#silk pocket handkerchief

[strangelittlestories]

After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

---

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[fear-is-truth]

MDNI 18+

“stealing is a sin,” father charlie mayhew muttered under his breath, fingers curling around the handkerchief he’d pocketed. the thin silk was so soft that it nearly slipped through his grasp, as if it were a temptation meant to escape. you had dropped it after sunday mass, a pretty, albeit old-fashioned thing—lace-trimmed, soft silk, with a faint floral scent that lingered even now. he had thought only grannies carried these sorts of things nowadays.

carefully wrapping the delicate lace around his erect member, charlie closed his eyes and resumed in moving his hand, abs clenching as he fucked his fist with a vengeance.

thou shalt not steal, he reminded himself, for the lord sees what is in the heart. in his mind’s eye, he could picture you with such clarity—you, on your knees, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes, pearly droplets of tears hanging to your lashes. but you weren’t kneeling for the lord. no, your bowed head and parted lips were for something far more sinful. the melodious noises you’d make, those faint gasps and moans as you gagged around his cock—he imagined they’d sound like hymns, sweet as heaven itself.

the thought was enough to push him over the edge. he came hard, thick spurts of come staining the fine fabric.

he’d punish himself later. lash his back raw if need be.

m.list © fear-is-truth do not repost, modify or translate

[jobean12-blog]

His to Keep

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 3,626

Summary: You've been working for Bucky for almost a year and although you know there's so much more to him than just owning the club, you can't help but be drawn to him as he's drawn to you.

Author's Note: Just more mob!Bucky because I love him so! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: light mentions of v-i-olen-c-e and angst, but mostly sweetness and softness, tension and flirting, and d-o-m and obse-ssi-ve Bucky.

The piercing shot rings out, and before the echoing sound even dies, Bucky’s running. Your high-pitched scream pierces the air and he silently prays for your safety, his long legs moving so fast time seems suspended.

When he reaches the hallway, there’s a small group of employees gathered by the doorway, their expression filled with shock and horror.

They part without question as he approaches, rushing into the room and ignoring the violence that so blatantly fills it. His blue eyes search for you and finally his heart starts beating again when he sees you unharmed.

You’re crouched in the corner, eyes wide with terror as you take in the slumped over man in the chair, his tailored and expensive suit now stained red.  

Bucky’s men immediately follow his orders to handle the situation but his attention never leaves you.

With slow steps he approaches you, holding his hands out and speaking your name softly. When your eyes lock with his the first tear slides down your cheek and he nearly crumbles to his knees, his heart shattering.

He gathers you into his arms with such a gentle grace, as if you’ll break and ushers you toward his office. With a nudge of his toe he opens the door and sets you down in his large leather chair. Carefully he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over you, tucking it above your shoulders.

His eyes are laser focused on you as he fills a crystal glass with whiskey and forces it into your shaky hand.

“Drink this.”

You glance at it unseeingly, lost in your head, replaying what you just witnessed over and over.

He lifts the glass with a gentle touch and when it reaches your lips you drink reflexively. He waits until you finish all of it.

Taking a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he kneels down in front of you, his hands moving with slow trepidation, but still you try to intercept it.

“Let me,” he orders. “Please doll.”

The second set of words come out softer and your hands fall to your lap.

He cleans your face of tears, his touch delicate and reverent and you can feel his warm breath fan your cheek as his thumb chases a stray tear that slips toward your mouth.

“Doll,” he whispers roughly, emotion clogging his voice.

Your wet lashes lift and you meet his eyes, your breath catching at what you see. You’ve never seen him look so vulnerable. His usual façade of unrivaled power and unrelenting dominance gone, replaced by a haunting look of dread.

“James?”

At the sound of his name on your lips his jaw clenches, his controlled restraint slowly slipping away with his mask and every moment he spends so close to you. He needs you to feel you. Your warm and soft skin, your pulsing heartbeat, your lips, every curve…

But he would never take advantage of you, especially after what just happened.

“Let me take you home.”

You nod and easily fall into his embrace, resting your head against his chest as he escorts you toward the exit.

When your soft sheet hits your shoulder you sigh, snuggling closer to your pillow as Bucky tucks you in. You had argued lightly when he told you to shower but now that you’re warm and clean you feel marginally better.

He pauses at the door as you fall asleep, knowing he can’t leave you here alone, instead sinking into your make up chair in the corner of the room, watching vigilantly as you succumb to slumber.

A week later you’re determined to leave your house, wanting to get back to work, even if it means facing the demons of that night. And you want to see him again. You’ve missed him, even though you know he’s never very far away.

He watches from his hidden vantage point as you close your car door and start the engine. He doesn’t need the GPS tracker he had installed on your car to tell him where you’re headed, but he turns it on anyway.

His own car starts, black and sleek in a nondescript way. He easily catches up to you, maintaining a safe distance behind you so you don’t notice him.

He phones Steve who’s working the back door of the club. “She’ll be arriving soon. Escort her in.”

Steve makes a small sound of acknowledgement and hangs up, promptly moving outside to wait for you.

Once Bucky is satisfied Steve has you covered he makes a sharp turn off the main road and takes the back streets toward his club. He needs to be there before you. Ready and waiting.

Before you even turn your car off, Steve is at the door, opening it and guarding you with his body.

In his office, Bucky waits, checking the crowd through the one-way glass that overlooks the floor. Security has been upgraded, covering every inch of his club to ensure nothing like what happened last week ever happens again.

Everything in the club looks to be running smoothly…not that he would have it any other way. All his endeavors are done with the utmost care and cunning precision. He wouldn’t be able to run this club any other way let alone the whole damn city.

He scans the floor until his eyes land on you and as if you can feel his gaze, your eyes glance up to the window where you know he’s standing.

The connection that’s been growing between you two for the past year has only been solidified since the unfortunate event that took place last week. He knew in that moment that he would do anything for you. Die to protect you.

Since the instant you walked into his club to apply for the job as manager he knew you were special. And having you work for him has been the sweetest torture. Day after day he watches you excel at your job, handle everything thrown your way with ease and professionalism, even the scummy clientele that try to lay hands on you.

No one touches what belongs to him and only the ones that don’t know who he is try. But they soon find out how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Steve alerts Bucky that you’re on your way up to his office.

The knock on his office door makes his heart skip a beat and even though he’s dressed impeccably he smooths his hand down his chest, adjusting his tie in the process.

“Come in.”

You crack the door open and peek in.

“Hi James. Steve said I could come up?”

At your questioning tone, Bucky smiles.

“You never have to ask to see me doll. You’re welcome to anytime.”

You smile softly and walk in, shutting the door behind you. With a slow saunter you move toward his desk and perch yourself on the edge near his chair.

He finds it hard to concentrate the moment you’re close. Even though you try to keep a cool demeanor, your body is inviting in its posture and your eyes devour every inch of him.

“Thank you for seeing me James,” you start. “I wanted to…”

Before you can finish he leans closer, a gentle interruption with his consuming presence.  “First of all, call me Bucky. I’m only James to everyone else. And as I said before, I would love to see you anytime you want doll.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning toward him as if you’re pulled by some invisible string. “That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to thank you.”

“For?” he asks, his eyebrows raised as a small smile pulls at his lips.

Your eyes drop to his mouth before your lips part to speak again.

“Taking such good care of me last week and rescuing me.”

“I hardly rescued you doll. I’ll never forgive myself for putting you in that situation and the fact that I wasn’t there to protect you will haunt me forever. I never wanted you to see this side of my…business.”

You pull your gaze away from his mouth and study his face. He’s beautiful. His large blue eyes framed by dark and long lashes and his perfectly shaped jaw surrounding a mouth with lips you dream about tasting.

“It’s ok…”

“No.” he says, his tone harsh.

His face crumples when he sees your eyes widen at his gruffness.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly recovers. “That’s not meant to be toward you…if anything had happened to you…”

You tentatively reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb softly brushing over the dark stubble that lines it.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know you would never hurt me.”

His eyes are locked on yours, the tension between you palpable. You unconsciously trace your lips with your tongue, drawing his attention. He moves closer, closing the distance and resting his elbows on his spread thighs.

“Anything you want from me. Anything at all. You need but to ask and it’s yours.”

“Jame…Bucky, thank you.”

He visibly preens when you say ‘Bucky,’ and it makes you smile, triumph alight in your eyes.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do…?” you ask, looking at him from under your lashes.

“Nothing. You’re perfect. However, I’d like to ask you something.”

His words peek your interest and you inch closer, knowing after today there’s no turning back from this. From him.

“Dinner. I want you to have dinner with me doll.”

“That wasn’t a question,” you say teasingly, even as you drag your teeth over your bottom lip. “More of an order.”

“Mm, you’re right,” he winks. “Either way, I think your answer is going to be yes.”

“Like a date?” you question, your grin widening.

“Yes. A date.”

“What will everyone else say when they find out you’re dating your employee?”

Your question has his features hardening ever so slightly, but not at you.

“No one will say a word about it. I can assure you of that.”

You audibly swallow as you take him in, focusing on the way you feel about him, not what he’s capable of.

“I’d love to have dinner with you Bucky.”

He visibly relaxes and a genuine smile graces his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes in such an endearing way you nearly swoon off the desk.

“Good. Then let’s eat.”

You giggle. “Now? I thought you meant you were going to pick me up, you know, I’d get all dressed and then you take me out.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to give you time to reconsider.”

Reluctantly, but with a smirk, he pushes on his heels and rolls his chair away from you, grabbing his cell. He orders a spread of food from one of his restaurants, then sits back down.

“Sit,” he says, motioning to the chair across from him.

When you do he slides closer, framing you with his spread legs and caging you in with his thighs.

“So now that this is dinner, tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know.”

“Hmm,” you muse, tapping your chin.

You fall into easy and comfortable conversation, sharing more about your past. Bucky listens intently, hanging on to every word and prodding gently with well thought out questions.

A knock at the door surprises you both and you can see Bucky’s body tense. He was so immersed in you he lost sight of any possible dangers, forgetting his surroundings. He mentally berates himself, tucking that away and vowing to be more mindful, if only to keep you safe.

Thankfully, it’s only the dinner delivery.

He takes the food and moves to the casual seating area of his office, placing the food down on the coffee table. You follow him and sit on the floor.

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your form before he follows suit with a light shrug.

“Have you ever sat on the floor to eat dinner?” you ask playfully.

“Not that I recall,” he answers, serving you food.

You both laugh and dig into the delicious dinner.

After your impromptu dinner date you and Bucky continue to dance around each other at work.  The connection is strong, the pull between you taut with intense heat and longing. You can always feel his presence, his eyes on you, but it’s not uncomfortable at all, in fact, it makes you feel safe.

Later that week as you’re leaving your yoga class you feel someone following you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end but when you hear the instructor’s familiar voice you relax slightly and turn to say hello.

“Hi Matt.”

He greets you warmly and falls into step next to you as you walk toward your cars. The conversation is light at first but then he starts to complain about his girlfriend and how their relationship is failing. You begin to feel uncomfortable and as if sensing it, Matt drops his head.

“I’m sorry. Enough of my drama. I just need to move on I think.”

You take that as your cue to leave and start to say your goodbye but he keeps talking, chasing after you as you move toward your car.

“Hey, how is work going?”

“Uh..good, really good, thanks.”

Matt continues firing questions at you and your eyes dart around the darkened parking lot, quietly searching for Steve or one of Bucky’s other men.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Matt says, the words pulling your from your spiraling thoughts.

You step back to gain space and before you can answer, there’s a loud clanging noise as the door of the gym next door slams shut.

A big and broad silhouette comes into view and both you and Matt automatically look over.

Steve’s large frame moves closer and you sigh in relief.

“Hey Steve,” you chime, taking a step toward him.

Steve respectfully keeps his distance while also always keeping you protected.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks as he glares at Matt.

“Yes,” you answer, waving at Matt.

Matt blinks several times, clearly confused at Steve’s arrival but grudgingly says his goodbye and shuffles off to his car.

“I was looking for you Steve,” you say once Matt is out of ear shot.

“I’m sorry it took me longer than usual. I was on a call,” he apologies.

“It’s ok,” you say with a soft pat to his shoulder. “Just glad you’re here.”

“I always am.”

When you look at him with curious eyes his own go wide. “Well…not always of course. Bucky would have my head, but I just meant…”

You throw your head back with laughter. “I know Steve. The first few months I thought I was just crazy but when I realized it was just you trailing me and keeping me safe I felt better.”

Steve gives you a more relaxed smile and opens your car door.

“Um Steve,” you say softly as you sit. “Do you think maybe…we could keep this just between us? Matt’s not really a bad guy. I think he’s just having a rough time. I’m sure everything would have been just fine.”

Steve’s mouth turns down in a frown. “You know I can’t do that.”

With a sigh you reply, “I knew you were going to say that.”

Steve’s lips lift into a wry smile. “When it comes to his girl he wants to know everything.”

“Is that so?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. ��Should I start keeping a diary so I can report in every second of every day.”

“Well, you probably don’t need to go that far, but…”

Your lips purse but when you see his expression morph into one of sheepishness for the second time that night you decide to let it go and take it up with Bucky himself.

Back home, Steve walks you to your door.

“Do you want to come in? Need a snack or drink?” you ask.

He doesn’t take a single step closer and shakes his head once.

“He’s on his way now.”

“Bucky’s on his way?” you squeak. “Shit. I need to change and tidy up!”

