#the top 3 and fire one were all from yesterday ):)

[aureatchi]

ᝰ𓂃⊹ ִֶָ SHE PAINTED THE HIGH RENAISSANCE ONTO HER BLANK CANVAS. . .ft. fyodor dostoevsky & dazai osamu

৻ꪆ RIASSUNTO. fata viam invenient...you attend a ball, fated to stumble upon two demons in disguise. you don't know whether it is for better or worse that you somehow already know them, all masqueraded as angels, regardless of how laughably far off that would be.

◞ OR ROME WAS TRULY THE PROMISED LAND, and you sought the art of chaos, rivalry, and seduction.

SERIES MASTERLIST. → ii. | PLAYLIST ♫. | wc. 9.6k+

৻ꪆ a/n. it’s FINALLY HERE !! get ready because there’s A LOT. i’ve poured sm heart into this so i hope you enjoy it as much as i do :) THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who was patient + reached out telling me how excited they are for this. this series is also my entry for @kentopedia’s love through the ages historical!au collab. thank u sm for putting this together <3

৻ꪆ info. fem!reader. renaissance!au. drama & romance. cursing. some suggestive parts. love triangle. arranged engagement. slowburn. lowk touch-starved. a lot of story buildup/complex character. suicide attempt from dazai. historical inaccuracies. bad poetry. religious imagery/symbolism.

— THE MONA LISA WASN’T REAL. And Vincenzo Peruggia was not, in fact, the person who stole the piece, contributing to the boom of its fame to the general public, but was planned in a way to frame him so that the origins of the painting would be a secret gossip only a group of the most successful artists knew about. 

The gendarmes were close. They were correct in assuming that another artist could’ve stolen the painting during the investigation. But they never suspected it could be the person the portrait was painted of herself—no, obviously not Francesco del Giocondo’s wife—but the original face who remained under the cover-up. 

An artist’s face, who later went under the alias of “Raphael” to conceal her contentious image and entanglements from the public eye—you. 

The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin amidst the summer air. The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders, and an unknown heart who vowed to drown you…

“My, miss, you’re already stirring up tons of drama, and you’ve only been here three days!” 

The past couple of months had felt like a dream. It almost seemed like yesterday when you packed your things into suitcases and moved to one of the most famous centers of the art world, Florence. 

Yet now, you entered through the gates of the ‘eternal city’ itself—Rome, a great privilege granted to you by the Pope himself. You almost cried when you received his invitation, commissioning you to paint the frescos in his private library. Of course, there were some strings pulled, like the person who recommended you…

“It’s all thanks to you, Ranpo,” you giggled mischievously. As the lead architect of the Vatican (but before that, your friend), he had told the Pope, “...she might as well become the best painter in all history. She may not be well known here in Rome, but say her name in Florence, and you’ll awaken the whole city. You’ll realize you’ve found a diamond among all the rubble. Trust me on this one; I’m never wrong.” 

“It was nothing,” Ranpo replied with a smug smile. “His Holiness, Fukuzawa never doubts my word.” He tapped his head with his forefinger and winked. “Not only does he recognize my talent in the arts, he also acknowledges my outstanding intellect! I’d be a detective in another life.” 

You chuckled before he continued. “The rest is all on you, princess. Again, you’re progressing quickly-” he pulled out a letter to summarize out loud. 

“-His Holiness was so impressed that he’s giving you the rest of the rooms to paint,” Ranpo said while you stared at him with widened eyes. “He…fired everyone else who was working on them. On top of that, he invites you to a ball happening in a couple of days to make an announcement on new projects. Other than you, he’s invited only the most influential artisans to attend alongside the aristocrats.” 

“No way!” You grabbed Ranpo’s hands in excitement. 

“Yes, way.” He let you spin him around on the pavement in eagerness, your long dress following along. “Though, I feel like you’re going to have to explain to him how you painted the library’s frescos so quickly.” 

Your turbulence of elation calmed. “Hm, you’re right. 

“I hope the question slips his mind.”

You hadn’t actually told Ranpo, but it always seemed like he would figure out everything about you anyway. There was one reason why you had become so famous in Florence. You created masterpieces in what felt like seconds—it was almost like you were granted the touch of creation itself. No one had ever seen you paint, so the mystery of how you were able to produce your portraits in mere weeks—sometimes days remained a mystery to the entire world, no matter how fast science progressed. 

You called it an ability. To be able to visualize—a mental image in your head you wanted to come to life in the form of a still painting on a canvas was what you did. You conjured the concept yourself, freezing daydream into textile. 

You weren’t sure why you possessed something supernatural, or perhaps there were other artists you didn’t know who could also do the same thing, but firstly, you kept it a secret—it seemed almost inhuman to hold such a power. Yet secondly, it was even more the reason to follow in your father’s footsteps. 

He, too, was a painter in the courts of Urbino and would’ve liked to become a famous artist as well. Now, that dream lived on through you—you had studied and trained under his teachers and other artists until you mastered their techniques from the foundations to geometry. Your father was no longer alive, but you were sure he’d be proud of you for getting this far. 

“Oh, one more thing,” Ranpo said.

“The two angels of art are going to be there.” The brunette closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head as if he already knew the shocked expression awaiting your face. “Your inspirations. Osamu Dazai of Milan and your fiancé, Fyodor Dostoevsky of Florence.” 

“Pardon me, Fyodor?” 

…

A long time ago, your uncle—your now legal guardian—arranged your marriage to Fyodor Dostoevsky. However, the same would’ve happened even if your father had been in charge due to his family’s good societal position. 

It was just meant to be, you guessed. 

Coincidentally, Fyodor had also taken an interest in art the few times you two saw each other when you were younger, and you eventually saw him go on to become the most talented sculptor in Florence. 

However, your path of similarities ran cold after that. You hadn’t seen him in years, and you weren’t even close. You were obligated to write to each other once a month, but each message almost seemed like business transactions rather than love letters. Fyodor was too aloof a person despite being well-educated and polite—though he checked off every other box (and you were sure any other woman would want him), you realized you would never be able to connect with him. He was just not interested. 

You couldn’t do anything to change the engagement, but as long as there was no set wedding date to look (dread) forward to, you were content with life for now. 

You didn’t necessarily like Fyodor, nor did you go to Rome to finally pursue him, but you admired him from a different standpoint. 

He and Osamu Dazai were truly angels of art; even gods, if the Church was not one’s forte. Everyone across the country knew their names—patrons and civilians alike worshipped them at the feet. Even the powerful Medici family, sought by every artist to be commissioned, held close ties with both. 

Clientages saved their money to have the two paint for them, upcoming artists aspired and envied their success, ladies came with their names rolling off their tongues to the horror of their husbands’ faces—they were rumored to be devilishly handsome, too. Self-portraits of the prodigies were yet to be made, but you didn’t doubt it one bit. If Dazai was anything like Fyodor, he had to be fanciable too. 

They had the world and heavens as masterpieces in their hands; one could say their names traveled as far as the badlands. You arrived in Florence right after they departed for Rome, and you studied the creations left behind to figure out how they made crowds swoon and create such huge impressions on people.

And you found their pieces were indeed the pinnacle of the renascene summer. You silently made them your mentors, incorporating what was successful for them into your own works. 

…

“And you’ll be there, right, Ranpo?” 

“Of course, so don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing,” he tapped his head with a smile. “Though, I have some work to finish first, so I’ll leave thee to explore Rome.” 

“Don’t take the wrong wagon this time,” you giggled. Ranpo was late to meet you on your first day because he kept taking the wrong passenger coach to get to you. For some reason, he was knowledgeable at everything but navigating transportation. 

“I’m taking a horse this time,” Ranpo replied. 

“Even worse! You better not fall off!” 

There was a tailor you had been recommended to by your aunt before you departed. You decided to head to his shop first to find a dress to wear for the evening. 

“Good day, my lady,” the couturier said with a kind smile. “I have multiple options of gowns for you tonight. Please do take your time selecting.”

“Gramercy,” you replied with a smile in turn. Your measurements had been sent to him a few weeks ago, so that you wouldn’t have to wait for your garments to be made. 

He brought out at least four cioppas. You didn’t even care to figure out how many in total because among all the regal reds, greens, and royal blues stood out a silk, off-white dress with gold accents. Your eyes were immediately drawn in, though you couldn’t put your finger on why. It wasn’t the most showy in the bunch, but that didn’t matter to you. It was like a rare gem among common stones—though you would need a good eye to really appreciate its uniqueness. 

You ran your fingertips across the fabric, closely observing its craftsmanship. You became fascinated with the opulent designs on the flowy skirt and the long sleeves. You guessed that if you didn’t take it, you’d instead dream of it for the rest of your days in regret and freeze it in one of your paintings for eternity.

“I think I’ll try this one first.” 

Your first choice proved worthwhile when you tried on the gown in the separate dressing room. You exchanged the simple front-laced bodice and plain cotton attire for the new, elegant piece sewn just for you. The fabric hugged and complimented your curves in all the right places, creating the most flattering look as you turned in front of the mirror. 

You imagined yourself with your hair styled and matching jewelry to accompany it—you felt like a princess. Perhaps this confidence was the only thing that would help you get through the ball this evening and perhaps your entire time here. You hadn’t been around so much aristocracy in years—though you grew up privileged, you preferred to live humbly and simply focus on your hobby (and you spared your change on those in need). You were lovely yourself, no doubt, and maybe that’s why you charmed many people of different social classes as you grew more popular. 

You studied yourself through the mirror again, and it was like the polarity of your dresses reflected the fate of this new chapter of life set against the one you left behind.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and an unknown heart that vowed to drown you…you suddenly felt cold. You rushed to get out of the room. 

