 months ago

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"Por Una Cabeza"

Alejandro Vargas x Reader

my roman empire since I re-discovered this song 3 days ago

highly HIGHLY recommend listening to "Por Una Cabeza" but the Orquesta Melodias del Mundo version <3

hurt/comfort - fluff type idek - ballroom dancing

-----------------------♡-------------------

The hum of low conversation and clinking glasses filled the grand hall, but you barely heard them. The golden glow of chandeliers cast warm light across swirling dancers, their laughter muted, distant. You stood at the bar, fingers gripping the glass, its condensation cool against your palm as you swirled the amber liquid absentmindedly.

Your mind drifted. Endless missions blurred together—each one a desperate attempt to stop a faceless enemy. Each one claiming more lives. The weight of friends lost, the strain of leadership, it all pressed down until it was hard to breathe. The silence between you and Alejandro only made it worse.

His harsh words from that last argument echoed, cutting deep even now. He’d already apologized—sincerely, more than once. He’d given you space when you needed it, his presence withdrawing until you barely saw him. A day, two, maybe more. Time had stretched thin under the weight of tension, the kind that didn’t break but smothered. Still, he waited. He always waited. He always showed in small ways that he was still there- mostly by leaving some kind of small, wrapped gift or a small note with 'I love you' carefully written on it around your shared home.

But the losses, the pain, the long nights—they were dragging you under. Alejandro was just another piece of it all, another weight on shoulders already too heavy to carry. You were tired. Tired of the fighting. Tired of running. Tired of avoiding the only person who had ever understood.

A familiar melody began to rise above the hum of conversation—a wistful, aching tune that tugged at something deep inside you. The opening strains of "Por una Cabeza" filled the air, the mournful violins cutting through the noise of the ballroom. Your chest tightened. Your song. It had played during countless quiet evenings with Alejandro, when the world outside had felt far away, and all that mattered was the way the two of you danced lightheartedly yet joyfully around the living room or kitchen.

You exhaled slowly, the weariness clinging to you like a second skin. The glass in your hand felt heavier than it should, your grip faltering for a moment before you set it down on the bar. The sound of footsteps approached—not hurried, but deliberate. Familiar. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

"Amor."

A hand, warm and steady, extended into your peripheral vision. You glanced down at it, your breath catching. Alejandro stood beside you, silent yet resolute. His eyes, dark and searching, met yours with a quiet intensity that spoke volumes. No words passed between you—none were needed. The hand remained- it was then that you understood what he was trying to ask.

This wasn’t just a dance. It was an unspoken promise, a bridge over the chasm that had grown between you.

For a heartbeat, you hesitated. The ache in your chest warred with the comfort his presence offered. Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, you placed your hand in his. His fingers closed around yours, firm but gentle, pulling you away from the bar and toward the floor where the music swelled.

His eyes met yours, a moment of unspoken understanding passing between them. He drew you close, your bodies aligning perfectly, and the dance began.

It started slow- the music dictated your movements. Sharp, deliberate, yet fluid. Each step carried a weight beyond the dance itself. The rise and fall of the melody mirrored the rhythm of your shared history: the dizzying highs, the devastating lows, and the quiet moments in between where their bond had solidified like tempered steel.

Your dress flared as your husband turned you, your movements precise but not truly rehearsed. Your every step, every graceful extension of your leg, spoke of resilience, defiance. His steady hand on the small of your back was both a guide and a promise—unwavering, no matter how turbulent the music became.

As the violins mourned and the piano sighed, their connection seemed to transcend the confines of the room. Every pivot and pause was a memory made manifest: the times the two of you had held each other up, the moments you had fought side by side, the scars the both of you bore—visible and invisible. When the music swelled, so did your intensity.

Your movements turned sharp, her head snapping as you pivoted, as though channeling years of pain and triumph into your steps. Alejandro met you with equal energy, his strength an anchor that allowed you to burn as brightly as you dared.