At your use of ‘Bucky’ Steve genuinely grins. The action catches you off guard but you realize that Bucky wasn’t lying when he said no one calls him that but you. With another flurry of thanks and goodnights you bid farewell to Steve, even though you know he’ll just be sitting outside in his SUV until Bucky arrives.

You prepare for your shower, determined to keep your head once he gets there and get some definitive answers from him.

At his knock, you open the door with a tentative smile.

“Doll face,” he greets, his voice deep and intense.

“Bucky,” you echo. “Would you like to come in.”

“Please,” he answers and brushes past you.

Just the delicate touch of his hand as he walks by sends goosebumps skittering across your skin.

“I’m sure you already know about what Steve did tonight,” you say as you walk into your living room.

“Of course,” he answers.

You look over your shoulder and narrow your eyes.

“Want something to drink?”

“Do you have whiskey?” he asks.

“No whiskey, just red or white wine and water. Take it or leave it.”

At your sassy tone his eyebrows raise every so slightly.

“Water is fine, thank you. And want to tell me what that sassiness is about.”

After you get two glasses of water you sit on the couch across from him, leveling him with your best glare.

“How long have you had Steve following me?” you ask him.

“You’re very observant,” he states.

“That’s not an answer,” you continue with sass. “And I’ve been paying attention. You know I have. But mostly to you.”

Your confession satisfies him. You can see it in the way he lifts his chin and his eyes glitter.

“I want you to fill me in Bucky.”

“On?” he asks as his arm falls over the back of the couch and his fingers ghost over your shoulder, mostly bare in your thin tank top.

“Bucky.”

You mean it to come out more demanding, but it’s breathy and your body shivers at his touch.

“Are you sure? You were pretty freaked out by what you learned last time you got a glimpse behind my curtain. And rightfully so.”

“Tell me. I trust you and I want to give us a chance.”

He takes a deep breath and shares as much as he can without putting you in any more danger.

“Why do all of this though? Do you have men following everyone that works for you? Why did Steve call me your girl?”

“Two of these questions have the same answer. From the moment I saw you I wanted you to be mine and after the incident earlier this month and I almost lost you, it became an overwhelming feeling.”

His fingers press into your skin as he glides them down your arm.

“And no. I don’t have men on anyone else that works for me. I keep them safe of course. But just you. Always you.”

His hand leaves your arm and he strokes his thumb along your jaw. You lean into his touch and sigh out his name.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmurs. “Fuck doll, I’ve been so patient.”

He presses the pad of his finger to your lips, tracing their softness.

“But with every breath I take, I think of you. Every beat of my heart, I want you.”

The moment stretches in sweet torture before you place a hand on his cheek.

“I want you t…”

Before the words are fully out of your mouth he’s on you, dragging you into his lap and grinding his hips up as he grabs the back of your neck and steals your breath.

You press closer, needing to feel every inch of him. Your arms wrap around his neck and you lightly scratch your nails over his scalp before your hands fall to his chest and you start to tug at his tie.

Your lips leave his and you trail kisses along his jaw, stopping just below his ear before tracing the muscular column of his neck.

He hisses out a curse and tightens his grip. You smile into his skin and loosen his tie. You’ve barely gotten it undone when his large hand lands on your ass cheek. The sting makes you moan and rock your hips but in a flash your eyes are on his, your chin caught between his thumb and forefinger.

You take in his appearance as he stares at you. His usually pristine shirt now wrinkled, the buttons at the top hanging open and his loose tie dangling messily. His normally untouched hair is tousled, wild from your fingers and his control is clearly wavering with every heaving breath he takes.

You don’t waste another second and this time you kiss him, pressing your softness against every hard plane of his body, maximizing every bit of contact as you try to pin him to the back of the couch. You nibble into his bottom lip and then swallow the sound of his satisfied growl.

“Doll,” he starts, and you hear the questioning tone of his voice.

“Fuck me, Bucky. Fill me and make me yours.”

For a split second you see surprise flash across his features but he instantly recovers with a smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for his, how many times I’ve dreamed of you saying those words to me,” he murmurs, his body rigid with his restraint. “And remember, you asked for this. I’m going to give you everything.”  

His words are a dark promise, one you hold onto with every fiber of your being.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @littleseasiren @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

[fictoculus]

☆ diluc drabble.

THINKING ABOUT... being sat on diluc's lap, his silk handkerchief unfolded and covering your lap as it collects the scraps of the apple he carefully peels with his pocket knife.

the two of you are sat against a tree just outside the walls of mondstadt. its the perfect spot to enjoy the outdoors while staying away from the public's prying eyes. when it's just you and him alone, it's as if his cold (and rather serious) exterior is melted by you; whether it be the warmth of your smile or the kindness of your heart.

his arms reach around you and his chin rests on your shoulder as he tosses the apple in his hands: once to readjust his grip, twice just to show off, impaling it with the make-shift fruit peeler whilst in mid-air. as much as you hate to admit it, a stunt like that is pretty impressive... (and definitely swoon worthy)

once satisfied with his work, diluc begins to slice the apple into bitesize wedges, cutting the now bare fruit in half 4 times over until each slice was the perfect size.

he holds a piece in front of you, and you reach out to take it, however his grip only tightens as he pries it out of your grasp. with a huff, he holds it closer to your face, prodding it gently against your lips as if to say "open wide".

hesitantly, you part your lips, leaning forward slightly to take a bite, and archons, the taste was heavenly. it was just the right amount of sweet, with a little hint of sourness, and a satisfying crunch. truth be told, diluc spent hours trying to find the perfect apple, and then another 15 minutes choosing a hiding spot secret enough so that you wouldn't notice it was unattached to the tree, but visible enough for the act to be somewhat believable.

in his eyes, you deserve nothing less than the best, and he'd be disappointed in himself if he ever gave you any less. he loves you more than words could ever express, but will never run short of ways to show you he cares...

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© FICTOCULUS 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[monocaelia]

fragile.

' you have broken down my defenses, and i don’t really resent it. ' - vita sackville west

in which you really don't want to care about him and his careless attitude, but you always find yourself coming back to him. always. feat. diluc ragnvindr & gn!reader w.c : 5k warnings : childhood friends to lovers, diluc lore spoilers, minor angst but ends w fluff, diluc ragnvindr. note : happy new year! sorry for the delay hehe, but this is for @seraphiism's 2023 collab event !! please support the other authors and enjoy the fic ^^

your mother had always instructed you to stay close to her side, to never stray far away from her lest you find yourself in trouble with the master of the winery or the other servants working the orchards and tending to the land of the estate.

but with a beautiful land of ripe grapes and friendly staff greeting you as you rush past them, how could you ever just sit still beside your mother as she did her job around the winery?

the late summer breeze rushes past your face as you weave through the wooden stakes holding the wiry vines of grapes above you. the warm sun rays heat your skin as you leap over the small rocks that litter the passage leading into the main area of the ragnvindr estate. the wind whispers in your ear, making you grin as your little legs take you wherever it guides you.

you feel free, the wind pushing past your wings to lead you to your newest adventure around the manor.

your feet land firmly on the grounds behind the manor when you hear the gentle sniffles coming from behind a couple of barrels. despite your mother's warnings echoing in your head, you take gentle steps towards the sound as curiosity takes over.

you're not expecting to see a young boy with fiery red hair and matching eyes that hold the warmest, flickering fire glaring up at you with tears at the corner of his eyes and holding a bleeding knee.

"...are you okay?" you ask, kneeling down beside him. you begin to frown when he pulls his knee away from you and his glare deepens.

"i don't need your help," the young boy hisses at you and you roll your eyes.

"really? you don't need my help even though you're crying in a corner all by yourself?" you scoff at him. he doesn't say anything in retaliation and you take it as an okay for you to help him.

you pull a handkerchief from your pocket; nothing too fancy as your family couldn't afford the finest silks like the nobles could. it's cotton, white, and had a simple design of a little sparrow emroidered in the corner.

"i don't have any bandages on me," you mumble softly. your little fingers gently wrap the handkerchief around the young boy's knee several times before tying a small knot on it. without even blinking, you lean down to kiss the wounded knee.

"what are you doing?!" the young boy exclaims, yanking his knee away.

"kissing it better," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "my mother always does that when i get hurt. she says it takes the pain away and makes it heal faster."

"that's stupid," the boy mumbles with a glare.

"says the one who tripped and fell and hurt himself," you argue back. you stick your tongue out when the boy shouts out a 'hey!' and roll your eyes.

"who are you and what are you doing here anyways?" you ask the young boy, kneeling beside him once more. he's still glaring at you, but it's less hostile than it was a few moments ago. "my mom said strangers aren't allowed to be here."

the young boys eyes are red, vibrantly so. the life in them burn brightly, reminding you of a fire as it flickers with warmth and a promise of a brighter tomorrow. like the hearth of a fireplace, the young boy seems to be the incarnate of warmth itself with the way he's filled with the flame of life.

"i live here, dummy," he quips back at you with a frown and your eyes widen.

"really? i've never seen you around, and i've been everywhere on this estate," you reply, bringing your thumb and forefinger to your chin as you remain deep in thought. truly, the only people you've managed to catch were all adults working for the master of this winery. never once have you seen a kid running along.

with a bright smile of your own, you lean towards the young boy. "we should be friends! since i don't know anyone else to play with here, we can play!"

the boy looks you up and down with furrowed brows, but he slowly nods. "...okay," he mumbles and you grin brighter.

"great! what's your name then? i'm-"

your name is shouted as hurried footsteps rush towards you. your mother pulls you aside as she looks at the young boy in front of you with panicked eyes.

"young master, i'm so sorry if my child said or did anything to hurt you," your mother says in a rush. she pushes your head down to bow in front of the young boy. she hisses something into your ear and you stutter out your own apology too, even if you did nothing wrong.

you find out the young boy you helped earlier that day was the son of the nobleman your mother works for, diluc ragnvindr. apparently, he's some big deal because he's the young master, but what kind of big deal hurts himself and hides between the barrels instead of asking for help?

you huff as you kick your feet sitting down by your bedside. because of the whole debacle, your mother had ordered you to stay inside to prevent even more debacles from happening even if you explained that the young master getting injured was not your fault. the sun shining from your windowsill feels so far away as you stare outside and ponder what to do.

until you hear a light pattering sound come from your window.

your curiosity is piqued as your small frame approaches the glass panes, wide eyes peeking over the wooden frame as your eyes scan the scenery.

the foliage of the trees surrounding your home cast shadows over your house with small animals running back and forth from the greenery above, causing the rustling of the leaves. the sun trickles in through the gaps of the leaves and your eyes settle on the boy with red hair standing outside your window, a small rock in his hand.

there's a proper bandage on his knee now as it was properly dressed, and his fiery eyes meet yours. he looks hesitant at first, but his brows furrow and his lips open to prepare to speak.

"...come outside and play with me," he tells you when you push open the window in your bedroom, a slight pout in his voice.

"you got me in trouble," you reply shortly, "and now i'm stuck inside because of you."

the young boy bites his lip, pondering what he could do or say to make things better. from the way he's thinking hard enough for you to see steam coming out of his ears, you could tell that he was trying really hard to think of anything to say.

"i'm sorry," he mumbles, kicking the dirt with his shoe.

"sorry, what was that?" you ask, holding your ear out.

the young master huffs, his cheeks puffed out in annoyance. he stomps his foot before-

"i said 'i'm sorry'!"

you smile at him smugly before crossing your arms on the windowsill. it was amusing to see the supposed young master like this; for such a renowned young boy, he was such a cry baby.

"okay, i can't go outside, but we can still play inside if that's okay," you tell him with a bright smile. "i'll let you in!"

"diluc..." he says, red eyes meeting yours. he reminds you of a fire with the way he's looking at you; so full of life but almost burning you if you get him too riled up. but the flames are tame now compared to the anxious flickers you saw earlier before he apologized.

"okay; i'll let you in then, diluc!"

ever since that warm summer, you and diluc have been inseparable; every afternoon is spent exploring the land of the winery but never straying far enough to get lost or end up on the other side of the lake where monsters lurk.

you were there the evening master crepus brought home another young boy around your age home; his blue hair reminding you of the blueberries your mother bought from mondstadt for you to eat. it was a bit of an adjustment with another young boy to play with, but soon you got along well with him as well.

his bright blue eyes always sparkling as you invite him to play alongside diluc and his little hand held in yours. he reminded you of the stars above with the way his eyes twinkle with youth and reflect the night sky above you when the three of you snuck out of your homes to stargaze with your hands holding onto each other until the morning sun began to rise over the horizon.

with your hands held tightly with diluc's and kaeya's, your youth together was only just beginning.

it's a cool morning where the early frost is beginning to melt as the sun continues to rise over the horizon, spreading her warmth and love across the fields of dawn winery. the young master has been gone for a couple days now; something about some sort of knight exam or whatever happening in the city of mondstadt. you would have gone with him, but your duties lie in caring for the winery whilst your friends head off to the heart of mondstadt to finish their training and hopefully become part of the knights of favonius that crepus ragnvindr had always encouraged them to be a part of.

you know having their father's praise meant a lot to your dear friends and you could only hope for the best for both diluc and kaeya as they were off doing their duties.

your ears perk as your name is shouted through the winery along with the sound of hooves rapidly against the dirt road. over in the distance, you can make out a red haired young man galloping over on his steed at near full speed. with wide eyes, you try to tell him to slow down before you get trampled and-

"oof!" you groan as a heavy body slams into you, both his weight and warmth tackling you to the ground. you're thankful that his arms cradled your head as you both go tumbling into the dirt road underneath you and the only pain was that of your body against the floor.

you don't even get to question why diluc had tackled you to the floor when he pulls his face away from you, giving you a clear view of his expression. he's smiling brightly, a wide grin on his face and his eyes of rubies twinkling brighter than any flame you've ever seen. the flames of his soul flicker brilliantly in his excitement and you can't help your own match his energy.