“It’s perfect on you,” the tailor said, unable to disguise his awe when you asked him for his opinion and to ensure all the sizing was correct. You nodded in curiosity when he asked, “Now, would you like to know the inspiration behind the dress?” You always looked forward to seeing how your tailors incorporated your personality and family style into their design. 

“It’s a play on a singular topic,” he said. 

“Angels. A dual purpose signifying both the type of art you create and how you give off an entrancing allure—they will be curious about your enigmatic yet enchanting importance. That will be your statement tonight among the darker colors.” 

The earlier thought of comparing your two inspirations to angels came to mind. You decided right then—you found no need to try on any of the others. 

“I’ll have this one sent for me tonight,” you said. “Thank you again.”

Rome was alive and busy with action at every corner you turned. You strolled down the streets with no set destination, admiring the liveliness of the city. There were markets and shops everywhere and merchants with all sorts of foreign goods. 

You discovered a ruella at the corner of one street, and the door was widely opened. You peered in to see a group of women inside, probably discussing various intellectual topics. 

You decided to go inside and socialize, having nothing better to do. As you stepped into the salon, they all turned to greet you. 

“Good day, miss,” a few of them said. 

“Oh, aren’t you the Florentine artist?” one of them asked. She moved to the side so you’d have a spot to sit.

I got recognized, you thought, and you couldn’t hide your smile. 

“My husband was there awhile back,” she continued as you sat beside her. “He couldn’t stop talking about how enamored he was with your style and was sure you’d make it here next. Looks like he was correct!” 

“I’m very flattered,” you responded, a warm tint in your cheeks. 

“Did you recently arrive?” she asked. “I hope your journey here went smoothly.” 

“Yes, it went alright!” you said. “The weather wasn’t too bad, and I enjoyed the views on the way. I even passed by some lakes…” 

You felt it again. A shiver ran down your spine. The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin that stood perpendicular to summer’s balmy weather. The intense feeling to stay alive—to save yourself and the soul you did not know…

Your journey had gone smoothly up until you passed by one of the lakes near Rome. It had been a peaceful day, and your coach driver suggested that you look outside. You lifted the curtain and were received with one of nature’s blessings—verdant grass and plants that thrived around clear blue waters. 

You could’ve painted it if you remembered the sight. You truly could have if the memory of the scene wasn’t tainted by what you saw seconds after. 

“Hey, is that a person?” you asked your driver, squinting your eyes—unblemished, untouched picture shattering in your head. The land on one side of the lake was vastly elevated, creating a cliff on that end, and a figure stood in the distance.

A moment passed. 

“…Yes, my lady.” 

Your eyes weren’t betraying you—there was a man dangerously close to the cliff’s ledge, and you weren’t born yesterday to not know what he was thinking of doing. 

“Stop the wagon,” you said, a slip of panic in your tone. Your driver looked back at you hesitantly, but you ordered once again. 

“Please stop the wagon. Don’t come after me. And don’t tell anyone about this.” 

The horses carrying you came to a halt, and you rushed out of the chaise. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you at that moment—there was a random person you happened to catch making more than a terrible decision, why get involved—but you couldn’t stop now as it was like your legs were carrying you themselves. You immediately took off east towards the cliff. It would take you a few minutes until you got to the man. 

What would you even tell him? Would you try to talk him out of it? Gaslight him into stepping away from the edge? Offer to paint him a custom piece for free?—“Oh, I’m actually a famous artist in the country, I can paint you whatever you wish. But I can’t really do that if you kill yourself.” You dashed past grass and rocks as you hurried up the hill.

You would definitely have to change once you got back—the bottom of your dress was already soiled, and you were sweating.

Splash!

Your face was struck in complete horror at the loud sound. You peered over the edge to see huge ripples cascading across the surface of the lake. 

Oh shit! 

You ran back down and then towards the shore. You thanked God that you weren’t using any heavy layers under your dress that day and prayed you weren’t going to end up killing yourself as well. You knew how to swim, but the man was far from the bank. 

Am I really going to do this? 

This might’ve been the most spontaneous thing I’ve done. And the worst.

You liked to think that if you saved him, you would be rewarded in some other way. A good Samaritan—you thought. It had to be worth it. You couldn’t die before your new life even began. 

You submerged yourself into what felt like frozen water, your clothing suddenly feeling uncomfortable around you. Still, you wasted no time swimming toward the man who jumped in. 

He was already sinking—of course, this lake has to be deep. You immediately grabbed onto his waist when you got to him, but not before you took a good look at his face. He was probably of the working class because he only wore a simple white shirt. You also noticed he was covered by an absurd amount of bandages. Soft waves of brunette hair framed the man’s profile, and he looked far more content and at peace than he should’ve been. In any other situation, you would’ve thought he was taking a pleasant nap by the way his eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted. 

You’d never seen anyone so pretty underwater. If you hadn’t seen him as a human above land, you would’ve thought he was a mermaid or some other foreign creature. 

Your thoughts and observations were interrupted when you realized you couldn’t hold your breath any longer. Trying not to panic anymore, you first tried to drag the two of you up above the water, but you weren’t strong enough to battle the weight of it against the two of you. 

You would have to swim to shore and didn’t know if you had enough air to return. 

Well, I need to make it work anyway, you thought. You wouldn’t let this mysterious guy you didn’t know cut off everything you wanted to pursue. 

You took ahold of one of the man’s loose arms and, with determination, tried to propel yourself the way you came from, kicking your legs through the water. You were more than correct in assuming it would be complicated—the energy in your body drained quickly. 

You were only halfway from where you started when you accidentally choked. But that caused you to completely seize up—water poured into your lungs like open floodgates, and you were unable to breathe. You tried to push yourself up to get air, but you were already too weak to carry even yourself.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and trying to save an unknown heart that had led to you drown—you wondered if he was still alive. He would have to be resuscitated at this point, and you realized, you too. If anyone came in time to save you, that was. You shouldn’t have had ordered your driver to not follow after you. Or rushed into the lake unprepared. 

Or involve yourself with this man. It was his decision to jump off the cliff…and now you had tied his own weight onto your life. Maybe it was all too heavy to carr—

“I’m happy to hear,” the woman replied, oblivious to and interrupting the encounter you were replaying in your head. “I wish you the most success here.” 

“Thank you,” you replied. “You are very kind.” 

“I am a bit nervous,” you whispered. “I’ll be meeting His Holiness for the first time and other artists. Do I even compare to them?” 

It was evening now. You had spent the last couple of hours preparing for the ball after exploring town—you had on the classy cream-colored dress you selected earlier from the tailor, accompanied by a couple of necklaces. Your hair was put up in a complex style and fastened by a few pieces of jewelry. 

Your mind utterly conflicted with your appearance, though. Your thoughts were in chaotic peril—you tried to hide the fact that you had been pacing around your room in anxiousness right up until Ranpo picked you up. 

“Thou art second to none, miss,” Ranpo replied with a wink and a tight squeeze of your hand. It had only half the same effect as his bear hugs the viridescent-eyed would give you when you weren’t in public, but it was enough. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You fascinated him long ago—you might’ve even been his favorite if I wasn’t here!” 

“Maybe so.” You giggled at his lighthearted smugness. “Well then, let’s get going.”

Ranpo nodded and led you through the large doors of the ballroom. Immediately, you were greeted with the celestial light from the chandeliers contrasting the dark evening sky outside. 

Your eyes drifted in awe among the artigiani and aristocratici of Rome. It was almost chimerical—you hardly remembered you were still holding Ranpo’s hand. The scene looked like it came straight out of a painting. 

“Appealing so far?” Ranpo asked, guiding you down the stairwell. “Can it stand against the Florentine carnivals?” 

You slowly nodded, still focused on the liveliness surrounding you. “It feels divine.” It was more prestigious than any event you’d been to so far—most likely because this was held in one of the Pope’s courts itself. 

“You haven’t even experienced it yet,” Ranpo laughed before leading you into the waltzing crowd. “Shall we dance?”

You and Ranpo followed the movements of the other couples. When you were sure of the pattern of the steps, your eyes wandered again to admire the setting. Everyone was dressed to the nines—although, as your tailor said, they all wore darker colors. You pretended to not notice the looks you received from strangers—however, they were not insulting. They were out of captivation and marvel.

Multiple pieces of artwork were hung around the hall, too, and you wondered if the chosen artists who created them were here now. You considered if they knew of your name too, just as you recognized theirs. 

However, your heart almost stopped when you were reminded of a completely different topic. Ranpo noticed a moment of shock flash through your eyes but did not proceed to question you. (Thankfully, he knew when you would prefer him not to be nosy.) 

You saw the back of a man’s head dressed in pure white—his brunette hair in slightly messy, soft waves. 

There is no way. 

However, you could not confirm your suspicions because he approached a lady in a beautiful, deep red gown to ask for a dance. His face and figure became completely hidden as he waltzed with her at the opposite side of the room. 

“See someone you know?” you heard Ranpo ask. 

Of course he didn’t need to be nosy, because he figured out everything about you anyway. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” you responded quietly, still trying to get a glimpse of him, but before you could say anything more, a guard standing next to the entrance silenced the entire crowd. 

“Enter, His Holiness, Fukuzawa!” 

You immediately turned around, and once more was someone dressed in white—the Pope, Yukichi Fukuzawa. You glanced at Ranpo, who gave you a nod of reassurance before politely applauding with everyone else. 

“Thank you for attending this event today,” Fukuzawa started. “Our city has made much progress due to the collaboration and contribution of our artists, so I would like to take tonight to celebrate all of them. Ultimately, I want to reveal the next upcoming project.” 