The climax of the song played, and the two of you moved as one—two souls, neither leading nor following but existing together in perfect harmony. The music seemed to weep and rejoice at once, and your movements followed suit: a sudden dip, his arm cradling you with infinite care, your hand trailing over his shoulder as you rose again, your faces impossibly close but never touching.

As the final note lingered in the air, they slowed to a halt, the world around them fading into silence. You didn’t release each other right away. Your breathing, in perfect sync, was the only sound left, a quiet echo of the music’s passion.

A bond forged through ashes and blood.

Unyielding. Strong.

A fire that is burning bright no matter the storms it has to survive through.

That is the bond Alejandro promises you, as long as you're willing to stay by his side.

#cod #call of duty x reader #i tried smth idk lol sorry if its bad </3 #alejandro x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas #cod alejandro #alejandro vargas x reader comfort #alejandro vargas x reader angst #ish #alejandro vargas x reader fluff #question mark #kinda?#its 2 am help me #yes True Lies the old ass movie was a great inspo (i dont remember shit apart from the tango)#dissappears for another 50 years #call of duty

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weeesi · 9 months ago

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Weather - May Prompts (19)

In case you read yesterday’s 221B and wondered what John was doing whilst Sherlock was locked in a doss house fingering (not the way it sounds) a scrap of blanket:

For reasons he doesn’t entirely understand, he clicks on the radio after dinner.

Don’t know why

John squirts a dollop of fairy liquid into the basin and plunges his hands into the steaming water. The heat hurts in a good way. He’s reminded of his body for the first time in several minutes. He grabs the sponge. Breathes.

Dishes are a part of his life again after over a year of mostly binning takeaway containers the morning after a case. Sure, Mrs Hudson did more than her fair share, and their beat-up tea mugs always needed a wash, though Sherlock never liked to — stop.

There’s no sun up in the sky

He washes his dinner plate and stares ahead at the blank eggshell wall. He should put a picture there, maybe, or a clock. Something interesting to look at. It’s surprising how much artwork Sherlock had round the flat. For all his disdain of emotion, he certainly seemed to be moved by — stop.

Stormy weather

He washes his drinking glass. Tries to focus his attention on the suds coating his red-chapped fingers, on the words the woman’s singing, how different her voice sounds to a violin — stop.

Since my man and I ain’t together

He washes his fork and his knife. If only he would’ve — stop.

Keeps rainin’ all the time

Thank you to @calaisreno for the fun prompt series! Tags in replies. Thanks for reading! <3

#mayprompts2024 #johnlock #johnlock ficlet #ficlet #bbc sherlock

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xiakato · 2 years ago

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Interview With The Vampire (M) (TW) - Giselle

“Ready?” She asks, her voice low and sultry. The type that would send shivers down your spine and goosebumps throughout your body. You turn and look at her, her ghostly white skin, her lips stained crimson. Swirling her wine glass, filled with her favorite blood, fresh as it can be.

“Yes, Lady Uchinaga,” You sit across from her, she watches intently as the blood swirls. The slight smirk on her face is attractive yet unnerving. Her glossy black nails shine under the low light she demanded there be, brightness was something she never liked.

“Oh please, I told you before just call me Giselle or Aeri. No need for formalities, I lived long enough, those are just a mere bother.”

“Right… Giselle, thank you for agreeing to this interview,” You thank her feeling her eyes crawl over you. The feeling of unease, you know, will never leave you for the duration of this talk. Placing the audio recorder on the table, her eyes follow your every movement.

“Your welcome, it’s not like I had anything better to do. Especially nothing special enough to turn down an interview with such a good looking man.”

“Thanks for the compliment, let’s get right into it,” You smile slightly which she reciprocates, “When were you born?”

“I was born in 1683, during what most of your historians call the Edo period,” She sips from her glass before placing it on the table with such grace only seen from Royal families.

“What can you tell me about your family?”

“My family were well off, my father, the head of the Uchinaga clan. My mother, your run of the mill dancer in the taverns in and around Tokyo. Being a daughter let alone being the only child had its perks.”

“What were these perks?”

“Everyone being at your beck and call, never having to share anything. Only thing I had to share was my father’s attention as the head of the Uchinaga clan, he had duty to the shogunate. One that not even his family came first.”