"i got in!" diluc says, his boyish smile growing wider. the small divots in his cheeks are cute and evidence of how hard he was grinning at the news. "i passed the trials got to do the oath swear and- oh, i wish you could've been there!"

despite growing up into a more mature-ish teen, it is moments like these where you're reminded that even as time passes and he grows taller than you, diluc is still the bright eyed boy that you've known since you were young. he looks so cute, in an endearing way, when he eagerly tells you all about his trials and how tough they were.

you really hope that the young master stays the same as he is now.

with a gentle hand, you reach up to ruffle his hair; it's soft to the touch and your eyes don't miss the way diluc pauses in his excitement as your fingers weave into his hair. you assume it's because he's not used to your praise and brush it off, even as he leans into your touch and waits for your words.

"why don't we head inside first? i want to hear everything that happened, but inside where it's warm and comfortable rather than on the dirt floor, diluc," you say to him, a slight lilt in your voice. you laugh softly when you see his cheeks flush a little in embarrassment before he gets off of you.

"i apologize, i was just so eager to tell you," diluc says softly, reaching down to offer a hand to you. you take his hand; you can feel the natural warmth emanating from his body through his gloves and, before you know it, you've been pulled up from the ground. his arm wraps around your waist to assure that you're balanced as you stand up.

"i just," diluc begins. you watch him as the young master of the winery averts his gaze briefly before he meets yours, warm rubies enveloping you with nothing but the comfort he holds for you ever since you were both younger.

"i wanted you to be the first person i told and to tell you."

a wave of something pleasant washes over you knowing that diluc, the heir of dawn winery and one of the most hardworking and talented man in all of mondstadt, rushed back home on horseback in the early hours of this chilly morning just to announce the news to you in person.

just so he could be your first in regards to his good news.

you laugh softly as something warm settles into the pit of your heart, squeezing his hand in yours as you tug him towards the main mansion of the winery estate with no intentions of letting his go for the time being.

even with the budding flowers of youth begin to bloom and the happiness that was promised to you has yet to come, you would have never expected for the spring of your youth to end so abruptly.

it happened all so quickly; crepus ragnvindr wielding a delusion, his death and the anger of diluc exploding, and the fall of your friendship with kaeya and diluc.

you weren't given the details of either one's situation, just a witness of a near death experience and the unforgiven apologies spewing from kaeya's lips as he held his injured eye in the midst of the rain washing down on them as if mourning both the loss of crepus ragnvindr and the wound wedged deep between the relationship of the ragnvindr brothers.

it was like in a mere second, the once warm diluc that would blush and hold your hand so delicately had been wiped away and replaced by a diluc grieving the loss of his father as the flames of his anger and betrayal of both his own brother and the knights of favonius for trying to brush the murder of his father under the rug explode and engulf his entire being.

he doesn't even give you a proper goodbye, leaving only a letter dedicated to you and his vision dimly glowing on his nightstand behind.

it feels like a fever dream when you hear the news of diluc finally returning after all of these years. you don't even hear it from the man himself; rather, from the whispers and excited chatter that the master of dawn winery had returned home.

part of you is excited at the news that he's alive; with no news of his existence after he ran from home in search of the truth behind his father's death other than the faint glow and warmth radiating from his vision clutched in your hands when you missed and worried for him, you were ecstatic knowing that he truly was home now.

that he's alive and breathing and still with you.

and yet, another part of you twinges in pain that he didn't come to you and announce that he was home. he had left you without even a single goodbye, not even bothering to visit you and explain his situation before leaving you questioning whether or not he even cared about how you felt about him.

of course, you aren't entitled to being the first to know, but after growing up together and usually being the first to know of everything in your youth, your heart aches knowing you were one of the last to hear of this at the winery.

it doesn't help knowing that you have not even caught a glimpse of diluc after his supposed return.

so imagine your surprise coming home one evening, the cool night air biting against your skin as you return home after a long day's work, seeing a figure leaning against your home.

at first, your blood turns cold as your heart races in your ears; it couldn't be anyone bad... the winery is a safe place and any suspicious figures are dealt with accordingly before they even step close to the winery grounds. you don't even have anything to defend yourself against if they did happen to be someone with malicious intent.

you take a step back to turn tail back to the estate but freeze when you begin to recognize the figure outside your door; red curls resembling that of flames flickering in the air and warm ruby eyes that you could recognize anywhere. despite standing in the dim evening light and having only the glow of the lantern outside of your home, you could make out the injuries through his dark clothing.

just what did he get himself into?

you hesitate at first, but eventually let your instincts take control as you begin to walk over to your home. it's as if you were both in the blooming stages of your youth again, bringing diluc home to mend his wounds after training for the knight exams.

caring for him was like muscle memory to you, even after all of the events leading to him leaving you in the dust.

you don't say a word as you open the wooden door and guide diluc in, pulling out a chair by the fireplace. wordlessly, he sits in it as you leave to prepare to clean his wounds.

your fingers shake ever so slightly as you remove diluc's coat from his shoulders, the heavy fabric falling to the floor with a thud. you apologize softly as you begin to unbutton his shirt and, as each button is undone and reveals more of his skin, your fingers begin to flinch every time your skin brushes against the skin of his chest.

his breath is warm, you can feel it against your skin as you slide off the remaining clothes on his torso. his chest is bare to you, and normally you would be gawking at how much he has physically changed since you were younger. but you cannot help but stare at how much he had been injured in the last few years you have seen him.

aside from the scratches from the most recent scuffle which led him to your quaint home beside his manor, scars litter his chest and arms. although most of them are healed, the damage that he had experienced was still evident on his skin and you hold back a gasp at how deep some of them had been; there's a huge scar that runs diagonally from the top of his chest to his stomach and you could already feel your stomach churning at the pain.

you couldn't imagine having to sustain those injuries for so long, and being alone through it all.

and, now, you hope that the injuries currently on his body heal faster knowing that he isn't alone this time. not when he has you by his side.

diluc's eyes burn holes into your skull as he watches you dip a towel into the bucket of warm water at your side; you pretend to ignore him. twisting the soaked cloth to rid it of the excess water, you gently begin to clean the wounded man in front of you.

a man you consider an old friend, but you fear he doesn't hold the same sentiment. not anymore.

it's quiet, the only sound shared between the two of you being the occasional sound of the towel dumped back into the bucket and the crackling of the fireplace in your living space. the moon casts her illuminating rays through the window of your home, but her light is nothing compared to the comfort of the fire in your home.

the comfort of the man in front of you, even if you didn't want to ever admit it to him now.

the glass jars containing the disinfecting ointment for diluc's wounds clink gently as you open them to spread over his skin.

"why are you helping me?" his voice breaks the thick silence between you two. his sudden question makes your hands pause, but you don't raise your head as you think of something to reply.

"and let an old friend bleed to death outside my door? you think i'm that heartless, diluc?" you ask him. your fingers resume their previous job of slathering the medicine over his new wounds. "i could say the same to you, why show up to my house like this?"

another silence follows your words and you assume he's done interrogating you for your kindness to him.

"i had nowhere else to turn to," diluc says after a while. your eyes catch his fists tighten on his lap as he takes another breath. "you've shown me nothing but kindness even after i was so cruel to you."

you exhale softly at his words. of course he thinks dealing with his own problems this entire time was the worst thing he could do to you. if you were being honest, it did hurt when he seemingly pretended you didn't exist or pushed you away when he had returned home from whatever he was dealing with away from mondstadt.

you had hoped for a joyful reunion, one filled with tears as you finally welcome home your old friend. but he never announced when he was coming home and you only figured out through the grapevine. he was never home when you looked for him and when you finally caught a glimpse of him, your eyes would meet for barely a second before he rushed off elsewhere and leaving you in the dust.

according to kaeya, his brother whom you've kept in touch with throughout the years. diluc had changed even more ever since his return; he kept his feelings to himself and his face remained 'constipated,' as per kaeya's words, due to his inner turmoil.

but from everyone else, he had always been so kind to them. the old women in the city would always praise how gentle the young master was, helping them walk across the city or carrying their groceries if they needed it. the young women also constantly swooned over how mysterious, yet warm-hearted diluc was; seemingly cold in nature but treating children and animals with such tenderness.

"it did hurt knowing you were ignoring me," you confess as your fingers begin to unravel the gauze to wrap over his wounds. "even if you wanted everyone to think you've changed and have become cold and guarded, i know you're still the same caring boy i've known since we were young. i hope so, at least."

his skin is warm to the touch, another feature you realize has never changed about your old friend. with bated breath, you lift your head to let your gaze finally settle on diluc's own. just as you predicted, despite the physical changes, you can still see the diluc you once knew within the scarred and older man in front of you.

diluc has definitely gotten older; the baby fat on his face slimming down slightly to reveal a more defined jaw and the bags under his eyes were evidence of his restless nights away from mondstadt. there are light scars on his face, nothing too deep to keep from his princely demeanor but are definitely proof of a troubling journey, and he has grown taller than the last time you had seen him in your youth.

but one thing that has never changed is the fire the lights up his eyes. so red and warm, you're tempted to hold his face in your hands to get a closer look. they're so vibrant, alive like the embers that flicker in the fireplace that lights your home, as they stare back at you in anticipation of your next words.

"you would never intend to hurt me on purpose. so if i should have to wait forever for you to be ready to come to me like you've had in the past, i don't mind doing so."

diluc's stoic expression wavers at your words. a sliver of guilt shines in his eyes and he looks away briefly as he digests the words you've spoken to him.

he couldn't tell you the reasons why he always kept you at arm's length; was he wary of your intentions for always being kind to him despite how he treated you or was he so used to people close to him lying to his face that he feared you were also pulling a facade?

or was he scared of you sharing the same fate as his family should he loved you with his heart on his sleeve, a fate of being held in his arms as he feels the warmth that once comforted him when you were young fade away like the embers in the hearth of a fireplace?

diluc did not want to know and he did not need to know, not when you're looking at him with such trust and compassion that he finds it hard to even hold any distrust towards you.

his dear friend from his youth who was always there to pick him up when he fell.

you did not break through the walls shielding diluc's heart for you had already found your place beside it, holding he's life with your gentle hands and protecting his soul's flames with your faith in him.

"i'm sorry," diluc apologizes to you, looking into your eyes. one of your hands is grabbed to be held by him, rough and scarred and so calloused as it held the memories and grief of what he went through to become like the man in front of you, the gauze held in your other. his warmth seeps into your skin, heating up your skin as the flames of his heart grow and encase your entire being within its embrace.

your lips part to say something, but he continues to speak.

"i thought keeping you away would benefit us both," he takes a breath as his eyes scan over your own features, taking in all that has changed since the last time he saw you in your adolescent years; how much you've grown both physically and emotionally. you look so much more mature than the naughty child who ran around breaking their mother's rules just to play with him or the dear friend who would bicker with him endlessly during their teenage years.

the years of their beautiful youth, years that he wished so dearly he could go back to and live in that peace for eternity.

but while the winds continue to blow and move time along, you've continued to stay the same despite the change.

you're still so kind, so inviting to someone like him.

you treat him like the friend you've remembered in your adolescence, even if his hands were bloodied with vengeance and his heart is scarred and wounded from betrayal and deceit.

he is still diluc, just diluc in your bright and beautiful eyes; he always had been.

his hands squeeze yours tightly, hoping that he has the courage to say what he wants to say.

"i don't deserve your kindness, or your love. but if i imagine a life where i have succeeded in pushing you away and we no longer talk," diluc begins, the fire in his eyes wavering as they hold your gaze.

"i don't think i would ever want to live a life where you're not in it."

diluc's words shake you to your core; it's something you wouldn't expect him to say now after all these years. as much as you want to immediately forgive him and push back the years of agony, waiting for any sign that he was alive while leaving his vision behind, or even watching as he ignores you despite being home after all these years, your heart aches knowing knowing he even did this to you in the first place.

"how can i know that you won't leave me like you did?" your voice is small despite being so close to him. in fear of having him see how much his actions have affected you, you face tilts down to your lap to avoid his gaze. "i can't just wait for you forever, it hurts sitting here all these years with a promise i don't even know if you'll keep."

you take a shaky breath as you speak again.

"you didn't even say goodbye."

your voice breaks as you say those words and you can feel the burning sensation as the tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

there's a moment of silence between the two of you before you hear him gently call out your name. his free hand reaches up to cup your face, tentatively guiding you to face him. he says your name again, softly as if even saying your name too harshly would cause you to break, and you hesitantly meet his gaze.

there's a tenderness that you recognize deep in those fiery pools in his eyes, one that flickers like the hearth of your fireplace and suddenly you feel like you're experiencing the most beautiful yet fleeting moment in life once more. diluc's thumb gently presses against your cheek to wipe away any tears that overflowed from your already wet eyes.

his pinky links with your own, a childish thing to do but one that you still hold dear to your own heart.

a promise between the two of you bathed in firelight and your youth reflected back at you in the shape of the young man sitting before you.

[lickthecowhappy]

What do you think he keeps with him?