After a few more words, everyone applauded again, and the party resumed activity. You and Ranpo moved away from the dance, him deciding it was finally time to do the thing you were dreading. 

“Look over there.” Ranpo urged his head towards two men in conversation standing a few feet away. 

If the ballroom really represented the heavens, surely these two were the angels. Even without Ranpo telling you, you knew them to be Osamu Dazai and Fyodor Dostoevsky, standing side by side, white suits further proving their empyreal position.

But your eyes widened, and if you hadn’t been careful, your jaw would’ve dropped, too. Obviously, you recognized Fyodor—tall, jet-black hair—handsome and intimidating as ever, but you didn’t dwell on him for too long. Your eyes quickly scanned the room in search of a woman from earlier with dark curls, dressed in deep red, and when you found her, she was no longer dancing with the brunette dressed in white. 

You looked back at the man beside Fyodor.

It’s him. 

And as if hell—fate, whatever wanted to taunt you further, Osamu Dazai noticed you and Ranpo first, pausing his share of thoughts with the ravenette. You locked eyes with him, and you immediately became embarrassed. 

What the hell? First, one of them is my fiancé, whom I don’t even say a word to, and then the second is…him? 

Perhaps we shall meet again, were the brunette’s words to you by that lake. You truly didn’t believe him then, but it wasn’t the first time you choked on your assumptions. 

In a split second, you pulled Ranpo out of sight. “Ranpo,” you pleaded. “I can’t meet them now!” Your fingers hastily ran through your hair, making sure everything was in place. “I’m not even sure what to say-”

“You’ll have to rip off the bandage sooner or later,” he said, tugging on you. “And I say the sooner, the better! I’ll introduce you to them!” You felt even more displaced at the fact that he offered to introduce you to your own fiancé. However, before you could even object (or say, “Ranpo, somehow I already fucking know both of them!”), he dragged you back—toward the two painters. 

“Good evening, my lords,” Ranpo said as you approached them. 

You didn’t miss how Dazai’s face lit up in a curt smile. Meanwhile, Fyodor had on a neutral expression—probably the only appearance you ever saw him wear. 

“Good evening, Edogawa, the darling of His Holiness,” Fyodor said, the slightest spite in his tone. He did not glance at you at all. 

“Still as cold-hearted as ever, Il Divino-Painter,” Ranpo replied with a chuckle, but it was apparent that he did not like the man.

“I am a sculptor,” Fyodor corrected, a bogus smile still plastered on his face. 

“Don’t mind him,” Dazai said, patting your friend’s shoulder. “He’s just jealous you’re in charge of planning out the entire Vatican palace. And also at the fact His Holiness had to force him into a suit!” When Fyodor gave him a look, Dazai turned to you. 

He had eyes of the sunset, paving the way of something between hell and earth—though in a perfect world, it should’ve been the other way around because he looked as if he had just come down from heaven. You felt your cheeks warm and an uncertain feeling in your stomach. 

“Good evening, my lady,” Dazai said, knocking you out of your reverie. You blushed again as he knelt to take your hand and kiss it, bowing before you—the single minute felt longer than nox itself.

Was this the same man you met at the lake a few days ago? 

He was the artist you admired all along? 

“Apologies for not greeting you first,” he continued as he stood up. “I did see you earlier. How could anyone not notice the angel of Florence who creates masterpieces in days, especially when she looks like one tonight?” You became even more flustered by his sweet words. 

He was familiar with my name all along.

“Ah, so you already recognize her?” Ranpo asked. 

“Of course I do!” You suddenly tensed—half expecting him to reveal your previous encounter with him that you did not want anyone else to know. (If Ranpo knew, you hoped he would keep his mouth shut for your sake.) It would cause too much trouble if someone decided to spread it, and even worse if your uncle found out. He was very strict on image.

But to your relief, he did not. 

“I am very fond of your style, my lady,” Dazai said, resting his hand under his chin. “Madonna del Granduca,” one of your paintings. “You capture human sentiment and emotion so well, even in the most simplistic pieces.” 

Finally, you were able to respond to one of his compliments without becoming a mess. “Thank you.” 

“...And sfumato, your technique,” Fyodor added. “Perhaps you like her style so much because she takes it from you.” 

It was only now Fyodor finally acknowledged you. 

He may just be the son of Nyx. His intentions were tucked away behind amethyst eyes, slumbering in the peaceful twilight he allowed mercy to while all else was caught up in chaotic darkness. Maybe no one else noticed that—if anyone did, Fyodor would not be as beloved as he was now—but you did. You saw through the three strands of malice that laced his following words. 

“Good evening,” he said softly. He kneeled in front of you with your hand, tormenting you with eye contact.

“It’s an honor to see you again, miss. Though I must ask, was Florence not enough? 

“Is grasping originality so tough?

“Are you here to copy more artistic concepts to boost your own depictions of seraph?” 

He delivered a deadly kiss to your hand before you could respond, and before he could see the puzzlement on your face. 

“Excuse me?” 

But you did not falter before him as he stood back up. He did not intimidate you. 

“I’m flattered.” 

For once, the slightest sign of curiosity seeped onto Fyodor’s face.

You gave him a poisonous smile of your own. 

“Sfumato—the blending of colors to create smooth transitions between them,” you explained, giving a nod toward Dazai. “I’m honored that you immersed yourself so much with my painting that you could observe such a detail.”

Ranpo pretended to look around the hall as if he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening, while Dazai couldn’t keep a snort from escaping his throat. 

You kept your eyes fixed on your fiancé’s violet gaze, trying to figure out whether or not you’d be dead after the night was over. Actually—he seemed like the type that could seduce someone into death. Stygian black hair framed against his pallid complexion—ethereal, no doubt, yet you would not be surprised if he turned out to be the Grim Reaper’s right-hand man. (And you were supposed to marry him!)

“I’m here because His Holiness summoned me to paint the frescos in his house. I feel that if he sensed plagiarism in my work, he would’ve not trusted me with this project. 

“What about you, my lord?” 

There was a pause; he was thinking. 

“I am simply searching for something important,” he replied. “An inspiration, if you want to call it. I need it to complete a piece I have been working on.”

“And you’re sure you can find it here?” 

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

The foreign word rolled off of his tongue like honey. He dressed his voice to sound like a lullaby, and you remembered why you thought of him as an angel before he decided to insult you. 

What a juxtaposition. 

“What did you say?” 

“Did you not hear me?” 

He wasn’t going to tell you what he said, nor what he meant in entirety. “Nevermind. I did. Good luck trying to find it.” 

…

“May I have this next dance, my lady?” 

The charming brunette extended his left hand out to you. You had become irritated with Fyodor after his apparent distaste for you—So this is how you treat me after years of not seeing each other? You thought you could at least try becoming acquainted with him to make your inevitable fate a bit easier for both of you, but it seemed like that wasn’t happening anytime soon. You left the conversation at the nearest opportunity and moved to the other side of the room, unaware that your other dilemma was following you. 

“Lord Dazai?” 

You noticed something new about him as he stood in front of you. Those sunset orbs also harbored a concept as far as the sun. There was something distant in them that felt like half of his mind was immersed somewhere else. You wondered where. 

“I don’t like Dostoevsky at all either,” Dazai chuckled. “Even though tonight’s given me another rival on my list, I like you way more.” 

“Don’t speak so soon,” you scoffed. “You’re going to hate me when I take all your customers.” 

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, bella.” You frowned at his attempt to flirt. “And besides, many of them are very loyal to me.” 

You hesitantly took Dazai’s hand as he led you to the floor, joining the circle of couples who had already lined up to dance the almaine. 

“I’m still annoyed with you,” you said quietly as the two of you lightly skipped across the floor on your toes, never breaking eye contact with his tawny eyes. That same look was there—it was like he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. “I’m only agreeing to this so I could boost my status. You just caught me off guard back there. That’s why I acted nice.”

He dramatically pretended he was offended. 

“Why, tesora?” Dazai took both of your hands. You circled around each other gracefully before reversing to step in the other direction. “I saved you! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be dancing here tonight and finally knowing the name of the poor soul who jumped into the lake!” 

“If it weren’t for you, I also wouldn’t have nearly drowned, idiota,” you glared. 

“Keyword: nearly!” 

You continued sulking at him while the dance went on, ignoring the rest of his defensive sentences and the friendly endearments he added to the end of them. 

“Ow!” 

Dazai had stepped on your foot during another turn. 

“What was that for?” you asked, silently observing how he made sure he did not catch your dress along too, so it would not ruin. 

“Hm? What do you mean?” Dazai spun you again; this time, he stepped on your other foot. 

“Lor- Dazai!” You disliked how much fun he was having with this. Now, he wore a mischievous gleam in his eyes that coupled an unmistakable, playful grin. 

He spun you one last time, and this time, you purposely stepped on his foot. 

“Hey—why did you do that!?” he pouted. 

“Thou did it first,” you replied dryly. “You’re a bad dancer, my lord. You can’t even keep up with the slow ballroom almain.” 

He smirked as the number concluded, and then he brought you to the center of the floor. 

You looked around to see at least half of the couples moving off, either to watch or go elsewhere. 

“Let’s see if you can keep up with this one,” he chuckled lowly. 

“What dance is this?” you asked.

“A galliard. The La Volta.” 

Your lips slightly parted to say something, but you didn’t know what. 

It made sense now why so many chose not to participate in this one. The La Volta was a bit obscene—first, the women were lifted up in springs and jumps, even though that was usually improper. It was also very fast—it would require skill to do it comfortably, especially with the long, heavy gowns you wore. 

Finally, it required close contact between the couples, which was…scandalous. Like a forbidden fruit. 