“So I’m guessing your father was mostly absent? What was that like during that time period?”

“It’s quite alright, my mother was indeed ample support that I would’ve needed as a little lamb. The guards were adequate people to converse with as I got older. Although my father was vermin, detestable truly.”

“What happened to make you see him as such?” You take a slight notice in her tone, with the topic of her father quickly making itself a no go zone.

“I killed him,” She downs her glass of blood, “What else is there?”

“When did you turn into a vampire?” Despite wanting to know why she killed her father, you thought it to be a better course to avoid such a topic. The tint of red in her eyes works wonders as a deterrent.

“In 1705, a rather unfortunate circumstance made me what I am today,” She licks her lips, gathering the crimson liquid still present, a peek at her fangs make you gulp. The striking white burned into your skull, “Don’t stare too much, you might make me blush.”

You snap out of it as she chuckles, “What was that circumstance?”

Her eyes got sharp,”I don’t dwell on it so I wish that you would respect it.”

“Yes, of course,” You flip through your questions, “What have you done to pass the centuries?”

“Many things, all of which only provided me with slight enjoyment before the disappointment. Piano, violin, opera, even was a whore for a time.”

“Why a whore of all things?”

“Easy prey, men that only think with their dicks are the easiest of prey, them and women hoping for the secrets of eternal beauty.”

“Was there ever a lover?” You ask as you watch her eyes soften, only teary eyed. You knew immediately that this may be a more sensitive subject than her father.

“There was,” She pauses a bit, grabbing a blood bag filling her glass, “He was a farmhand on my family estate. Truly a pure soul, innocent to a fault. He taught me that love can come in many forms. He was my first for many, until he was killed.. By my father.”

“I see…Sorry for bringing up a sensitive topic,” You sadly smile at her, despite the centuries she has lived, she’s still a human at heart.

“It’s fine, in fact you remind me of him. You have his same eyes, the eyes seeking the answers to the infinite amount of questions they contain within.”

“By the way you speak of him, I’m honored,” She smiles at your response, the tense atmosphere nearly gone.

“I’m glad,” She gulps down the blood, leaving her glass empty once again only to fill it quickly, “Once I got turned into a vampire, my father saw me as a monster. Locking me away in my room, yet boarding the windows so I didn’t turn to ash. At that time, I didn’t know who the real monster was. Luckily, Tatsuya snuck to me every night, he didn’t care if I was a vampire or not. I was still his Aeri, he gave me his blood to slake my thirst. I still remember the taste of it, the metallic taste, mixed with his emotions, truly a delicacy.”

“Tatsuya was your lover I’m guessing?”

“He was, despite everything good I can say about him, he was a simpleton. He wasn’t careful with his movements and one day my father caught him and forced me to watch as he tortured him for visiting a monster.”

“I’m guessing this is why your father is vermin in your eyes?”

“He is more than vermin, that foul being didn’t have more right than me to be called human, I snapped and killed my father,” She pauses and stares at you as if she’s gauging your reaction, “And everyone else in the Uchinaga Clan.”

“Even your mother?” You ask calmly, ignoring your racing heart.

“She was the least enjoyable kill, I truly loved my mother and everything she did for me yet she stood her ground with that filth. I pleaded with her to just leave and never look back at the burning estate.”

“What did she say? Aeri.”

Her eyes flicker in and out of deep emotion hearing her name roll off your tongue, “She told me that no monster would deter her from fighting to protect her house, even if the monster wears her daughter’s face.”

“I’m sorry Aeri, I truly am that your family turned their back on you.”

“It was to be expected, After all they were trying to marry me off to gain more power within the Shogunate inner circle.”

“I see,” You pause, looking down at the recorder, an hour has passed since the start, “Can you tell me about any other vampires that you have met over the years?”

“All of them are the peak of beauty, at least were. Some are dead now, the latest death being that of a beautiful tall woman at the hands of a father hell bent on finding his daughter. I wonder how I would’ve turned out if my father was like that. One you may know is Karina, that witch always craved attention.”