A white handkerchief made of softest silk A pocket watch adorned with snaking filigree A ring of keys that unlock precious things: One for a door to hoarded tomes One for the desk drawer hiding secrets One for a set of shackles chained to crêpes and brioche A pearl found in a demon’s first oyster A shilling exchanged for ninety guineas A rifle bullet “caught” on the West End Stage A burned prophecy from a Nice and Accurate book And one immortal lifetime of love folded so deliberately that no one can see its shape

Read more of my work here. This poem is also available on AO3.

[solarisfortuneia]

— grace and coordination? who?

them with a clumsy reader. (ft. kaeya, thoma, tighnari, diluc, alhaitham, ayato, zhongli, childe.)

notes: pinkie swear this'll be the last repost for a while, bc i'm working on some new stuff mwah <3

kaeya's reaction to your mishaps depends on the situation. sometimes he's literal prince charming, the very picture of concern and worry. and other times, when you're not in a lot of danger— like when you've tripped down a set of four stairs, for example— he'll try really really hard to keep a straight face to protect your feelings.

over time, he'll develop a sense of when and where accidents are most likely to happen and take measures to either remove the obstruction, or guide you away from it entirely. however, if the situation is inevitable, he'll try his best to catch you. one downside though— or upside, depending how you see it— is that he'll always hit you with an overused, cliché line.

"looks like you're falling for me all over again, sweetheart."

this sweet, sweet boy is the most worried of all. initially, thoma thinks every scratch and every bruise is a consequence of something serious, but soon learns that they're most probably a result of your klutziness. even if you stumble lightly and regain your balance, he's instantly at your side, asking you if you're alright. he won't just take you at your word though, he'll check you himself from head to toe, and only then will he be satisfied.

he'll also carry bandages, antiseptic liquid, lotion, anything he thinks you might need. his pockets are endless. he'll even have small treats to console you after a bad fall.

"oh, dear! here, let me help you up. no injuries? good. here's a candy to cheer you up."

frankly, he's exasperated. and also very concerned. whenever you bump your head on a branch or fall backwards on your butt, he just sighs and shakes his head before helping you. he knows you're no careless fool, just very prone to unlucky incidents, so he'll spare you the lecture.

tighnari is a firm believer in the fact that prevention is better than cure. so, he'll make sure your footwear is comfortable and supportive and make you change if any parts of your outfit have the potential to be a tripping hazard. if you wear glasses, he'll remind you to keep your prescription up to date. all in all, he'll minimize the possibility of you tripping due to things in your control.

"you'll trip on that robe of yours if you walk outside wearing it. go put on something else, i'd rather not see you fall into a hole in the ground again."

diluc never expresses anything because he'd rather not come off as overbearing, but he's very careful with you. you can see it in the way he brings a hand to the edge of the table to stop you from hitting your head when you bend to pick up a spoon you knocked off the table, the way he keeps any sharp objects out of your reach, the way he's always scanning his surroundings.

he'll find himself doing all that even when you're not with him, and he'll be glad you weren't there to witness that. he'll baby proof his entire house just for you, and if he can, he'll baby proof yours too. he's the type to use the high quality silk handkerchief he carries around to bandage a scuffed knee.

"don't worry about it, cloth can be washed. the injury should be our first priority."

there is no question alhaitham can't answer and no puzzle he can't solve, except, of course, the conundrum of how you manage to stumble over air, or slip on a completely dry surface. he'll observe you carefully, try his best to figure it out but eventually he'll chalk it up to circumstances being arranged against you.

he takes matters into his own hands and just fixes said circumstances for you. beyond that, he knows he cannot do much. he has the uncanny ability to know exactly when you're about to do something where you'll end up with a bump on your head, even if you're miles apart. he's also not too worried, he knows that a tumble isn't the end of the world. the problem only arises when you don't get back up again.

he'll firmly refuse to go dancing with you though, both for his sake and yours. he'll turn you down gently and suggest alternatives.

"dance with you? i'm not sure that's such a great idea. how about we spend the evening at the café?"

kamisato ayato is grace, elegance and perfection. so it comes as a surprise to most of inazuma when they see that his partner is a walking disaster. he's fond of this trait of yours though; he thinks it's endearing. he's also very forgiving if you happen to step on his toes or bump into him. he has no issues replacing anything you break on accident too.

he knows he cannot personally keep an eye on you, so he'll have someone watch over you from afar to make sure nothing serious happens.  that's not to say he won't tease you, no. even though he knows the answer, he'll always ask playfully about any recent 'misfortune' you've been a part of every time he sees you.

"ah, there you are. have you fulfilled your daily quota of disaster for the day? now now, don't give me that look, you know i'm just teasing~"

he's unfazed, really. he's seen many types of people and creatures over the years, from the most poised rulers to the most unsteady fawns. one thing he does do for you is carefully consider any gifts he's thinking of giving to you, and dismisses the item if it has pointy corners or is fragile.

zhongli's the type to fall with you so you're not alone. he was once a powerful archon, a little accident in a busy hall is nothing for him. and seeing him mimic you with a stoic face to help you feel better is always a treat to witness. then, he'll dust himself off as if nothing happened, and offer you a hand.

"think nothing of it, dearest. i simply wish to accompany you on any journey i can, even if it is a short one to the floor."

childe's first and foremost reaction is to laugh when you hit your head on a pillar right in front of you, then he'll chuckle at the face you make at him when you're offended. he can't help it! it reminds him way too much of his siblings.

he sincerely promises, with a hand over his heart, to kiss any boo-boos better. and he'll insist on lifting you in his arms, and won't take no for an answer.

"no buts! i'm carrying you home like this. after all, the best way to stop you from tripping is to make sure your feet don't touch the ground, wouldn't you agree?"

[crguang]

Smutty prompt 8, 12, or 17 for Kafka? 🥺

chose 8 and 12 for this one hehe, it's kafka dick wednesday i just decided (i yearn for it)

cw: gp!kafka, blowjob, face fucking? idk

You slightly pull away from Kafka’s embrace as she retrieves her phone from her coat pocket and accepts the call. Your arms hang loosely around her frame leaning against the back of the couch, a small pout on your face at the idea of having to wait for more of her attention. Kafka smiles when she meets your eyes, bringing the device to her ear and briefly resting her index finger on her lips in a silent command to be quiet. She answers the phone and begins talking to whoever is on the other line. Her free hand absentmindedly plays with a stray strand of your hair near your jaw, gaze lowering to watch how it curls around her finger. She hums to indicate that she’s listening, and you already feel your patience waning because Kafka usually deals with her business in private and you’ve already waited a week for her to finish up “something” at work. You’ve missed her and now that she’s here with you, you don’t feel like losing more of her to her mysterious work. Something shifts in her bored expression, a slight down curve of her lips, and you know she’ll be on the phone for longer than the quick call she promised you. 

Kafka notices your displeasure and lifts her hand to your cheek to pat it a few times. You narrow your eyes but she only replies to her interlocutor something about a shipment being received long ago. You try to decipher what she could be talking about and give up after a minute, the lack of context makes it difficult to connect her sentences together. Her thumb moves to your upper lip, her silk glove is soft as she swipes the pad of her finger on your lips. She multitasks well and doesn’t miss a beat in the conversation while she’s touching your face, eyes focused on the movement of her thumb tracing your cupid’s bow. You wait another minute, your own hands trailing up her back under her coat in a futile attempt at keeping yourself occupied. You sigh, tightening your hold on her body and leaning into her once more, resting your chin on her shoulder. You can vaguely hear a raspy voice on the other line, but the words are either muffled or don’t make any sense to you. 

“Relax,” Kafka says into the phone and her fingers sink into your hair, lightly scratching your scalp, “we’ve planned for the possibility. They’ll play right into our hands.”

The repetitive gesture soothes you a little and your eyes briefly shut to nuzzle into her; your lips find the skin where her neck meets her shoulder and plant a few kisses there. Kafka sighs, no doubt at something the other person said, but there’s a hint of pleasure in it. You trail kisses up her neck and across the underside of her jaw, and her head tilts, an implied permission to keep going. Her hand stays in your hair, fingers boredly curling the strands. Your lips part to place an open-mouthed kiss on her jaw and your hands wander down her back and around her waist to play with the waistband of her shorts. You fiddle with the handkerchief in her shorts as you kiss her face, going as far as the corner of her mouth before her hand leaves your head to rest her index on your mouth. You look up into her playful eyes, pouting. She speaks up again about studying a script and lightly taps your lips all the while. You’re sick of waiting, she’s right in front of you and you don’t even get to enjoy her presence. Your fingers toy with her waistband, snapping the material against her stomach, and an idea pops into your mind. 

Kafka raises a single eyebrow at your growing smile, the one you have when you’re trying to suppress one. You shrug at her inquisitive look, hands wandering down her abdomen to trail down her thighs. Her eyes narrow even as she answers a question with a dismissive, “Yeah, yeah.” You put on your most innocent expression and grip her plush thigh with one hand while the other slithers closer to the apex of them, caressing the material of her shorts. An amused glint shines in her gaze, her smile widening just a touch; a challenge she's daring you to take on. You hold her stare, suddenly growing bolder, and let a hand stroke her between her legs. Kafka doesn’t move, only regards you with more interest than two minutes earlier. She doesn’t miss a beat in the conversation. Your fingers teasingly caress her over her clothes, and you refrain the urge from biting the inside of your cheek when you feel her harden under your ministrations. Her growing bulge is noticeable, but she’s not ashamed in the slightest. Kafka plays with your earlobe with her free hand, rubbing the cartilage with her thumb, faking disinterest by humming into the phone. 

You start to feel a little hot just at the thought of what you’re going to do next. You cup her between her thighs in a firm grip and revel in the way her eyes flicker to yours instantly. Her gaze grows heated, following your every movement as you sink to your knees and tilt your head to face her with a smug smile tugging at your lips. You don’t tease her much, pulling down her shorts and pantyhose to her ankles and exposing her pretty boxers. Kafka’s hand moves to the back of your head to loosely grip your hair. She doesn’t apply any pressure, so you’re free to move as you please. You trace the outline of her bulge for a few seconds, anticipation bubbling in your belly, then place your mouth directly over it in a leisure kiss. You stroke her with a hand while your lips kiss her over the fabric, and Kafka shifts slightly, opening her legs wider to give you better access. She’s still in deep conversation and frankly, you’re getting annoyed. You pull her underwear down in one smooth motion and free her hard cock, feeling an arrogant kind of satisfaction at the sight of her already hard for you when you’ve barely touched her. 

“I know,” Kafka drawls exasperatedly in response to something said on the other line, elongating the second word. You wrap your hand around her cock, squeezing just right, and she inhales more sharply through her nose before she replies, “No, we’ll arrive in the morning to set it up.”

You don’t care for what she’s saying. Your hand moves up and down her length from base to tip, thumb tracing the most prominent vein up to the mushroom head, eyes fixed on your task. Your tongue swipes over your bottom lip almost unconsciously. Your throat is getting drier by the second. You lean forward to give her tip soft kitten licks, lashes fluttering at the taste of her skin, and the grip in your hair gets tighter. Kafka stares down at you, now more focused on you than the conversation still happening over the phone. Her replies come a little late as you lick a broad stripe up her cock, massaging her balls with a hand. White pearls of pre-cum coat her head at the sensation of your tongue wetting her cock and you decide to ignore her sensitive tip for now, kissing her base and the faint veins there. 

Kafka swallows, her hips softly thrusting further into your mouth, and she hums again, a little too long for it to have been intentional. Her eyelids are lowered and you can see the restraint in her expression when you look up to meet her eyes. She nods absentmindedly, then seems to remember that the other person can’t see her and that she actually has to reply.

“Yeah, we—” You apply some pressure on her cock at the same time your lips wrap around her head and suck hard, and Kafka pauses to swallow a moan even as she guides her dick deeper into your mouth with the hand on your head. “We should… Yeah…”

Your eyes close at the feeling of her cock filling your mouth, the weight of her familiar and arousing. You feel your own arousal dampen your underwear. Your tongue tastes salt when it swipes over her length and you use a hand to stroke what can’t fit in your mouth, 

“Mmm… Sure…” Kafka is rapidly losing interest in whatever is being said. Her breaths quicken, though she’s good at keeping them inaudible. You can tell the exact moment she decides that her need is more important than this phone call; her fingers burrow into your hair and pull harshly to separate your mouth from her cock, and you whine open-mouthed, a string of saliva stretching thinly between your tongue and her tip. “Yeah, whatever— Silver Wolf, I’ll have to call you back.”

Kafka doesn’t wait for a reply. She hangs up the call and tosses her phone on the couch before looking down at you with a dark smile that holds a thousand filthy promises. Her hands cup your cheeks, the touch deceivingly tender. 

“Since you’re so impatient…” Her thumbs stroke your skin and she arches towards your face, a command on her lips, “open your mouth wider for me, baby.”

You obey almost immediately. Without the need to bite back her reactions, Kafka groans low in her throat as you take her into your warm, tight mouth once more. She holds your head where you are and fucks your face instead, hips thrusting her cock deeper until you feel the tip brush the back of your throat. You can only stare up at her and let her use your mouth to build the pleasure buried deep in her belly, delighting in all the way her features twist and twitch. Mind a little hazy, Kafka thrusts deeper and your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears from how big she is. Your hands grip her thighs tightly. Her muscles twitch, her pre-cum fills your mouth, and you squeeze your thighs together knowing she’s close. Her groans and raspy moans are music to your ears and serve only to heighten your desire to have her come in your mouth. Kafka’s hips lose their steady rhythm, growing more desperate and eager, and with a long moan, you feel her cum hit the back throat in hot spurts. You’re forced to swallow and breathe heavily through your nose, a couple of tears falling from your lashes and running down your cheeks. You moan around her cock, sucking her thick head to coax more out of her. Her hold on your hair is tight, there’s a pleasant pulsing in your ears as Kafka regains composure and slowly inches out of your mouth. 