You had never danced it before. Nor had you planned to. You were engaged, after all.

I bet noone in this room, but Fyodor himself and Ranpo even know we’re to marry, though, you thought to yourself, even though you shouldn’t even be considering excuses. …And he probably couldn’t even care less.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dazai said, a bit more seriously, leaving it up to your decision, but his eyes alleged something else. Like he was pleading to let you indulge. 

The forbidden fruit and its serpent. Why was this man always tempting you to things that could sabotage your name? It was as if his heart vowed to drown you to doom…

“No, I’ll do it,” you decided. 

…yet you had let him, again and again. The descendants of Eve never learned. 

“They call you the Renaissance Man, my lord? I’ll steal your title when I show everyone I can do more than paint…and outdo you in dance.” 

“Dance is a form of art, too, y’know,” Dazai smiled before he parted from you. “How about instead, you think of it like we’re creating our own special piece together.” 

“Competition,” you disagreed in one word, curtsying before him as the drums cued.

“Collaboration,” he bowed. 

You two rose, and a new tension was ignited in the room. Your eyes locked with his again, but this time more determined—more passionate, as you gracefully swept to the left while the brunette the opposite way. You continued that movement while also gravitating closer. 

Closer, until he was finally able to lay hands on your waist. 

“Look up, miss,” Dazai softly reminded you. “Too flustered that you’ve forgotten etiquette?” 

You didn’t even realize your eyes chased down to where he was holding you—no man had touched anywhere near your corset before. You felt nervous; it was supposed to be so wrong, so why did his hold feel so right? As if his fingers were always supposed to be wrapped around you, the final touches to a masterpiece of intimacy. 

You were falling for it—the serpent’s art of seduction. This wasn’t supposed to be a collaboration. 

“What happened to your confidence?” Dazai teased, whispering in your ear; you felt his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes drifted back to his in embarrassment, but you couldn’t give your rival the entertainment of winning against you in something you proposed. Fighting against your nerves, you wrapped one of your arms around Dazai’s broad shoulder.

“Shut up.”

He lifted you by the hips to aid as you lept and turned around him, his left thigh pushing you upward, and that same nervous excitement returned to your stomach. It was as if pools conjoining both everything and oblivion at once lay physically on you. His gaze resembled hands—he caressed your shoulders; he traced your face like he wanted to paint every angle of you. 

He was gentle with his actual hold on you, too; Dazai carried you as delicately as the brush strokes he made on canvas. He carefully set you down with ease after every jump while still treating you like a porcelain doll, and there you made the mistake of wandering your eyes down to his lips, lightly parted—you realized this was the second closest time this man had come near enough to kiss you. 

His body was so warm, he could pull you flush against him if he wanted to. His breath was minty, the coolness of his mouth addicting, and if Eden smelled heavenly too, he had truly just slithered down, carrying the sweet, earthly scent along with him. All your senses were overloaded by the man standing before you like alcohol; you wondered if you’d even end up home by the end of the night. 

“You’re enjoying this way more than to simply boost thy status.” 

In that moment, you snapped out of your haze of dopamine, and the music faded into a new routine. You also realized that an entire audience had been watching you. That was not ideal. 

You scooted back right after Dazai released his hold on you, looking down in coyness. “Maybe I’m just a good actor.” 

“You’re a terrible one,” he chuckled, following you out of the crowd. “You can’t even look at me to sell your lie!” 

You glared at the brunette once more. “I don’t have to look at you to tell you the truth.” 

“So cold-hearted,” he sighed. “Even after a dance to loosen you up. Guess I need to work harder to ask you out.”

“For what, a double suicide?” You once again recalled some other things he had said during your weird, fated meet at the lake. 

“Exactly! You remember!” 

“Well, sorry, that’s not happening,” you responded. “Go find some other lady to ask. I’m sure you do this all the time anyway.”

Because how did he touch you so perfectly? How did he dim out every other person in the room to make it seem like it was just you two?

He paused. “No, I don’t. You’re the first person I danced this galliard with. You realize we were even in skill, right?” 

“Didn’t seem like it. And I don’t understand why you chose me.”

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence,” Dazai said. “You did save me in a way. Sure, we’re rivals. But one day, I’ll paint you myself. 

“You’re too beautiful to not.” 

…

“I hope you all have had a lovely night,” Fukuzawa spoke over the room. “To conclude the gathering, I would like to announce what the Vatican’s next project will be.” 

Artists all around you waited in anticipation, for good reason. You and Dazai looked at each other too. You’d already experienced it for yourself—a commission from the Pope himself guaranteed immediate, enormous success (and money; your job from him was your biggest pay so far). Whatever he proposed required another artist, and it could be anyone in the room. 

“The Sistine Chapel,” Fukuzawa said. “The large crack that has formed along the ceiling is to be repaired in the upcoming year.” 

There were a few chatters after that. The chapel was insanely impressive—the interior of the large building was covered in stunning frescos by some of the great artists who had come before you. Even though the Pope hadn’t even said what the job was to be, anyone working on things concerning it would have to be just as good as its predecessors. 

“Along with reparations, its panels shall be painted.” 

There were a few gasps from the patrons. Was that even possible? How could someone even paint the ceiling without it being taken off of the roof? And it was so large, too, like a mega-sized canvas. 

It was unheard of. 

“I have already selected the person I would like to work on this,” Fukuzawa continued. There was silence again. 

“It’s probably Dostoevsky,” Dazai said to you. 

Fyodor? “Why do you think so?” you asked. 

“He completely stole the spotlight with that statue of David he finished this year,” he dryly chuckled. “Well deserved, I’m afraid. You saw it too when you were in Florence, did you?” 

“Yeah,” you replied. You had to acknowledge how impressive it was for yourself. It was like the man turned hard stone into pliable clay. 

“But that’s sculpting, not painting.” 

“Oh? Do you think you’d be a better candidate?” 

He was smiling again. “No, I never said that,” you scoffed. “I was going to say maybe you’d have a chance-”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Fukuzawa said.

Oh.

You paused, scanning the room to see where he was. 

He was on the other side, intently making his way to the Pope. 

“I request you to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.” 

Fyodor stood in front of him and then bowed. 

“...I offer my sincerest gramercy for this opportunity, Your Holiness,” the artist said.

There was a pause.

“…I would like to discuss the rest of what this entails in private.” 

Your brows furrowed. That was almost a bit…rude. Sure, he hadn’t declined the offer, but for whatever reason, he also didn’t accept it. 

“Very well,” Fukuzawa replied without a change in his tone. “I adjourn this party. Bonam noctem.”

There was a final applause for him and the city’s next project, and then everyone began filing out. 

However, you and Dazai stayed in place until Ranpo suddenly tugged on your arm. 

“There you are! Let’s go!” 

“W-Where?” you asked as he started to drag you away. 

“Goodnight!” you heard Dazai say before disappearing into the crowd. His small smile remained in your memory, and a part of you wished you could give him a proper goodbye.

“To eavesdrop, duh,” Ranpo replied as he sifted you through everyone moving the opposite way. “Don’t you also want to hear what Fyodor has to say?” 

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just accept the proposal,” you said. “Anyone else would do it in a heartbeat!” You were sort of jealous; that job was given to someone so ungrateful! If you were the one who recieved it, you would’ve put your entire effort into transforming the ceilings right away. 

“I don’t know how he’s so beloved,” Ranpo continued. “Not even His Holiness likes him that much; he just doesn’t show bias when choosing people to paint his architecture. Did you know Fyodor was supposed to produce his tomb?” 

“What happened with that? I thought it was being worked on by a few other artists.” 

“He kept clashing with His Holiness about it,” he said. “Until the plans got so messed up, Fyodor called it a ‘tragedy’ and left Rome for a while. Quite literally abandoned it.” 

What an asshole! Especially in front of His Holiness!

“I don’t like him at all,” Ranpo squeezed your arm. It had become quite apparent to you that Ranpo admired Fukuzawa—not just because he was his so-called favorite or because he was the Pope, but something else. You had seen them together during the party earlier, and you were reminded of father and son. “He has a nasty ego, and I can’t figure out his intentions. I feel off every time I meet with him.” 

“Intentions? For what?” 

“Don’t be stupid, miss,” Ranpo said. “He told you himself, he’s here for something. It’s just so annoying! He hides it all behind those stupid, purple eyes…” 

You approached the entrance to a hallway at the very back of the room, and you heard two familiar voices outside. 

“...I carve marble, not paint.” 

“You discredit your skill with a brush too much.”

“Your Holiness, we had very different views during the last commission you gave me,” you overheard Fyodor say. “I simply don’t want to cause another commotion with this.” 

You only peeked through the large doorway to hear more clearly, but Ranpo continued walking right in as if they wouldn’t notice. 

“R-Ranpo!” you whispered harshly.

Immediately, Fukuzawa and Fyodor looked at you both, and you scrambled behind Ranpo. 

“I’m so sorry, Your Holiness,” you replied, accidentally locking eyes with Fyodor, who looked at you unfazed as if he had already noticed you two a mile away. You couldn’t even think of an excuse to explain what you were doing there, but then Fukuzawa resumed the conversation without a care. 

“I see then,” he replied and then gave it some thought. “I felt you were the only one who was fit for the matter, but perhaps I could just hand it to-” 

Fukuzawa looked at you, and Fyodor looked at him before looking at you. 

“Ah, what I said was just a concern,” Fyodor interrupted to your dismay. “I’ll accept your commission on one condition.” 

The three of you waited. 

“On the contract, it shall be stated that noone shall view the inside of the Chapel until it is completed,” Fyodor stated. “Including yourself, Your Highness.” 

He thought for another moment. 