“Karina, the pop star is a vampire?” You tilt your head, absentmindedly giving her a view of your veiny neck.

“Yes, I turned her myself. She was also an attention whore, but in the bedroom and on the streets,” her eyes watch your neck, “I must say though, Y/n, your neck looks absolutely delectable.”

You instantly cover up your neck only adding to her laughter, “You can’t have any of my blood.”

She stands, strutting her way to you, her dress flowing behind her as she straddles you with ease, “Are you so sure about that darling~?” her voice ever present sultriness turned up 10 fold, “I smell your fear, your excitement.”

You button your collar, revealing your cross, blessed by the Vatican, “Back off Aeri.”

“How cute~” She smiles, gripping the cross, ignoring the burning sensation on her palm, tearing it from the chain. Her hands glide down your chest, unbuttoning your shirt as she gets lower and lower, “Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

You nod, hoping whatever she does, it’s over quickly, “What do you want from me?”

“Your blood obviously, and the bulge in your pants that’s been throbbing against me as soon as I straddle you,” That damn smirk evident on her, that one that is unnerving, “You love the danger don’t you? The danger of know that I could tear your throat out before you even notice,”

You shake your head, as you continue to cover your neck, “I don’t like the danger, I would rather live.”

“No need to lie~” She whispers in your ear as she takes in your scent. Her slender hands move yours without much resistance. Her fangs grazed your neck softly, making you jump a little, “Someone is antsy~”

“Get off of me, I don’t want this,” You demand of her, only to feel her sink into your neck. Your breath hitches, your eyes roll back as you listen to her take gulp after gulp. She pulls back, licking the crimson from her lips.

“Delicious,” She smiles, her teeth stained with your blood, she kisses you. The taste of your own blood envelopes your mouth, pulling away, she slits her wrist with her fang, “Here darling~ drink,” You shake your head, but couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful crimson staining her milky skin. Drawn to it, you lean closer, taking hold of her hand. You lick the dripping blood leading yourself to the slit on her wrist, before drinking your fill. The warmth takes hold of your body, “Atta boy~ drink to your heart's desire~”

Darkness starts to take you over, as you sleep past out. Strange, all you did was drink her blood.

“Get up Y/n,” You hear her, your eyes flutter open,you don’t feel any clothes on you. You’re shirtless as your body is covered in hickies, you look at her, her beauty is undeniable, eternal is an understatement, “It’s been a week since I turned you.”

“Wait,” You croaked out, “You fucking turned me?”

“Yes,” She stands up from her chair, dropping her robe, revealing her body. The perky breasts with her puffy pink nipple stand out to you. She gets on top of you, stroking your cock, “I want you to be my lover for the time being, if you choose to stay is up to you but you now live as a vampire,” Once she was satisfied with your hardness, she slides your cock into her, “Mmm~ I missed this feeling, although you’re bigger than most,” She moves your hips, grinding against you. Your hand reaches her meaty ass, squeezing it. Spreading it with your grip, you start to thrust upwards into her, “Now you’re on board~” She moans out, taking your cock better than any woman before her. You ignore the changes that you can notice about your body only focusing on her. The recoil from her body as your body collides with hers, her juices coated your cock and your thighs.

“Fuck Aeri,” You breath out as you flip her onto her back, continuing your assault on her body.

“Please, keep saying my name. I- I love it when you say my name,” She says between her moans, your hand pushing down her hips.

“Take it Aeri,” You comply with her request, her back arches to better accommodate you. Using your grip on her hips, you pound and pound away. Not worrying about her, she can take it, “Fuck come on Aeri.”

“Fuck Y/n, give it to me!” She screams out gripping on the sheets, “Give that fat fucking cock~” She tightens squirting all over the sheets, her tightness makes you cum. You push deep in her, filling her.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” You say between your breaths as you pull out of her with a pop.

“I-I take b-back what I said, you can’t leave,” She reaches behind her, sliding your still hard cock back into, “G-give me more please, daddy?”

#aespa #giselle #smut #kpop smut

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