Her lips are parted, her pupils are blown, and she brings a thumb up to the corner of your lips to wipe the trickle of cum sliding down your skin. Kafka uses her other hand to wipe away the tears gathered on your cheeks. Her low voice drips with self-assurance, a bit strained at the edges, and she smiles smugly at the mess she’s already made of you.

“Crying already?...” She chuckles, eyes narrowing. “I'm not quite done with you yet. For this cute little stunt you pulled, I’ll fucking ruin you.”

[sorceresssundries]

Shades of Green

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Tav finds herself in possession of a most revealing letter. Tempted and confused, she retreats with her thoughts to the silent sanctuary of a library. One-shot.

Warnings: Vaginal Sex, Jealousy, Fucking Against a Bookcase...

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This is inspired by Atonement, and contains elements of the book/film but with a different plot and in a different universe.

Shout out to @heyitsjaki for the inspiration - this one's for you, babe!

The blanket of dusk had begun its descent, with the lingering warmth of the sun settling in for another stifling night. The open windows of the Elfsong tavern did nothing to cool the skin of the adventurers preparing themselves for the evening ahead; they just welcomed the sounds of a city slipping into a night’s reverie, as market stalls were swept away and parents chased giggling children off to bed. 

Tav had changed her outfit three times. Figaro had sent her out of his shop with a bundle of dresses, but she had struggled to pick the one most appropriate. The long-sleeved black ensemble, with its intricate lace, felt stifling against her sun-kissed skin, while the pale blue option left her feeling too juvenile for the occasion. Eventually, she settled on a backless silk number which echoed the emerald of her eyes. It skimmed and spilled over her body as though it were made of liquid.

She was trying lipstick and appraising herself in the mirror when she heard footsteps behind her; footsteps with no reflection.

“You look divine, darling.” Astation’s voice was as silken as her dress but with none of the comfort. She ignored him, knowing where this was leading.

“I assume there will be nothing to my… taste… being served at this dinner party?” He drawled. 

"If you're wondering whether Rolan will be serving goblets of blood at his inaugural hosting as master, I'd venture to say it's highly unlikely." It had been a mere couple of days since they had efficiently removed the former master of Ramazith's tower. Grateful for their assistance, Rolan had extended a formal dinner invitation to all involved—a chance, perhaps, to both express his gratitude and showcase his newfound position. Though the timing might not have been perfect, the prospect of an evening away from the Elfsong, wearing clothing absent of bloodstains, held collective appeal.

“Well, then we find ourselves in a bit of a tricky situation, my sweet.”

Tav turned round to face him, and caught his eyes roaming her body.  “There’s no need for predatory looks, Astarion.” She kept her voice clipped, businesslike. Theirs was an arrangement which she had always kept uncomplicated, despite his occasional attempt at complication. “You may take what you need, as long as you promise to be on your best behaviour this evening.”

“Aren’t I always?” He flashed his roguish smile and approached her with barely concealed hunger. She sighed and tilted her head back to allow him what he needed.

“You smell like warm vanilla” Her murmured as he inhaled against her skin, before pressing his lips against the thrumming pulse of her throat and sinking his teeth into her. The second her taste kissed his tongue, he moaned instinctively. She was the first bite of an apple after a day of starvation. The feeling of it was always over-personal, and despite Tav having no romantic attachment or desire towards him, there was a soft flush of intimacy which came from the feeling of him gripping her and basking in her taste. It almost felt like worship. Tav let out a gentle gasp as he gave one final, meaningful swallow and then stepped back, panting. She knew it took restraint to stop, and she appreciated the effort and, well, manners, of him prising himself away before he was asked. They were both breathless, her a little dizzy, and he handed her a handkerchief from his top pocket to press against the bleeding puncture wounds on her neck. 

“Thank you darling” He bowed his head “That will make the evening much more bearable.”

Upon leaving Tav’s room, he bumped into Gale standing outside the door holding a letter. From his tense posture and grim expression, Astarion guessed he had been there long enough to catch wind of the vampire’s early evening snack.

“Hear anything interesting?” Astarion lilted, relishing the hardness in Gale’s usually soft eyes. “You know, she certainly is delicious.” His voice was a silken purr which Gale wished to choke from his throat. The scarlet of Tav’s blood had left a smear at the corner of his mouth, sin-red and mocking. 

Their relationship had always been tense, and that tension had only tightened when Gale became aware of his and Tav’s bloody arrangement. He did not know the details of it, or how much of herself she gave to him during these trysts, but he knew that she deserved better than to be the bloodbag of a leech, or the plaything of a roguish manipulator. His fierce feelings on the matter occasionally spilled into his interactions with Tav, a fault he felt much guilt over. He hated feeling like this, possessive over something he did not even own. He loved her, and sometimes love felt like fury. He was determined to make things right.

Astarion’s cheeks were slightly flushed from the blood which now bloomed through him. Her blood. Gale had heard his moan, her gasp, their shared breathlessness; and had wanted to burst the door open and stake the vampire where he stood. He gripped tight to what little composure he had, and focused on not crumpling the letter in his grip. The veins in his forearms were raised in tension, and resembled cracked bolts of blue lightning against his tanned skin, shooting out from where his sleeves had been pushed up. His breathing was slow, considered; but flared.

“I heard enough.” Gale stowed the letter away in his back pocket, but not before Astarion’s eyes glimpsed it. Gale was not a man who dealt out threats like trump cards, he had always preferred a battle of wits over blades, or the cut of a sharp word over a knife, but he was not above displaying violence if necessary. He felt like it may become necessary. 

“If I ever hear that you’ve taken a drop more than she is willing to give, there will be no shadow dark enough to hide you from me.” Gale asserted, his tone measured. “Besides, our little journey will be over soon, and I’m sure you’ll be back to your previous self in no time.” He took a step closer, and wiped away Tav’s blood with his thumb. “What a shame it would be to make an enemy of one who can conjure up sunlight.” With that, Gale walked away, unaware that Astarion's swift fingers had liberated the letter from his pocket.

It lay temptingly in Astarion’s hands, and without a moment's hesitation, he indulged his curiosity, devouring its contents with the same gluttonous reverie as he had Tav’s blood. There was a beat as he re-read it twice, shocked at what the restrained Wizard had written. "How delicious," he mused, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. With a calculated nonchalance, he slipped the letter under Tav's door, and slinked away with a cocky grin.

Tav had forgotten how to breathe properly. The handwriting was unmistakable. The ink was his deep purple. It even smelled of him. 

Dear Tav,

 In my dreams I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt.

In my thoughts I make love to you all day long. 

Gale.

She felt she had missed something, somewhere, in their short time together. A code she had not cracked, a riddle she had failed to solve. He was affectionate, flirtatious occasionally, charming always, but after spending so much time touch-starved and lacking company Tav had assumed his feelings were akin to those of a drowning man who had been thrown a rope from a passing ship. She had longed for him many times, she had even pushed the thought of a fierce kiss into his mind one magic-filled evening, and he had pulled away…

She had hoped that after Elminster eased the urgency of his condition, that maybe something would come of it. That he would find his way into her tent one night and let himself come undone after a year of being bound so tightly. But he had not. She had not pushed it, he was a man burdened and she did not want to add to it.

She could not think of this now. Not here. Not when they were about to spend an evening in the company of their friends. She re-read the note again and felt herself flush, if only he was aware of her own dreams, of the temptations that whispered and caressed whenever he tensed his muscles in arcane focus, when the sweat borne from summoned fire beaded his brow, or when his voice sank low to pull measured incantations from the depths of his muscled, hair-smattered chest. She shuddered, and fanned herself with no relief. She could not think of this now.

The hours at dinner ached onwards, with Gale sat just out of Tav’s direct eyeline. He was on the opposite side of the food-laden table, a few places along - and he was so aware of her that she may as well have been the only other person in the room. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, lips painted with a colour that made them look bitten. He wanted to deepen the colour with his teeth. He thought her dress made it look like art, she looked like poetry, like no artist would ever be tongue-tied or word-blocked again with her for a muse. Ironic, really, with how thick his tongue felt in his mouth just from looking at her. He thought her dress was the most silken, tempting, beautiful thing he had seen someone wear.

 It was perfect, and he wanted to ruin it. 

Tav had been avoiding his gaze all evening, afraid for him to look at her and see the truth. She was convinced it was waiting there, unabashed and obvious, and with one glance would be pulled from its poorly concealed hiding place. To look at him now would be stupid, reckless, dangerous. Her eyes flicked up, and he caught her. 

He was dark fire, He was looking at her the way a caged man would look at freedom, like she was the bright crack of light through prison walls or the sound of the ocean to a land-locked seafarer. She thought he may drag his searing eyes away, as he had done so many times before, but he did not.  He did not even attempt to simmer his gaze. He stared at her with an intent that kissed fire down her spine, she needed relief from it before she smouldered into ash. 

“Excuse me.” She breathed out an apology to guests who were paying her no attention, and with as much silence and grace as she could conjure she swept from the room, feeling the silk of her dress dance along the floor behind her. 

She poured herself through the first door she found. A library. Dimly lit and, thankfully, empty. What a relief, here there were only book bound spells and dusty stories to witness her unravelling. There must have been thousands of books here, and hers was the weakest spine in the room. 

The truth of it was, she was afraid. Something had now changed, and could not be changed back. The group of them still had challenges, battles and decisions ahead. Overdue justice would be delivered and fresh blood spilled, with a high chance that blood would be their own. Losing herself to her feelings for Gale, acting upon her fantasies, spiralling further into loving him would potentially be an act of selfishness and hard-headedness she couldn’t justify. She wasn’t sure if by keeping herself distanced, she had been protecting others or herself. If she let it, that distance would force itself closed, and she did not know what the outcome would be.

But.. his note… The weight of his lettered words were notched in the fragile space behind her eyes, like the forceful pressing of a typewriter on delicate paper. Even if the ink of the confession could somehow be washed away, the shape of it was indented into her. 

She would allow herself a few moments of stillness, in the silence of the library. How odd, she thought as she gazed around. She was in a room with vast, precious knowledge - and none of it really mattered. No piece of paper would ever matter as much as the one which had slipped like a secret under her door. 

A soft creak announced Gale's presence in the doorway. His posture was formal, his expression obscured by the dim, flickering candlelight. All evening he had been unfairly distracting in fitted suit trousers and a crisp white shirt. A smart black bow-tie had once adorned his collar, but the stifling heat of the lingering party had caused it to come undone, and it now hung loose and forgotten. Several buttons on his shirt had been unfastened, offering a glimpse of his chest hair and the bruise-coloured orb beneath. Against his olive skin, the white fabric seemed to deepen his complexion, accentuating his rugged features, and his sleeves were pushed up to reveal the firm muscles of his forearms. So much for her moment of stillness.

“Are you alright?” He moved towards her and she could not retreat from him even if she wanted to. She was against the bookcase at the far end of the room, there was no stepping back from him now. “You seemed… flushed at dinner.”

“Quite alright.” Her tone was more brusk than she intended it to be, more formal than she wanted. 

“I thought maybe Astarion took more from you than was necessary earlier.” His tone suddenly had a sharp bite to it. “My mistake, it appears you are both perfectly satisfied.” 

She did not like his implication. “Did you have a thorough listen? Before you delivered your sordid little letter?” 

There was a beat of silence, and the air shifted, the hard aura of him became soft and panicked. He didn’t say anything, though Tav had the feeling he was reaching for something to clutch at. She didn’t let him get to it. 

“Does it taint your dreams, knowing that he feeds from me? The dreams where you kiss my sweet, wet cunt?” The words were fired with archer's accuracy. She regretted it the moment it was said. “I’m sorry” She was flustered in her apology, “I shouldn’t have..”

“You should never have seen that letter”

“You slipped it under my door?”

“No. I did not.” 

Their breaths were heavy. Anger and tension and built-up frustration crackled through air made of gunpowder.

“So…You did not mean what you wrote?” Gale thought she almost sounded disappointed, and he clutched onto that thought with desperation and fanned it till it burned.

“That’s not what I said.” 

Out of self-consciousness, or awkwardness, or just to find something for her hands to do, Tav fiddled with her hair and moved it back off her shoulders. The innocuous motion allowed Gale full view of those two, small puncture marks. They were still slightly pink, the area around them bruised. He moved forwards, and her breath caught in expectation of being kissed. Instead he stood, jaw tight, brows stern and brushed the bite marks with his thumb, barely touching her. 

“It does not taint my dreams, but it does haunt my days.” His voice was a slip of envy. His thumb stayed at her throat, but his fingers moved to caress her jaw, tilting her head upwards so they were locked in another heated stare. Tav finally understood.

“I am not his. I never have been” she pushed herself up lightly on her toes, until her nose brushed against his and their breaths became each other’s. “I am yours.” 

The match was lit. He pressed himself fully against her and she bumped back against the books with a gasp caught in a blistering kiss. His hands ran along the cool silk and grasped at it in swathes, as all his pent-up need for her came crashing down in the silence of the library. It took all his resolve not to rip it to silken tatters. She gave one sweet, quiet moan against him and he lifted her up, pinning her against the bookcase before slipping a hand between them, to discover she was not wearing underwear. 

“Too hot” She breathed, her words dancing with laughter. 