“Very well, Fyodor. It will be arranged.” 

What a rat!

It had been a few weeks since that eventful ball. You had started work on painting the rooms in the Pope’s chambers—there were sketches of concepts scattered all over your desk. Coupled with your thoughts—thoughts reliving all the situations you were thrown into that night. 

You hadn’t seen the two angels since then. Well…would you even call them that anymore?

Knock, knock, knock!

“Hey! Let me in!” You heard Ranpo’s voice from outside your house. You were still half-asleep, trying to make breakfast, but you immediately rushed to open the door. 

“Ranpo!” You were startled. “What are you doing here so early?” 

“Stop complaining. You’re going to love this.” 

He stuck his hand into his pocket and then revealed a set of shiny keys. 

“Sitting in my palm are the keys to the Sistine Chapel.”

“No way.” It was like the sight fully awakened you, like caffeine. “Ranpo…how?!” 

“Hmph!” He shook his head. “You underestimate me so much when you quite literally depend on me!” When you laughed, he continued. “Lord Fyodor’s on a business trip until next week. Do with that info as you wish.” 

“You’re a genius,” you replied with a mischievous grin as he threw you the keys. 

“Of course I am! I despise him, but I’m too lazy to mess with him right now, so I’ll just leave it up to you. After all, he didn’t want to do it initially because he thought you set it up.” 

“By me?” you asked, shocked. “He hates painting so much that he thought I had a hand in it? Imagine giving away the Sistine Chapel.”

He was really something else. Was dead set on declining the offer right until His Holiness debated giving it to me…

…

Ranpo sat at the dining table eating the remaining tarts left over while you finished washing the dishes in the kitchen after your meal. Your move had gone smoothly, and you were pleased with the home you created for yourself—the windows in front of the sink were opened, letting air and the sounds of nature in as you looked outside. 

“His Holiness instructed me to paint over the previous works in the Palace when I first walked inside because he deemed what I could produce more important than what was already up there,” you told him with your own dash of pride. You couldn’t contain the bright smile that flashed on your face. 

“Just as I suspected,” he replied, pleased. 

“...But social-wise, I think I dug a hole for myself.” 

“Definitely!” Ranpo said with no hesitation, popping another dessert into his mouth. He already knew what you were going to talk about. You gave him a look before sighing, realizing that he probably was right.

“A few days ago, I overheard people in the salons saying that…I have a special thing going on with Lord Dazai. It’s not true! I don’t know why he was being so friendly with me!” 

You hadn’t even seen him after that night. Maybe you were a little disappointed, but you should’ve seen that coming anyway. He was known as a charmer, but he hadn’t committed to anyone. And regardless, you were to marry Fyodor one day. 

Ugh, Fyodor.

“And you were friendly to him in return,” Ranpo replied. “You could’ve shrugged him off like normal rivals do. But it looked like you were completely enraptured with him.” 

Enraptured?! He was completely enraptured with me! However, you couldn’t describe to Ranpo how exactly he was—how the brunette’s eyes pleaded with yours to follow him into the eventide, how he made you feel like the only person that existed in the large crowd of people…maybe Ranpo would have his point proven.

“Well, other than that, I’ve got thee settled in Rome well enough. I’ll be here for the rest of the unwise decisions you’re going to make, but from here on out is on you, princess.” 

“Thanks, Ranpo,” you sarcastically replied. “Seriously? Unwise decisions? Rome is just different from everywhere I’ve been to before. I’m learning.” 

“Exactly, there are arts of everything,” he said. “Thou better grasp them quick or fall behind.” 

Dance. 

Deceit.

Dreams. 

Only a few you had discovered so far. 

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence. You did save me in a way.”

You couldn’t even grasp,

Dazai.

You didn’t know how long you were out. All sense of time was lost when you gained consciousness again, and you realized you had been washed up on land. 

Did God stay true to your pleas? Did an angel really come down to rescue you?

That was certainly what it seemed like in the first few seconds because you were blinded by light when you opened your eyes. You heard insects buzzing off in the distance and maybe even a bird chirping as you lay on lush grass. Perhaps you were in heaven instead, and this was your first taste of peaceful paradise. 

But all was ruined when your eyes finally focused, and a face obstructed your view. (Why was he always ruining your flawless moments?) He hovered on top of you, and the first thing you became aware of was that his mouth was dangerously close to yours. 

You immediately coughed—out of both shock and the need to. Lake water gushed out of your mouth, causing you to sit up without warning. The brunette was flung off of you, landing harshly on his bottom.

“Ow!”

You paid no mind to him as you coughed again. And again. 

When all the water was finally out of your lungs, you looked at him in utter confusion.

“Why the puzzled look?” he asked as if he wasn’t the one who was drowning and you weren’t the one saving him (and less importantly, it hadn’t looked like he was about to kiss you).

Now he sat beside you, almost perfectly fine if it weren’t for his clothes that were soaked. 

“But…you—we were drowning?” You turned to see if anyone else was in the distance because who was it that saved both of you? 

“Yeah, I was drowning,” the man replied, and you now noticed the honey color of his eyes that had been shielded behind closed eyelids and pretty eyelashes earlier. “And this time, it almost worked! Until you decided to rescue me!” 

“Um, what?” You asked sharply, even more bewildered at the way he tried to make your efforts sound negative. 

“At first, I thought maybe thou were a lovely lady who wanted to commit double suicide with me! But I realized that wasn’t the case when you started fighting to get some air…” 

“Are you crazy?” you asked, not caring whether you were speaking impolitely or not. “Double suicide? Why else would I dive into a cold lake to join a stranger? And you were aware of what was happening all along?” 

“Maybe! Women have done a lot to try to get close to me.” You didn’t believe him. “And, well, yeah! Obviously, I couldn’t continue because of two things. The first was you because I couldn’t let an innocent involved be harmed along with me! I had to save you, of course.” 

You became even more irritated. “You wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t pretend you were drowning! I had to use all my strength to rescue you, y’know! I could’ve died as well!” 

“But you didn’t!” the brunette replied. “There was no way I was going to let someone so beautiful drown.”

You scowled at him before you stood up. “You’re ridiculous. What’s your second reason?” 

“Drowning in a lake ended up becoming uncomfortable.” You wanted to punch him in the face—uncomfortable was an obvious understatement. “I didn’t like the feeling of suffocation that set in, so I just decided to give up.” 

“It didn’t even look like you had any air left in you,” you muttered, facing your back towards him, remembering his placid expression earlier. “How were you conscious if you weren’t even holding your breath?” 

“Party trick,” he responded, and when you dared to glance back, he wore a smug grin. 

“Oh…are you leaving me then?” he asked as you started walking away, saying no more. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” you scoffed, not stopping. “I’m completely soaked, and I don’t know about you, but I have important things to get to.” 

You heard a chuckle from him. “Is that so?” he asked. His voice was getting farther, meaning he was no longer following you. “Where are you headed?” 

“Rome.” 

“I live there. Perhaps we shall meet again. And then, I could ask you—properly—if you would like to commit a double suicide with me.” 

“I doubt it,” you replied, assured you were never going to see this man whose face looked kissed by Aphrodite herself again. Perhaps you would’ve found him handsome if he was in a less disheveled state. 

As if you did not already. 

“Why do you seem so sure? Anything can happen.” He chuckled once again. 

Well, I am a painter, and you don’t look like someone who would even have an eye for art, is what you wanted to say. But you didn’t want to open more doors to curiosity and stay there even longer. 

“Maybe you’re right,” you stopped. “Okay, then.

“If you think you’re going to see me again, can you promise to not kill yourself until then? Until I agree to you?” 

You figured you would just give him some hope so that your efforts to save him would not be in vain. If he would actually keep your word, anyway. 

When you turned around, the brunette was still standing on the shore, and he had a smile on his face. 

He really did carry the setting sun in his gaze. It was still midday, but the man’s soul seemed to prefer the softer shades of light that appeared just before the cool shades of night. 

And you felt his eyes tenderly cupping your face, even though you were feet away from each other. You weren’t sure if you were so lost that you were imagining things—but he looked at you as if he’d known you a hundred lifetimes, longing to touch your soul once again. 

“I pinkie promise,” he said. 

You thought that finally ended the conversation, but he asked one more thing. 

“Your name?” he asked. 

“Do you really need it?” It was unlikely, but you didn’t know if he would recognize your name. You didn’t want to risk anyone knowing about this encounter. 

“I saved you,” he said. “I almost thought you were done for. You still weren’t breathing when I performed chest compressions, so I had to—” 

“Okay, stop right there!” you interrupted, becoming flustered. You didn’t need to hear the rest. You imagined the stranger’s mouth on yours—trying to give you oxygen, of course, but his mouth on yours regardless. 

You told him your name. “Don’t bother with yours. I’ll figure it out if we run into each other again.” 

His grin was smug. “Fare thee well, mia belladonna.

“Until we meet again.” 

…

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

ur man of choice (or both if u’d like) dances with u during the ball if u rb; reblogs are incredibly cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

WE DID ITT !! i hope this was decent, tbh i’m rly nervous HAHA ᡣ𐭩 dazai rly got most of the love here, but i promise there’s waay more to come.

+ check THIS FOR EXTRA INFO/LORE, it’s cool ;) comment on the masterlist to be added to the tagslist !! & ilu if you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading ᰔ

TERMS & DEFINITIONS:

CIOPPA - outermost layer of a dress

RUELLA - salons/social gatherings

ALMAINE - slow court dance; GALLIARD - fast court dance (in the renaissance)

TRANSLATIONS: (not all bcz they wanna be mysterious)

gramercy - “thank you”

artigiani; aristocratici - artisans; aristocrats (italian)

bonam noctem - “good night” (latin)

© AUREATCHI 2024. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated line divider by cafekitsune. header + series dividers mine; DO NOT SAVE.