“I’ll say.” Gale growls, and with a swift, single-handed undoing of his trousers he pushes his hard cock inside her. There is no time for grace, or teasing, or even manners. She is wet enough, and he needs to fuck her. 

They were not silent, their breaths were heavy and Gale swallowed Tav’s soft moans against his tongue, but there were no more words. There would be other times - Gale would make certain of it - where he would pour obscenities into her ear, where he would brand into her every sordid thought he had ever had, and relish teasing primal, guttural sounds from her sweet, parted lips. 

He had fantasised about her in worship and in sin. In silent libraries, in cold cramped tents, or in back rooms of rowdy taverns. He envisioned teasing her relentlessly until she succumbed to shuddering release with just a few deft strokes of his tongue, or seizing her from behind in the secluded alcove of a crowded bar, losing himself in the depths of her until he surrendered to blissful oblivion without even making eye contact. He wanted the burning, consuming intimacy of knowing her in every way a person can be known. In the softness of her body and the sharpness of her mind. In his thoughts he made love to her all day long, and in his reality he was determined to do the same. 

But for now, he could only growl as he fucked her hard against the bookcase of the library, with the muffled sound of chatter and laughter audible from the party next door. 

“Gale..” Her voice was staccato and lust-soaked and as loud as a gunshot amongst the dusty shelves. He put his hand over her mouth to keep her ecstasy contained, and struggled himself not to cry out in pained pleasure when she bit him. The way she was splayed like an open book before him, his hand pressed against her, controlling the flutter of pages, her spine flattening against the bookcase was maddening. In this position, with her pinned by the desperate, aching weight of him and using a foot perched on a rolling ladder and a hand gripped in his hair to anchor herself, he can feel each quiver and shake of lithe muscle. A bowstring pulled tight for too long, threatening to buckle and release. 

This was it, he thought, his reason for living. Not her exactly, not just her, but touch, hope, sweet torture, and succulent moments that would satisfy both the hungry and the starved. Gods, was he starved. Starved and craving to spend the rest of his life full of her. He couldn't thrust himself into her as hard and recklessly as he would have liked, not like this. Her position against the wall relied too much on the press of his hips and chest against her. Instead, he ground and rutted into her, ensuring his pressure hit her in every place she needed it. The silk of her dress caressed her skin, some of it draping between her legs and over where the two of them were connected. It was becoming soaked. Ruined. Just the way he wanted.

She began to ripple, still waters turning to coursing tides. The grip on his hair became tighter, and when she came the fluttering of her tight cunt was enough to force him over the edge with her. 

In the hazy, burnt-out aftermath of passion, hope glowed. Gale never relented in his affection; he wrapped an arm around her waist to gently guide her feet back to the floor. Cupping her flushed cheeks, he bestowed worshipping kisses upon the freckles of her face, trailing down her neck and shoulders with a soft, peaceful touch. The air between them was delicate, mingled with breathy satisfaction. He pressed kisses to her lips, another and another, as she giggled quietly, gently—a sound just as precious and intimate as the ones she had offered when she came against him.

“I love you.” He whispered, and she thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard. She said it back, and suddenly the thing that could not be changed was spoken. Bound. Sealed. 

“I was going to give you a letter this evening.” Gale continued with his forehead resting against hers “A different letter. There were two in my pocket, the one you received was just.. erm…”

“Catharsis?” She offered with a smirk.

“Something like that, yes.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a letter. A twin to the one from earlier in all except content. 

Dear Tav, 

Please forgive me for my jealous behaviour. The truth is, I feel rather foolish and light-headed in your presence. Tav, I don’t think I can blame the heat! Will you forgive me? 

Gale

She laughed loudly at the ridiculousness of it, of how polite and genteel his carefully crafted words were. At how he must have scrawled the other letter in pent-up desperation, only to put it aside and instead craft this… feathered, dainty thing. She wasn’t sure which letter she preferred, but she knew they were two sides of a precious coin. The two sides of him. 

“I think we can assume you are forgiven.” For a few more intimate moments, they make the most of the library’s silence.

“Do they think they’re being subtle?” Karlach’s brash voice is suddenly heard from the other room. Despite their illusion being shattered, the sound of her laughter mixed with Gale’s drowned out Tav’s fear. She would embrace change, and him along with it. 

[nerdburritos]

You Taste Like The Sun

Summary: You've been invited to attend the annual noble's ball, hosted by no other than Lord Astarion Ancunìn himself. While you father was busy hunting possible husbands for you, the Lord himself couldn't keep his eyes off you. You had no idea that by the end of the night, you'd be engaged to your host - if it wasn't for one tiny detail: you've never even been kissed before. Maybe Lord Ancunìn could help you with that?

pairing: Astarion/f!Reader | Astarion/f!Tav rating: mature tags/warnings: kissing, fluff, arranged marriage word count: 2.6k read on ao3: You Taste Like The Sun

a/n: english isn't my first language so please excuse any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors!

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The ballroom was absolutely packed with noble people but what did you expect? The annual ball hosted by Lord Ancunìn was not to be missed, it was considered a huge honour to be invited at all. It was your first time attending this year, you father dragged you along with him in hopes of finally finding a possible husband for you, even though that was the last thing you wanted. You enjoyed your freedom, loved your studies and had no need for a man in your life. "They're like children!" your mother once said, but she'd been smiling while looking at your father. They were in love, you've never been, it's a feeling you've yet to experience. Most people your age with your social status were usually married to someone of equal status, love or not, before ending up alone but you've always needed something more - a real connection, trust and at least the possibility of love. The so called "suitors" your family had in mind offered none of that. You sighed, sorting out your beautiful ball gown, before you picked up another flute of champagne, making your way across the room to greet some more pople, have some small talk - it'd be considered rude not to. Before you could reach Lady Belgamour at the end of the room you felt something, or rather someone, bump into you, spilling the champagne all over your expensive dress, you mother would be furious.

"Forgive me, my Lady, how terribly rude of me!" a dark, husky voice immediatley apologized, an arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. You looked up, it was your host, Lord Ancunìn. He was dressed in a white doublet with gold ebroidery as well as matching slacks which complimented his pale skin tone and white-greyish hair fabously. He almost looked like an angel, if it wasn't for the red eyes. A fallen angel, maybe. Your host took out a silk handkerchief, proceeding to try and clean your delicate dress and you blushed at his attention. He was an incredibly attractive man, a bachelor nontheless, the whole city was after him - young women, old women, married women, hells - even men! He pocketed his handekrchief, making eye contact with you once again. "I'm sorry about your dress, I'll cover the expense for the dry cleaner, of course." Gods, he relly had some stellar manners.

"O-oh Lord Ancunìn, this is not necessary, I did not watch where I was going, it was entirely my fault..." You studdered - of course you'd embarrass yourself in front of the most powerful and attractive man in the city.

"Nonsense, I'll take care of it. Now, I don't think we've been formerly introduced yet, I'm Lord Astarion Ancunìn and you are?" You qucikly introduced youself, bowing slightly as you've been taught, he was a Lord after all, and Astarion gently took your hand, placing a sweet kiss on top of it. "A pleasure, my Lady. I've been wondering when you would finally grace us with your presence, you father is keeping you sheltered but I can hardly blame him with a daughter as beautiful as you." Your face turned beet red at his honeyed words, which Astarion seemed to enjoy, he was quite the sweet talker. The attentions of men were not unfamiliar to you but none of them had a way with words like Astarion did. The Lord offered his arm. "May I have this dance, my Lady?" You could see your father from the distance, looking quite happy about your current situation with the Lord, he probably got his hopes up already. You linked your arm with Astarion's and followed him to the dancefloor, where he immediately settled one hand on your waist, pushing you closer to him and began to flawlessy lead you through a Waltz. He was an exceptional dancer and your heart raced being so close to him. He smelled faintly of bergamot and rosemary,a really nice and sexy combination. Truth to be told, he was everything you could wish for - handsome, polite, a great dancer and true gentleman but something inside you told you that there was more to thim that just that but what was it? Maybe he might be a freak in the sheets? You certainly hoped so and giggled. Astarion lowered his gaze, smiking slightly.

"Are my dance skills so terribly amusing?" he joked, twirling you around the dancefloor playfully, catching you in his arms again as the other guests applauded with delight. 

"Oh no, my Lord." you laughed as he spun you around. "I'm simply enjoying myself."

"I am glad to hear that such a stunning Lady is enjoying my company, I do feel very honoured." And there was that damned blush on your face again. You could simply not deal with open and honest compliments from handsome and succesful men like him apparently. But maybe it wasn't even the compliments, maybe it was just him...and he was so aware of it. A smug smirk was gracing his lips. Maybe he had a thing of riling innocent little things like you up? It didn't really matter now, did it? The Waltz came to a stop, Astarion now bowing in front of you. "It was a pleasure, my Lady. How about a stroll in the gardens to cool down a bit?" He offered his arm again with a soft smile.

"But your other guests..."

"Can very well deal without me. Please, allow me." Astarion guided you out of the ballroom into the lavish gardens, one hand around you waist once again but still keeping a respectful distance. The gardens were beautiful, decorated with more fairy lights than you could count, creating an almost magical environment with all the differend kinds of flowers blooming at this time of the year.

"What a beautiful garden." You complimented, attempting to make small talk. You were feeling quite nervous in his presence, hoping you wouldn't embarrass yourself again. Normally, you'd not give a single shit about the opinion of a man but Astarion was different somehow, even though you just met him. He was different than all of them and not just because he was richer than all of the Lords combined but because his efforts with you seemend honest, almost genuine. Or maybe it was all a very practiced act, a façade, you weren't quite sure but wasn't it all? In a world full of arranged marriages, a façade was all they could offer. 

"Thank you." He seemed quite happy with your compliment. "So, do you like flowers?" You nodded enthusiastically and started to ramble about your passion for gardening (which was unbecoming for a Lady, your maid has said) and favorite kinds of flowers. Astarion seemd intrigued - he actually listened and nodded at the right times before picking up a tiny flower, tucking it into your hair. "Beautiful." he whispered and you weren't quite sure if he meant the flower or you. You wandered further into the gardens, the noise from the palace nearly dying down and reached a small lake. "So, you father told me you're exceeing expectations in your studies?"

"Oh dear." you laughed. "My father can't help but praise me, apparently." Astarion laughed.

"It's all he does at our annual meetings. He's quite proud, you know." A warm feeling settled in your stomach, making your family proud was one of the most important things for you. You father has been working so hard after all. "And I can't blame him I mean, by the God's, look at you." he whispered. 

"I...uh...what?" you studdered, now that was really not ladylike at all, you maid would scowl you for that.

"You're breathtaking." Astarion admitted. The High Lord himself admitted that you, you of all people, were breathtaking. You had no idea how to deal with that information.

"Oh, my Lord. There are far prettier creatures out there than me." You chuckled but telling the truth. You didn't think of yourself as beautiful or smart or anything else, you were normal, average even. Your lack of self-esteem usually really bothered your mother but it was the truth after all, wasn't it?

"No." he shook his head. "They all just pretend to be." Astarion snarled. "They pretend to be pretty, while throwing on all the make up they possess. You are naturally beautiful. The way your freckles shine in the moonlight is spectacular." he whispered, taking a few steps closer to you. "You are an exceptional dancer, none of them could even compare and you have manners, you behave like a Lady while still having quite some spite..." You whole body went rigid. Shit.

"My Lord, if any of my actions have offended you..." Astarion waved you off immediately.

"Not at all, my dear. I did quite enjoy it, actually. I have no use for a wife who just serves and lives to obey, where is the fun in that? While I appreciate your perfect manners, I do hope you have a few naughty sides." He smirked while you let his words sink in. No use for a wife? Wife? Wife. Wife! Oh Gods...

"W-wife, my Lord?" you asked carefully, staring in disbelief as he pulled you closer to him.

"Why, of course. That's why you're here, isn't it? I'm sure you're aware that you father is searching for a husband for you." You huffed, of course he was, that's why he dragged you along in the first place. "Trust me, a few of his candidates shouldn't even be up for discussion, vile creatures, like they deserve you..." he snapped. "But I'm quite sad he didn't consider me." Astarion pouted palyfully, trying to ease the tension. You weren't sure if your family was in huge trouble because your father never considered him or if he was just playing with you.

"Lord Ancunìn, I am sure my father meant no harm!" you quickly explained. "We are far below your status, surely you would never consider the daughter of a simple-" He shut you up by placing a finger on your mouth.

"Don't tell me what I want." He stated calmly, pulling you flush agsinst him. "I guess your father would be more than pleased with me as your future husband." You had no idea what to say. This was not the way you imagined the night would go. "Or you could go on and marry one of the other fools if you so please." You quickly shook your head. No, never, worst nightmare. Astarion was the perfect choice, your parents would be over the moon, surely. "Well, then it's settled."

"Why do you even need a wife?" You quickly blurted out, immediately regeretting your choice of words but you couldn't help but wonder. Had he ulterior moves?

"Well, first of all it grants me, and you family, a certain political immunity. Two Lords combining forces and families is something to be considered across the realms, an alliance would be helpful for both sides and to be frank? Society expects a marriage from both of us. So why not work together, hm?" he smirked. "I don't want to marry the next decent girl. My wife should be educated in all kinds of things, well read, strong political knowledge, perfectly mannered and kind while still being herself. I don't want a doll who obeys all my commands - I want a partner, an advisor. I can see you filling that position more than anyone." That was good enough for you. You knew that if you didn't take him up for his offer, you father would quickly find someone else - someone worse. There was no better match than Lord Astarion Ancunìn, you basically won the jackpot. 