[omkookie]

{ SIN LV.2 } Feeding the lust mark when it doesn't need to be fed is a bonus! Always satisfy your inner femdom by kissing, spanking, and fucking your favorite demons! Satan is a passionate one who'll always let you take control of him, even if he has to beg ‹3

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Smut, femdom, PIV, multiple orgasms + a ruined one, oral/cunnilingus, cum eating, handjob, spanking, biting/marking, Satan is passionate and just lets his missus be in charge.

After yesterday's encounter with Lucifer, your body has been left pleasantly sore. There's a small ache in the muscles of your thighs, leaving behind a pleasant burn in them. Today, The lust mark on you doesn't feel as intense or burning as it did yesterday. Your body doesn't have a need for devil's energy either, so you can breathe freely, your chest can rise and fall without the feeling of a heavy pressure on it.

Treading through Gehenna’s castle halls, you make it to Satan's room and bring your fist up to knock on his door- however, the door is yanked open, rattling from its hinges and barely holding on before you get the chance to knock on it.

“MC?! Where were you?” Satan asks furiously, gritting his teeth while he takes in your tidy and unhurt appearance. You looked perfectly fine, so at least you were safe while you were gone, however– What stood out to him was Lucifer's stench all-over you. That got on his nerves.

“You smell like Lucifer” he hisses out rather sharply, his eyebrows furrowing as his jaw clenches. “I was worried something might have happened to you”

“I'm sorry for worrying you Satan, I'll do my best to send you a text next time I'm out of Gehenna.”

“You better! Or I'm going to destroy half of paradise lost.” He retorts with a hot temper, looking as fired up as always.

You chuckle at his fiery attitude, feeling a small hint of butterflies pool in your belly. Satan was always so fired up when he was worried about you, alas he looked so sexy when he was mad. Whenever he looked like this it was like his masculine charm increased together with his attitude.

“I'll text you next time” you reassure him while your eyes blatantly glide over his outfit, checking his figure like a hawk eyeing its prey.

“...”

He doesn't say anything, simply observing the way you shamelessly checked him out after he threatened to destroy half of paradise lost.

You really had no shame.

“Oh. I see that look in your eyes” He grinned devilishly, reaching forward to pull you into his room. He kicks the door shut behind you, the poor oak wood almost cracking because of the impact. The door clung to its hinges for life, and you were honestly impressed by the craftsman who had made it.

Satan pushes you further into his room, fingers wasting no time in yanking your shirt off of your body as his lips latch onto your neck. His fiery kisses trail down your exposed skin, He sucks and nips at your collarbone, leaving a small trail of marks on your supple neck. Your own hands reached forward to tangle in his hair, fingers twisting in his smooth locks before pulling them back to expose his neck. Your lips latched onto his skin and marked him the same way he marked you, sucking and nipping harsly.

While you marked his neck and he marked yours, Satan made quick work of taking off his jumpsuit and gesturing for you to help pull his t-shirt off.

“You don't waste time.” He hums when you yank his shirt off. He kicks his shoes off next, before getting on the bed. He sat down on the bed, spreading his thighs a little for you to straddle him.

After he got you on top of him you let out a small mumble between kisses,“I never do”

True to your words, your impatient hand runs over his boxers to tease his growing erection, fingers rubbing the tip of his hardening cock. The tip was straining against the cotton fabric, precum slowly seeping into it to wet it.

“It's what makes you so attractive to all of the devils” Satan rasps out, his head falling back as he grips your hips tightly.

“I need to have you, MC” he blurts out as he slowly grinds his hips against you, trying to get more of your delicious touch.

Pushing him down harder and reaching up to grab his horns, you gripped them tightly before spitting on them to lubricate them. Satan shivered, a pleasant chill running down his spine as you held his sensitive horns. His breath caught in his throat as you rubbed his horns, pulling, twisting, and tightening your grip on them. His body burns up, a tingling feeling spreading from his horns down his crotch. His hips rock into you from below, cock shamelessly grinding against your clothed pussy while you continue to stimulate his horns. Your hand was covered in white liquid which dripped everywhere, dampening and making a mess out of his hair.

“Keep going.” He grunts. His eyes roll back as he fucks himself against you, pathetically grinding his cock onto your underwear. Satan rips your stockings, tearing the thin fabric apart. His fingers were finally able to push your underwear to the side and plunge his cock into your wet pussy

“Oh, shit” You cursed, Feeling his cock invade your wet entrance. He pushed the first two inches into you slowly before shoving the rest of himself inside, making your body jolt and lips slip out a moan.

“Slowly” you hiss at him, tightening your grip around his horns once more. His horns spew more liquid, oozing it down his hair and cheeks. His cock seems to ejaculate at the same time, the knot in Satan's abdomen coming undone with the final touch on his horns.

He finishes inside of you, filling up your empty pussy with cum as his eyes squint to refocus. He felt fucked mentally, and his hands shook as he reached up to cup your cheeks and kiss you.

“Shit…” he curses under his breath, almost feeling embarrassed he came so fast. Biting his lip, he looked up at you before telling you to continue, “Keep going, MC.”

A moment later, Satan's met with a hot slap on his chest which leaves his skin tingling. His muscles flexed at the impact, before your fingers grip one of his nipples and twist it.

“Krr ..Mm..” he jolts, squirming and twitching under you while you abuse his nipples.

“You've gotten… So devilish..” he lets out a lighthearted chuckle, huffing for air after you give his pecs one final squeeze.

“I didn't say you could cum, Satan”

“Is that so? Heh, You should've made that clear from the start then MC–”

he shuts up as you get off of him and tug his boxers off completely, pushing them down to his ankles. “You know you can't do it without my permission, Satan. I'm very disappointed” you retorted, gripping his wrists. Rubbing his wrists, you yanked him forward and laid him across your lap.

Satan turns his head to look over his shoulder, red eyes curiously peeking back at you. He felt your hands slide across his buttocks, rubbing and squeezing his tender skin.

“How many slaps do you think you deserve?” you asked him, curious to know what he would say.

“A hundred”

He grins confidently, making himself comfortable on your lap as you continue rubbing his butt. He felt so turned on with your hands on him, He was looking forward to getting himself spanked.

“A hundred? You think you deserve tha?t”

“I do”

“I don't think so.”

He presses himself against you, cock lightly grinding against the outer side of your thigh.

“You don't deserve a punishment which you'll like, Satan.”

He almost feels like begging you to spank him after you say that! He's so needy, turned on, and he really wants to get it. He wants your hands on his ass, leaving that pleasantly burning sting behind.

“What should I do? Satan.” You squeezed his hips, gently scraping your nails across his inner thighs.

“Hit me”

you clicked your tongue in irritation at his reply, “I think you'd like it too much” you squeezed the back of his thigh, pulling him even closer to you

“Stop beating around the bush. Are you trying to make me beg?” He asks as he looks back at you exasperated.

“Who makes the rules around here?” you retorted at his comment, crossing your arms as you stared down at him.

Silence.

He shut up pretty fast, his face scrunching into a displeased frown as he pouted like an angry kitten. “You do” Satan begrudgingly admits, feeling you rub his thigh again.

“That's right. You finished without permission, and You know you're not allowed to cum without asking me first.” Chiding him, you stop rubbing his leg before giving him an order, “Now, Kneel.”

Getting off of you, Satan gets down onto his knees and waits for your next order.

“You made a mess, so you clean it up.” Your sultry voice whispers as you place your legs over his shoulders, tugging him towards your dripping pussy by his horns.

“Mmmf!”

A low moan slips from his lips as his nose bumps against your clit. His tongue darts out to taste his own cum that's dripping out of you, tongue sliding gingerly across your labia and hole.

“Ohh…good boy, clean up your mess, Satan.”

He hums into your pussy, hands grabbing ahold of your legs to keep them over his shoulders. His tongue swept at your folds and he sucked on your clit like a starved man. “Mm, MC”

he mumbles something incoherent, voice muffled by your sweet core. He laps up your sweet juices with his cum, enjoying eating you out. Satan loves your pussy, and he loves eating it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

“You're so pretty with your face buried between my legs”

Ooh, The praise. It made him melt. If he could purr right now he would, and if he had a tail it would be wagging. He slurps up your juices, cleaning up the mess he made in your pussy earlier.

“You're the pretty one” He whispers as he pulls back, his chin coated in your slick juices. He teasingly licks your labia one more time, tongue running along it before twisting around it, “This pussy's gorgeous too” letting out a small breath, he nips at your clit gently, teasing the little bud with his lips and teeth. “My favorite…” he mumbles

“You love your missus’ pussy?” You teasingly ask, a small glimmer shining in your eye.

“I love my missus' pussy…” he moans into you, face flushing into a deep red which reaches his ears. “MC….”

“Shh…keep doing that, you're making me feel so good.”

His rough hands knead your soft thighs’ skin, squeezing and massaging them purposely. Your legs trembled over his shoulders, and a hot flush spread across your body as his tongue swished across your sensitive clit.

“Satan look at you… you're so pretty.”

Bad- You reached down to grab his horns again and torture him. He sits up straighter, that hot, burning ache making itself present again. His horns were one of the most sensitive parts of his body, and the most delicate erogenous zone for you to grip.

“MC…”

“Shh.. I'm so close, you're doing an amazing job, Satan.”

His eyes roll back as you stroke his horn, “...I love it…” he mumbles, tongue lolling out to sloppily lap against your clit. He grips your thighs harder, leaving small red marks on your skin.