"Very well, I agree." Astarion smirked. 

"In that case, let's seal the deal as any lovers would." he commented playfully and leaned closer, tilting his head towards yours...oh my God, he was going to kiss you. You quickly put some distance between him and yourself, Astarion took a few steps back.

"Excuse me. I meant no harm, I assure you." he quickly apologized. Yes, the Lord had quite the reptutation amongst the noble women (apparently he was an exeptional lover, quite selfless) but he seemed really distraught by your refusal. Not hurt but angry at himself. Ugh, it's not like you didn't want to kiss him, there was just a tiny issue...

"I've never been kissed." you quickly blurted out, blushing with embarrasment as you stared at the ground, your heels seeming quite interesting all of a sudden. Astarion froze, then he smirked and closed the distance between you two once again. He quickly placed a gentle, warm hand on your cheek, grasping your chin with other hand, lifting our face up to meet his gaze.

"That's what this is about?" he asked gently, you nodded. Well, it's not like you had the chance to practice a lot without a proper partner. "I didn't mean to pressure you." You nodded, feeling relived. So he did care about consent - good. "I just thought a beautiful Lady like you had thousands of opportunities..." you gasped, he smirked.

"What kind of Lady do you take me for? A common harlot?" Astarion laughed, and what a beautiful sound it was. 

"Oh no, my love, absolutely not but men are vile creatures so please do forgive me." You chuckled, still in his arms as he gazed down at you almost lovingly. "Sooooo, about that kiss..."

"You scoundrel!" You giggled as you playfully pushed him, he seemed to enjoy teasing you. "But I guess I can indulge you? It might not be good..." you warned, your heart already racing, you'd probably make a fool out of yourself in a few seconds. He had all this experience and you didn't...

"Nonsense!" he took your face in both hands, gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs and placed a gentle but long peck on your lips - nothing more. A sweet, gentle kiss without any intentions but full of adoration and respect. You gasped as he pulled back, the Lord looking quite smug already. "How was that?" Astarion asked as you touched your lips. 

"Really nice." you admitted. Nice? It felt incredible. His lips were so soft, the pressure was perfect, this man made your knees weak. You wanted more. 

You leaned forward slightly, placing another gentle kiss to his lips as he gave you a reassuring smile and pulled you closer to him, not allowing you to part, keeping your lips pressed together. He let out a husky chuckle against your lips as he finally took a tiny step back. You already missed the feeling of his lips pressed against yours, he was addicting.

"Want some more?" Astarion whispered and you eagerly nodded. This little..tryst in the depths of his garden was highly uncalled for but you didn't even care anymore. He pressed a series of quick pecks on your lips, making you gasp before catching your bottom lip between his and sucking. You moaned, he immediately turned the innocent pecks into a full-blown open mouth kiss as you mimicked his actions, kissing him deeply for a few seconds before you felt something warm and wet enter your mouth. His tongue. You froze but Astarion rubbed small circles into your lower back, helping you relax as you let his tongue enter your mouth. It felt weird but somehow good. Gods, you couldnt believe this. This morning you were just an ordinary woman and now, not even 12 hours later, you were engaged and snogging Lord Ancunìn. You felt Astarion move, he pressed you against a nearby tree, caging you in with his strong arms as he continued to kiss you sensually. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and he let out a gentle moan, which turned you on tremendously. You parted, both gasping for air.

"You taste wonderful, my love." he murmured before leaning in again, brushing his lips softly against yours. "I can't help myself but get lost in you."

You blushed at his sweet words, maybe this whole marriage thing wouldn't end so bad after all?

[ollie-lolly]

How they react when you blindfold them

Obey me brothers x gender neutral reader

Note: HIT 100+ FOLLOWERS RECENTLY??? I AM VERY GRATEFUL THANK YOU <3. Constructive criticism and reblogs are always appreciated!

Word count: 697

Warnings: suggestive, i accidently added knife play at Belphegor's part oops

The two of you are just working in silence. A nice and calm working environment. Well it is too calm for you! You undo your silk scarf and sneak up to him, tying the silk material around his head. You are surprised when he doesn't stand up.

Lucifer

-His luxurious pen drops on the table 

-"Mc if you know what is good for you, you will remove it right now. I have work to do"

-You decided to ignore his protest and spin the chair around and climb on his lap

-He is desperately trying to keep his composure and patience

-Much to your frustration, he removes the silk scarf

-Before you could take the scarf he takes a hold of your wrist

-"Now let's take care of those bratty actions of yours"

Mammon

-Low-key wants to film it for 'personal reasons'

-You walk around him and lightly lift the hem of his shirt. 

-You start tracing his abdomen with the tips of your fingers

-"Mc what has gotten into ya?"

-You falter "Do you want me to stop?"

-"NO, i mean uh shit" he really did not want to seem that eager

-Your other hand gently pulls at his hair

-"That is all the permission i needed pretty boy"

-He whimpers. A reply to your gentle praise

-He bucks his hips. Desperate for some friction

Leviathan

-He may or may not have a boner rn

-THIS MAN IS CAUGHT OF GUARD

-Already predicting his movements, you hold the gaming chair down to prevent him from falling

-"A- are sure that you want to do this with me?"

-You give your answer by softly kissing his lips, then you start leaving a trail hickeys and bites on his exposed shoulders and neck

-"I can really tell that you are enjoying this Levi"

-Your hands travel to his rising erection, causing him to whimper

-"That's my pervy little Levi"

Satan

-He has 100% read this in a book before

-I swear he reads porn

-You lower yourself to your knees and softly kiss his bare stomach

-He groans as your kisses go lower, you put your hands on his and shift them to the top of your head

-He tries to remain patient

-He finds it embarrassing, but god does it feel good

-He pulls at your hair in frustration

Asmodeus

-"Mc you never cease to amaze me dear!"

-It's safe to say he is more then just pleased

-He whines completely unashamed when you bite the soft skin of his neck

-He quickly starts to get handsy 

-You were expecting this predicament, you grab a small clean handkerchief. 

-You firmly tie his wrists together

-"Let's see how long you'll last Asmo"

Beelzebub

-He has no idea of what to do in this situation

-You notice his stiffness in posture

-When you try to back off, he gently puts his hands on your back

-"Please don't leave, i like it" he uttered

-You make yourself comfortable and put one hand on the back of his neck 

-The other pulls out a small bottle of syrup 

-You put some in your mouth the sweet taste melts on your tongue

-While a large part of the sweet liquid is in your mouth you kiss him 

-His tongue quickly takes over

-He softly wimpers as he feels a heat rise down south

Belphegor

-Wants to do this again for sure

-I can't decide if it's because he doesn't have to do much or if it's the other way around, that he likes to see you helpless. respectfully?

-You pull out a small pocket knife and you gently trace the sharp tip on his collarbones and shoulders

-His breathing starts to become heavy as he starts to realize what the object might be

-He has dreamt about this, with help from his dream manipulation, but had no idea how to bring it up due to 'the incident'

-When a small pool of blood began to drip, you leaned in and licked it off 

-He shivers but also groans when he feels the sensation

Bonus!

Barbatos Barbie

-Wil be surprised at first 

-"We are lucky that we are alone for once, my love"

-His hands gently reach for yours and he gently presses a kiss to your hand

-You take a seat on his leg and start kissing his neck 

-He puts his hand around your frame

-"I would love to do something like this again"

-"That is if you don't mind being tied up for me"

Date began: 27th of march 2023

Date finished: 28th of march 2023

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 2/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.) ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

The weekly Monday team meeting had never inspired much in the way of passion in the past, but then, the topic of Champion the cat had never been raised before.  

“If you’re adamant about it living in the archives, Jon, then my requirement is that it be useful!” Elias repeated, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket and discreetly wiping his eyes. He kept a healthy distance from the Head Archivist and the armful of ginger-and-white fluff he held, but the creature’s shedding fur seemed determined to attack him all the same. 

Jon readjusted the cat in his arms, his stubborn scowl set despite his difficult load. “Champion is useful!” he retorted, earning a loud and happy purr from a delighted Champion. “And he will remain useful in the archives, yes. Not in the tunnels!” 

In the what? Martin thought to himself, snapping out of his happy reverie of Jon complimenting him. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying quite as much attention to the meeting as he ought to have been. It was difficult when he’d been allowed to sit on one of the comfier chairs, and Jon had been scratching behind his ear the whole time. 

“He’ll not be locked in there.” Elias sniffed and narrowed his eyes at Champion, as though he’d like nothing more than to keep the cat underground at all times. “I’m not that cruel. But I have reason to believe there are rats in the tunnels…or at least one…” A smirk played on his thin, pale lips. “It would be a better use of resources to have the cat flush any out.”

“Of course there are rats in the tunnels! This is London! And the tunnels are underground! You can’t expect Champion to rout out every bloody rodent this side of the Thames!” Jon squeezed Champion a little harder than was comfortable, but Champion didn’t protest. 

Tim, however, spoke up from where he was lounging behind them, his chair rocked back onto two legs. “He’s got a point, Elias. Have you seen Champion chase a laser pointer yet? Honestly, it’s pretty tragic. I don’t think he can see all that well, you know.”

“It’s a cat,” Elias drawled, looking down his nose at Tim. “I’m sure its eyesight is fine. Look, this is not up for debate. Either the cat is put to use in the tunnels during the day, or it goes to a cat sanctuary. Tonight.”

Champion wriggled in Jon’s grip, panic surging. If he ended up in a cat rescue centre, then what? He’d have absolutely zero chance of anyone realising something was wrong – a normal family wouldn’t even know things could be paranormally wrong about their cat! If he was going to have any hope of changing back, he had to stay in the archives!

“Shh, shh, it’s all right, Champion, don’t listen to Elias,” Jon said, petting the wiggling giant in his arms. “We’d never put you in a rescue centre. You could live with me! Or Tim!” “Err, actually Boss, my landlord—” 

“Or Sasha! Or even Rosie! No one’s going to abandon you here, don’t you worry.” 

Champion settled somewhat, if only because his heart began to swell at the very notion of not being abandoned. Joy and sorrow in equal measure – Martin had never been so noticed and cared for before. And yet…he wasn’t Martin, was he? They didn’t care about Martin; they cared about Champion the cat. In fact, Martin’s absence had only been brought up in passing at the meeting to ask if anyone had heard from him, and to agree Tim would swing by his flat again that night. 

“The point stands, Jon.” Elias gathered up his files from the meeting and began to head to the door. “If that bloody cat is here when I next visit, it’ll be thrown out the front door. If you’re going to insist on it being here during working hours, it goes in the tunnels.” 

──── •✧• ────

The trapdoor closed behind them, plunging both Jon and Champion into a moment of gloom. Jon rustled around in his bag for a moment, then something clicked; he’d pulled out a flashlight, and its bright beam pierced the dark ahead of them with ease. 

Champion looked up at Jon, bashing his head lightly against the man’s thin leg. 

Please don’t do this! Don’t leave me down here! I can hide under the desk, o-or under the bookcase, or hell, Tim’s car all day, I don’t mind! Just not down here on my own!

Jon, evidently sensing Martin’s distress, crouched down and petted his head lightly. “Don’t you worry. We’ll be fine. If Elias wants you down here, well…we’ll have to do that. But he never said you had to be alone.” 

The head archivist straightened up then, taking a few tentative steps further into the tunnels. “I-I’ll be here with you. And eventually, Elias will realise this is a grand waste of time. Besides…there’ll be horrible echoes in the statement recordings I do down here. He’ll have to give in.” 

He turned to offer a smile to Champion; yet another Martin had gained this week despite months of trying as a human. Still, the reassurance that wouldn’t be alone down there meant Champion trotted after Jon, keeping close to the light and to his companion.

Jon chuckled. “There we are, see? It’s actually not so bad down here, is it? It was worse a few months ago – full of worms. A-and a worm-woman. But she’s not here anymore. Don’t you worry.” 

Jon led them both to one of the many doors leading off from the main tunnel. He paused, pulling out a piece of chalk from his bag and marking an arrow back the way they’d come. Then, he opened the door. 

He peered inside – by his feet, so too did Champion – checking for any sign of danger. Seeing none, Jon pushed the door further open. “Right! This can be our office, then. You don’t need to be wandering the tunnels, Champion – Elias said nothing about that. Only that you had to be in the tunnels.” 

Jon headed inside, setting his bag down on the ground and then sitting himself down. Champion hurried after him curling up as close to Jon’s leg as possible, shivering a little. A comforting hand came down once again to stroke his fur. “Oh, I know…It’s not as nice as the archives, but hopefully, we won’t have to endure this for too long. Just until Elias gets sick of the echo.” 

He pulled out a tape recorder from his bag, giving it a little wiggle to highlight his point. “He’ll have to cave eventually.”

Champion wasn’t so sure. What was to stop Elias simply demanding Jon return to work in the office and then chucking him down in the tunnels and locking the trapdoor? What if Elias got the locks changed? What if he got stuck down there, lost among the twisting corridors – oh God, what if Michael found him again? 

Champion shivered, lying down flat on his front and putting his paws over his eyes. It didn’t last long, however, before a worried Jon scooped him up, tape recorder and statement forgotten on the floor beside him. 

“Oh, Champion, it’s all right! I’m here!” he said, bringing him up for another cuddle that threatened to smother Jon in fluff. “I know, this place is horrid, isn’t it? It won’t be forever, I promise. A-and maybe I can bring some more things down every day to make it comfortable? I wonder if Martin would mind if we borrowed his emergency jumper stash to make you a little bed in here? We can ask Tim to check with him tonight when—” 

Jon’s reassurances were deftly severed by a loud bang from further up the tunnels that made both of them jump. Champion in particular yeowled and scrambled up from Jon’s arms to wrap around his head, knocking his glasses and latching on like the world’s weirdest woolly hat. 

“Gak! Champion, I can’t see if you do that!” 

Still, Champion wouldn’t let go. He stared at the door to their makeshift office in the tunnels, waiting to see what horror had caused that sound even as Jon’s hands tried to unpeel him from his head. 

The hands stopped as the door to their room began to creak open…

──── •✧• ────

[chopinski-official]

Chopin’s Wardrobe — What I Wore

Today I would like to share with you all the manner in which I dressed. It is interesting to see how fashions have changed over the course of 200 years. Some might say style has slipped… Anyway! Here are some details on my wardrobe:

My Suit

I liked to wear sober colours: black, mauve, blue… and especially grey. For instance, I once asked Julian Fontana to have made for me a pair of dark grey winter trousers, without a belt, which were smooth and stretchy.

Grey trousers, 1840.

At a concert in Glasgow, a pupil recalled that I had worn a pale grey suit. Which included a frock-coat of identical tint and texture.

(Left) Frock coat, 1840. (Right) Frock coat and trousers, 1852.

Under my suit, I would wear a modest waistcoat in a fabric such as a black velvet with a tiny inconspicuous pattern, something very quiet and elegant.

(Left) Provençal waistcoat with mauve silk seedlings, 1860. (Centre) Waistcoat with floral pattern, 1838. (Right) Striped waistcoat, 1850-70.

My preferred shirts were ones made of cambric or batiste fabric. They had small mother-of-pearl buttons, two breast-pockets, and could be bought for 14 francs.

For my cravat, I would wear muted colours during the day. Usually, I would tie it in a bow. However, when performing in a formal setting, I would wear a broad, white silk cravat.

Winter Clothes

To keep warm in the winter months, I wore a thick redingote or over-frock coat, as can be seen in this daguerreotype of myself from 1849.

(Left) Wool coat, 1840. (Centre) Winter costume. Paul Gavarni, 1846. (Right) Frock coat. Wool, trimmed with silk velvet. 1820-1830.

At one point, my sickness rendered me so sensitive to the cold that I wore three flannels under my trousers.

Underpants, mid-nineteenth century.

Accessories

Because I had small feet, I often found shoes uncomfortable. I mourned the day, Moos, my shoemaker died. No one made my shoes like him.

1840s men’s shoes.

On my head, I would always have my hair curled, and, when outdoors, I would wear a top hat. I bought my hats from Dupont’s because he made them lightweight. They were originally made of beaver felt but, by my later life, they were made of silk plush.

(Left) Top hat made of beaver felt, 1830s. (Right) Top hat made of silk plush, 1850.

My outfit was only complete with white gloves. Without them one would not be in good taste. Kid gloves were common, but I also liked wearing Swedish (suede) gloves. Always in white.

Evening gloves. 1848.

A pocket handkerchief was also a necessity.

Finally, I had a miniature pocket watch. According to one concert-goer, it was “In shape no bigger than an agate stone, on the forefinger of an alderman.”

Where did I shop?

I bought my top hats from Dupont’s at No 8, rue de Montblanc (the previous name for rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin). I lived on this street myself, both at No 5 (1833-36) and No 38 (1836-38).

(Left) 9, rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, the fabric shop across the street from the milliners, 1840s. (Right) Rue de la Chaussée-d’Antin, 1858-1878.

My shirts came from No 37 in the Palais Royal galleries, on the theatre side.

(Left) View of the Galerie d'Orléans in the Palais-Royal, 1838. (Right) Jardin du Palais Royal, 1840s.

The white suede gloves could be acquired from À la Corbeille de Fleurs, Houbigant’s shop at No 19, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

(Left) The corner of rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, 1820-1840. (Right) Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 1814-1885.

There were also many shops along the Grands Boulevards. This is where I got my trousers made by my tailor, Dautremont.

(Left) Boulevard de la Madeleine, 1799. (Right) Boulevard des Capucines, 1830.

Boulevard des Italiens, 1840s (left), 1835 (right).

So…

As you can see, in spite my reputation for being picky and perhaps… prissy, with regard to fashion and furniture, I was far from what was called a dandy. My dress was never over-the-top and nor did I put on the airs that were so pertinent to dandyism. My desire, if anything, was to be refined and respectable. Although, perhaps my efforts to do so were occasionally cause for frenzy or distraction.

[coochellati]

Comfort From Your Capo

Pairing: Bruno Bucciarati x gender-neutral reader

Summary: Bruno pauses a very important meeting to comfort you in your time of need.

Word Count: 963

Genre: Fluff

I’ve had a pretty rough week; I wrote this short one-shot to provide a bit of comfort. Honestly, it was pretty cathartic. If you’re in a similar position, I hope reading this can help you a little too 🩷

{READ ON AO3}

Tap tap tap.

You abruptly lifted your face from your damp pillow, startled by the sudden presence of someone at your bedroom door.

A spark of annoyance rushed through your body, which lay sprawled across your bed. Great—someone else had heard your desperate sobs and had come to check on you. Mista had dropped by not even ten minutes ago. Were your walls really that thin? Sharing a house with Team Bucciarati already left you with limited privacy, but seriously? It seemed that not even your room was safe from nosy eavesdroppers.

“Is everything alright?” A muffled voice asked from behind your bedroom door. Wait, was that Bruno? Wasn’t he supposed to be in the middle of an important meeting with Giorno? You felt conflicted—on one hand, you were relieved that Bruno was the one who had come to check on you. On the other hand, you felt even more tense; you knew how crucial this meeting was. Bruno had been emphasizing the importance of it for the past week; he had made it very clear that he was not to be bothered.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Giorno?” you choked out, hot tears streaming down your flushed face.

“I am,” he replied, “but one of the Sex Pistols requested that I come and check on you.”

“Well, things are fine,” you called out as you buried your face back into your pillow. Bruno didn’t need to hear your sobs.

“Your words don’t sound very reassuring,” Bruno replied, his voice laced with concern. “If you need space, I’ll leave you be.”

“No, it’s not—that’s not it,” you whimpered between gasps for air. “I don’t want to take you away from your work. You said that this meeting was super important, and I”—you gasped—“I don’t want to interrupt you.”

“Interrupting me—is that what you’re worried about?” Bruno asked. “I promise you aren’t disturbing me. Right now, your distress is a much more pressing concern.” His words melted your heart; the care in his voice made you cry even harder.

“Okay, you can come in,” you sniffled, shifting your body so that you were now sitting up. You grabbed a tissue on your nightstand to wipe away the snot pouring out of your nose—you didn’t want Bruno to see you in such a gross state. All of a sudden, you heard your doorknob jiggling.

“It’s locked,” he called out.

“Oh—sorry, I’ll get it.”

“No need,” he replied. You heard the low growl of a zipper as Bruno began crawling through the center of your door. The pull tabs on his suit jingled as he stepped into your bedroom and zipped your door shut. You stared at the floor, vision blurry with tears. You felt the bed shift as Bruno took a seat next to you.

A warm finger traced your jawline towards your chin as he turned your head towards him. Your lip quivered as you looked into his deep, sapphire eyes. The soft, tender expression he wore caused you to break down all over again. Bruno pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and softly dabbed the warm tears cascading down your face.

“Don’t feel any pressure to talk about what’s upsetting you. However, if you need someone to listen, I’m here for you,” he gently stated. “Everything is going to be okay.” You nodded your head as he leaned down and delicately kissed your forehead. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close, engulfing you in his warmth. You buried your face into the space where his suit opened up for his chest, your skin pressed against his. The soothing scent of his expensive cologne flooded your nose. You focused on Bruno’s rhythmic breathing and found comfort as you rose and fell with his chest.

“Were you upset when you had to leave your meeting?” You asked, voice shaking.

“No, not at all,” Bruno reassured. “I’ll admit that I was a little irritated when Number 5 first appeared, but I calmed down as soon as it informed me of your distress. Mista must have been pretty concerned about you. I don’t think Number 5 was acting on Mista’s orders—I imagine it was reflecting his subconscious. I’m surprised he didn’t check on you himself.”

“He did; I told him to go away,” you sniffled and lightly chuckled.

”Ah, so that’s why Number 5 came and got me,” Bruno remarked, softly smiling. “I’m glad it did.“ His words sent a shiver of bliss running through your body.

“By the way, don’t worry about getting my suit wet; it’ll dry. Besides, even if you did leave a stain, I’m not worried—I’ve got the best dry cleaners in Italy,” he softly laughed.

“So that’s how you keep your suit so white,” you muttered, half-smiling.

”Mm-hm,” Bruno hummed. You noticed that your tears had finally stopped. A melancholic tranquility had replaced your sorrow.

“You seem like you’ve calmed down; are you feeling any better?” Bruno questioned. You looked up at him and nodded your head in response.

“Good,” He murmured as he began stroking your back. “I’ll stay with you a little while longer. As much as I don’t want to, I do have to get back to my meeting sometime soon. Don’t worry, I’ll come back once it’s over.”

“Thank you, Bruno,” you tiredly mumbled. A fuzzy warmth flooded your body as he pulled you even closer.

“I’ll always be here for you, my love,” Bruno consoled. You closed your eyes; a wave of exhaustion flooded your body as you allowed all of your muscles to relax. Your world no longer felt as if it was falling apart; it was as if Bruno had used his stand ability to reattach its pieces back together.

[slaymybreathaway]

Batwife (Bruce Wayne x Reader)

"The Batman" 2022

Warnings: mentions of nudity

Word Count: 776

Masterlist

"The city's favourite couple are saying 'I do' this morning at Gotham Cathedral. Billionaire Bruce Wayne and Oscar Winning actress Y/n L/n made their first public appearance as a couple nearly 3 years ago at the premier of y/n's movie The Gravedigger," one reporter said.

Every news station in the city waited impatiently outside the cathedral for them to emerge. It was the event of the decade, the closest Gotham would ever get to a royal wedding.

Just then, the newlyweds emerged from the Church. Y/n was wearing a simple silk wedding dress with colourful flowers adorned on the lace sleeves that covered her arms. Bruce was looking sharp in a black suit. The handkerchief tucked neatly in his breast pocket was a bright yellow. Many fans speculate that the burst of colour was added by his new wife, the actress being famous for her making block colours fashionable again.

As soon as the doors of the Cathedral were opened, they were bombarded with flashing cameras and intrusive questions.

"Y/n, many speculate you are marrying for money," one particularly pushy reporter asked.

Bruce tried to get his new wife to ignore this statement but y/n turned around and spoke straight into his microphone. "I'm more than capable of making my own money, thank you," she said and followed her husband into the wedding car.

♡ 5 years later ♡

Y/n Wayne sat in living room watching, no studying the news. Every night she did the same, waiting for the headline she dreaded 'Masked Vigilante Found Dead'. Thankfully it hasn't happened yet.

Then, Alfred brought her a cup of coffee. "Here, I assume you won't go to sleep until Master Bruce comes home," he smiled slightly.

"Am I that readable?" she asked and took the cup "Anyways will you tell me when he does get home, please?"

Alfred agreed and y/n went back to watching the news.

An hour later, y/n was on the verge of falling asleep when Alfred came back in. "Master Bruce has arrived," he announced.

Y/n yawned. She got up, put on her robe and got in the elevator down to what her husband called the 'bat-cave' but she referred to it as the glorified basment.

When the elevator stopped y/n could see Bruce writing down the nights events.

"Dear Diary, it's Halloween today and I had to dress up like a bat. All the other kids made fun of me and stole my candy," she joked and walked over to him.

Bruce smiled "I told you not to wait around for me anymore honey," He closed his notebook and brought her face to kiss him.

She watched as he took out his camera contact lenses and placed them on the scanner.

Y/n knew that he wouldn't listen to her properly while watching the footage of tonight so she decided to mess with him.

"I went to a Halloween party tonight,"

"Mhm, that's nice honey. What did you wear?" he asked, not really caring about the answer.

"Barely anything," y/n whispered in his ear.

No reaction whatsoever came from Bruce's face, he replied with another automated answer "Great, hope you didn't get too cold,"

Y/n crossed her arms in frustration. "You should've came. To the party, I mean. If I attend another social event alone people will start to rumour your death,"

"Well, it seems like crime never ends in this city," he said, his head still stuck in the monitors.

"Yeah but marriages do," y/n mumbled.

Bruce broke out of his trance and turned to face his wife. "What?"

Y/n's expression broke into a smile. "The fact that I had to mention divorce for my husband to even make eye contact with me,"

He sighed "I'm sorry, my love. It's just, this thing," he gestures to the screen.

"Maybe I can help?" y/n asked, already knowing the answer. Bruce didn't want her involved in the whole 'Batman' thing because she worries enough about him without her knowing the amount of danger he really is in.

"C'mon, with most women, if their husband stayed out half the night and comes back with eye makeup on then he's cheating. My situation is... A little different. Just, please let me help you," she looked up at him pleadingly.

He sighed. "Alright come here," he wrapped his arms around his wife as he showed her the 'He lies still' card.

[disfrutalakia]

Badboyhalo is a victorian noble lady who is slowly dying of consumption, he coughs blood on his fancy silk handkerchief and when he sees blood he puts it on the pocket of his fancy expensive dress and refuses to tell anyone about it until he is on his death bed with all his lovers surrounding him.

see my vision