His face was absolutely beautiful, deep red eyes rolling back as you rub his sensitive horns. He gripped your legs as if he was holding on to a lifeline. He sucked on your clit and teased your gentle bud, setting every nerve of your body on fire.

“Satann..” you mumble, almost letting out a choked whine. “Faster… hurry up a little” You grind your hips up, bucking them against his face. You're grinding up against his hot tongue, almost fucking his face roughly as you pull him further onto your core.

“Mmm…MC…come on”

He speeds up, lapping at your clit as fast as he can. He pushes two fingers into you with ease, sliding them into your wet entrance and curling them against your g spot. He pumped his fingers, pulling them out and pushing them back in. He presses against all of the sweet spots in your body, suckling on your clit and teasing it.

“Oh…Satan! Yeah… keep doing that, keep doing that.” you grip his horns harder, thighs squeezing around his head. You're practically crushing his head as he finger-blasts you, your thighs clamping down on it as your orgasm shakes through your body. “Oh…fuck” he grumbles lightly, teeth sinking into your inner thigh to mark you. Your legs tremble around him, and Satan groans. His horns spurt liquid again as your own orgasm consumes you. Riding it out on his face, he lets you facefuck him until you finally let go of his horns.

“You look satisfied” he nips at your thigh again, sucking a mark onto your skin. “That doesn't mean I forgot you're supposed to be punished”

“Aww… but you'll let it slide this once, right?” He asks

“Punishments don't slide Satan, Come here and bend over my lap again.”

“Oh?” he gets up on shaky legs, wobbling with the first step he takes towards you before bending over your lap.

SLAP!

Your hand made harsh contact with his ass.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

You continued to hit his reddened skin, alternating between which half of his fleshy buttocks you hit. “MC… ohhhh~” he moans your name, gasping as you harshly beat his ass.

SLAP! SLAP!

he rutted against you, cock twitching with need as his blood rushed down.

Satan held himself up, reaching down with one band to stroke his erection. He stroked the sensitive tip of his cock, squeezing it in a tight grip before wrapping a fist around his whole shaft.

“MC…can I cum? Pretty please” he asks sweetly

SLAP!

his hips jerked forward, body shuddering at the contact of your hand. “Please” he pleads, begging you by calling out your name needily, “MC, Please.” he gasps sharply, feeling your hand soothingly rub the aching and reddened skin of his ass.

“MC, Please”

“Please….”

“You want to cum so bad?” You inquired, rubbing his ass one more time before delivering another smack against his red and irritated butt.

“Yes…Please”

With your hand reaching down, you push his hand away to jerk off his cock. You stroke him, tugging and pulling on the tip and base of his shaft. You work his release, building up the tension in his body which surrounds his ejaculation.

“Oh! Fuck– I'm gonna cum” he rasps out, hips thrusting into your hand as his cock spews out thick ropes of cum-

Your hand suddenly lets go of his cock, not giving it enough stimulation to get him through his ejaculation.

Satan grinds his teeth in frustration, feeling his ejaculation get ruined and cock twitch in disappointment, barely spurting out any cum. He groans, twisting his head to look back at you with a grumble, “You're mean.” A small frown etched onto his face. “This is a punishment, love” you stroke him under his chin, teasingly tapping your manicured nails down his neck.

“That was disappointing-... Hehe… you're real devilish”

He gives you a once-over, admiring your beautiful body until his eyes glue to the mark that shone on your abdomen- Suddenly his whole demeanor switches and he gets salty, “What's that?!” He asks, gritting his teeth

“What's what?” You ask back in confusion

“I'm talking about the damn mark on your stomach-”

“Oh… don't worry about it.." you tried brushing it off

“Was it Asmodeus?- Damn!…that bastard!!... The moment he returns from earth I'll smash his face against the ground”

ᡣ𐭩 ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ᡣ𐭩

PREVIOUS ← MAIN MENU → NEXT

ᡣ𐭩 ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ᡣ𐭩

[ohsunnyboy]

steal your night (part 1) | sung hanbin ˚₊‧⁺˖

you never knew you had a boyfriend until sung hanbin eats your tiramisu and steals your heart under the stars of monaco

SERIES: a night in monaco — one, two

TAGS: fake dating, strangers to lovers, business man!hanbin, gn!reader, flirty hanbin and you ehe, meet cute <3, summer vibes

A/N: sorry for the disappearance lmao take my hanbin pining as an apology, and as always, purely self indulgent

WORDS: ~1300

Trouble comes when dessert is served.

Everything considered, it’s horrible timing. Sun setting just so over the Mediterranean, hearty chatter firing all around in all sorts of languages and your wine being warm company on a supposedly lonely night. It makes a perfect set-up as your spoon hovers mid-air as you prepare to dig into some well-deserved tiramisu.

Until someone slides into the very empty seat across from you, slips a crisp black business card across the table to you – it reads 'Sung Hanbin' – and uttering the most insane thing yet: "Love, I'm so sorry for being late!"

What.

You barely get to say anything before he's swooping in for la bise. As you lean in, his expensive cologne lingers like smoke in the air. It's a narrow dodge of your lips, but he swerves and lands a quick kiss to your right cheek and then dares to go for a second on your left. Consider yourself stunned because all you do is watch him pull away and a grin at you with a gorgeous smile.

You want to sit and gape for a second, let yourself breathe, and now with a longer look, let him breathe.

This, Hanbin, has flushed cheeks and is twitchy with how he holds your hand – when did that happen?! – across the table. There's a light sheen of sweat on his skin and not due to the heat, more like he's either embarrassed or nervous about this. He breathes in short, sharp gasps as if he's been running and mouths something to you.

Please play along. His hand still holds yours, and he squeezes just so.

Hanbin turned his head to the right slightly. Stood at a table near the entrance was a woman with a flowy silver dress on and hair pulled into quite a severe bun. Her pointed heels tapping on the spot and her jittery eyes glance over at you two, but quickly look somewhere else when she catches your curious gaze.

“She’s been trying to get me to buy her a meal all day,” he sighs. “Thing is, I even saw her scoping me out yesterday at a bar last night. I was naïve enough to buy her a drink to start some conversation, but she’s taken it as personal permission to stalk me. She clearly hasn’t gotten the memo.” And he squeezes your hand again, this time to comfort himself.

“What about me? What if I turn out to be some crazy that’s out to steal your Amex and claim my fifth husband?”

“You? No way, you have a top shelf wine and a second plate of tiramisu in front of you already. You're doing perfectly fine without my money," Hanbin lists before his gaze turns considering. "Unless... you weren't lying about the husbands.”

You laugh into your wine and eye Hanbin over the rim. "You wouldn’t look too bad in a wedding tux, pretty boy, who knows?”

The long column of Hanbin’s neck is exposed thanks to the open collar of his shirt. Revealing the delicate sun, moon and star on his collar that only keeps you stuck in wonder for longer.

You can only imagine how smooth the skin feels – under your hands and lips – but maybe that’s the wine talking when he sits there fine and handsome against the candlelight. The sunset paints saturated hues against his skin, you can barely see the blush that peeks above his collar thanks to it.

If you friends were here, you know what they’d say about him: trouble, hot and wealthy trouble.

“Eyes up here, love.” Your eyes leap back up to Hanbin’s to only see amusement in them. Getting caught flushes your face with heat but his eyes are dark enough to forget yourself in.

You try to push on, clearing your throat and pulling yourself together. “So, the deal is we act like lovers the rest of the night?” The weight of the word lovers is a syrupy one, overtly sweet and something far from familiar for you but Hanbin only smiles at it.

“Of course, love. Shouldn’t be too hard with someone as sweet as you,” he grins however his eyes still linger on that woman in silver, clearly on edge.

You drum your fingers on the table, the rush of meeting each other melting quickly in the air. Awkward tension is bound to seep in soon and you'll be damned if it does! you're not losing this chance no matter how much trouble this man could be.

A stroke of brilliance brings you to push forward your untouched plate of tiramisu over to him, careful with the spoon balancing precariously on the plate. “What?” you smile at his confused face. “I wasn’t eating it anyway and you need a distraction.” But he just raises his brows like he doesn't believe it.

At his reluctance, you sigh and begin to flag down a waitress.

“Hey! Hey, don’t kick me out please—I’ll eat it!… even pay for it!—” Hanbin flusters even further as you push a finger against his soft lips to shut him up as the waitress arrives.

It’s a beat of silence.

“Two more tiramisus, please.” Hanbin’s laugh of disbelief trails the waitress as she leaves.

What you do find out is that it’s stupidly easy to talk to Hanbin. You tell him why you’re even here in Monaco: about your crazy best friends marrying after years of adventures, about being the responsible one in a group of misfits, about growing up and never quite finding the one unlike how they did. Loneliness is a familiar tale on your tongue, the wine tinging everything you say with bitter honesty you’ve never been able to let out with anyone else.

With Hanbin, you learn about his job as a business consultant: his annoying – but endearing! – juniors Yujin and Gyuvin, how him and Zhang Hao – his other colleague – are out here for strictly business. Until of course, he met you.

“What are your doing out here so alone, anyway?” he probed. He’s so much closer now, having moved his chair to be next to you instead of opposite you. “You’re too pretty to be single but I really hope you are.”

You shrug off the flirting for once and let yourself disappear back into the chair. “Everyone else I know are in relationships so they’re all away on dates across the city. I figured stealing myself away on a self-date would be better than sitting lonely in a hotel room all night.” 

He hums, a low and melodic thing. You can feel the heat of him next to you, the weight of his presence and the cut of his cologne all over again. Though nothing prepares you when Hanbin takes your hand in his.

He raises it, gentle and kind, slow and despairing, and presses his lips to your ring finger.

"Well then, may I steal your night?" he asks like a dare. A whisper barely heard but shared between you two.

Eyes far too low and gaze far too heavy for a look between strangers. The implications are clearer than the night sky above. Hanbin's lips linger with a smirk, and you can feel everything in you screaming to look away before you melt into the floor but all you can do is stare.

Trouble. Is what your mind is screaming. It's what you really want after all this pining in silence. Someone to crash into your life and take you with them.

"You don't even know my name."

It comes out like an accusation. Trouble, trouble, trouble. It brings you here and leaves you dizzy, craving for more.

"Why would I need it, love. You'll be saying mine all night.”

The woman is long gone into the night so there's no need for this play-pretend. But trouble looks you in the eyes and you kiss him with a heart that yearns for more.

ahjbsdkh thanks so much for reading <33 i had a lot of fun writing this so a like and reblog would be nice if you enjoyed :] ⭒ masterlist

[moonstruckme]

well deserved 1k!!! i got inspired by the ones you posted yesterday

bodyguard!tasm!peter x reader (can be royal au or not)

i just love the use of spidey senses in fics, especially when being around reader fucks with peter's ability to focus 🥰

Thanks sweetness <3

join the party

bodyguard!(tasm)Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 845 words

Peter doesn’t like to think of himself as being for hire. But, well, he does think of himself as a sort of civic employee. And money is tight. So if the mayor wants to pay Spiderman to keep an eye on his daughter after he’s gotten a few threats, it’s really his civic duty and a good business opportunity. 

Still, he’d been expecting some bratty, snot-covered kid, not you, kind and his age and tongue-twistingly beautiful. 

“Is this really the safest place for us to be?” you ask nervously. 

“I, um, I think so,” Peter stammers, caught off-guard by how cinematic your hair looks blowing around in the wind (like, it’s fucking ridiculous). God, what is he doing? He doesn’t think so, he knows so. He’s supposed to be competent, in-charge, not some moony-eyed dunce. “Not many people can get this high other than me, so I figure if anyone’s trying to get to you, we may as well make it difficult for them.” 

You hum your understanding, but you don’t relax. Peter doesn’t blame you; it’s easy for him to forget how scary heights were before he had the security of his web shooters, but he knows this drop must look terrifying. You’re perched at the top of a tower across the street from where your dad is giving a speech. For reasons he hadn’t seen fit to tell Peter (or Spiderman, whatever), the mayor seems to think that this would be a prime time for his political enemies to make a grab for you. Peter hopes it’s not because your dad’s about to say something stupid in front of this giant crowd and on live TV. He’d only mentioned that he’d been getting a few more death threats than usual lately, and wanted to be extra sure you were safe.

Your shoe slips an inch, and you whimper, though you’re still feet away from the edge of the roof. 

“You’re okay,” Peter says quickly, moving closer to you. “Listen, the last thing I’m gonna do is let you fall. It’d make me a pretty bad bodyguard, you know?” 

“I know,” you say, but you’re nearly panting, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts as you try to keep your panic under control. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s a hard instinct to ignore.” 

“I get that,” he says sympathetically. You’re all but sitting down against the sloped roof, fingers pressed to the metal as if you can dig your nails in to save yourself. Fuck, he’s gonna regret this. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I could hold onto you if you want.” 

You don’t even hesitate, nodding quickly. “That would make me much more comfortable, actually.” 

Peter doesn’t waste any time, breaching the gap between you and wrapping his arm securely around your waist. You’re tense all over, and your nails bite into his shoulder as you grip it like a lifeline. Which, he supposes, you probably think it is. He feels his face grow warm under his mask as you press yourself up against him, but the proximity doesn’t seem to phase you, all your concern still focussed on the hundred foot drop beneath you. You’re shaking a little, and Peter feels guilty for not relieving you sooner, bringing his other arm around you to rub at the goosebumps on your upper arm hesitantly. 

“Thanks,” you murmur breathlessly, seeming to relax more now that he’s got both arms around you. 

“No problem.” Just doing my job, he thinks sarcastically. Feeling up a pretty girl. 

He looks back at the podium across the street to realize the crowd has nearly doubled in size without him noticing. If you were distracting before, he doesn’t even know what to call you now. He can’t tell if his spidey sense is going haywire or if that’s just his nerves, all fired-up from your proximity. How’s he supposed to protect you if he can’t think of anything but how good you smell?

“I really appreciate your help,” you say, voice sweeter now that it’s lost some of its panicked edge, “even if I don’t wholly approve of your methods.” Is that a teasing note he detects? He definitely won’t be able to split his focus if you start flirting with him. “My dad doesn’t let me in the loop on much, do you know if this is just a one-time thing? Or will I be seeing more of you?” 

Okay, fuck professionalism. “I’m not really sure,” Peter answers honestly, “but your dad seems like a smart guy, and I’m sure he doesn’t want you to be vulnerable. I mean, you’re already a target because you’re the mayor’s daughter, but a pretty thing like you? You should probably be under full-time protection.” 

You really do slip then, gasping as your feet slide out from under you. Peter tugs you close to his side, not letting you move forward more than an inch. “Easy, easy,” he says as you clutch at him, trying to stabilize yourself. Now there’s a little pink coloring your cheeks, too. “I gotcha.” 

[lemonyko0]

Drabble in which jk just rlly wants you to play with his hair...

» koo drabble since his recent live inspired me <3

» fluff, established relationship

so, you made a mistake. well, by normal standards it's not really a mistake, but definitely a recurring pattern since jungkook has learned it's a sure-fire way to get attention and affection from you. it'd be more interesting to say it was some sexy look, or a particular pair of jeans, but unfortunately that's not your reality.

instead, for the third time in one day, you hear the footsteps of your oh-so loving boyfriend pad around the house undoubtedly looking for you.

you tilt your head back on the couch and watch as he comes into view, smiling as he sees you, “y/n~” he coos, excitedly hopping over the back of the couch and right into your lap.

when you last saw him he was playing video games, occupying the tv in your bedroom so you left the room. therefore, there is no true reason why his hair should be as horrifically messy as it is right now, and yet he’s snuggled himself between your legs and is staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to fix his hair. he wants you to run your fingers through it like you always do, to fix his part and comb it with your nails, massage that pretty head of his and sprinkle it with kisses and you'd love nothing more than to give into him, but you don't.

you pretend like you have no idea what he’s after, and smile at him, “hi baby, done playing?”

he nods, leaning his head against your chest and ruining his hair even further, “yeah, my team won each round.”

you grin and instinctively reach a hand out to his head and pull back quickly, and instead rub his cheek. he pouts in response and you ask, “what?”

he sighs as he picks up your hand and moves it to the top of his head and staring at you in wait.

you chuckle as you let your hand slide down to his jaw and pinch his cheek, “does your head hurt? i bought more ibuprofen yesterday.”

“no.”

“then what?”

the pout grows each second you're not petting him and he whines into your body, “why aren't you fixing my hair?”

“you want me to fix it? i thought you were trying to leave it messy since you keep making it like that.”

you hear him quietly sigh between your arms as he starts to piece it together, “i was just making it messy so you’d fix it. i didn't think you’d catch on.”

you hum, “ahh, so you just wanted me to play with your hair? you could’ve just asked koo.”

he shook his head, “that's not as fun.”

“so it's more fun when you're tricking me into doing it?” he nods cheekily, staring up at you with a grin. “you think you're soooo slick.” you roll your eyes and start to poke at his ticklish places as he squirms around on the couch trying to escape you, but you've got him tied between your legs and weakened by your relentless teasing until he’s pleading with you between giggles and his reddened face.

“pl-please! y/n! i'm s-sorry! please!” he laughs and you pull back, resting against the couch once more as he catches his breath, and if at all possible, his hair is even worse now than it was before.

“gosh, now your hair’s actually a mess.”

he rolls dramatically off of the couch and onto his butt on the floor, “guess i'll go fix it myself.”

you chuckle, watching him not even move a muscle. he slowly looks up to you and just stares in wait. he then pushes himself closer and closer to you until his head is practically in your lap, staring at you with a cheesy grin. “please?”

you take his face in your hands and lean down to him, “i love playing with your hair koo. just ask.”

he nods excitedly, “so will you?”

you pat the couch and he resumes his original spot, just without the pout. he relaxes against you, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his torso, arranging you exactly how he likes it and asking if your comfy.

“of course.” you kiss the side of his head and you don't need to see his smile to know he is, and to no surprise at all he’s practically purring the second you run your fingers through his hair, and asleep in your lap within only a few minutes.

you can't fault him though, as you're out like a light too in half the time.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚

thanks for reading and if you wish it didn't end so soon, i have tons and tons more in my masterlist, coded and everything <3

masterlist | taglist

taglist: @marvelahsobx @notbotheredtho @fragmentof-indifference @jwnghyuns @isab3lita @shescharlie @kooookie @jeonzll @laylasbunbunny @instabull @xjiminsthighsx @iceykoo @ash07128

[lovelycassy]

Ok hear me out, a Lorenzo Berkshire imagine where him and the reader are dating and she gets hurt during a girl day with pansy 😌

Hexed

Summary: Ever since you and Lorenzo started dating a week ago, you noticed a certain slytherin who always seems to be glaring at you. It only took some time before they take action against you.

Pairing: Lorenzo/Enzo x fem!reader

House: any

Blood status: pureblood

Word count: 1,588

Warning(s) : some violence, a lil cursing, a kissing scene that’s barely there, pet names (love & darling), not proofread, lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: I am so sorry anon I didn't check my ask box for a rlly long time so I didn't notice that I already had requests 😭 I hope you didn’t wait that long but here it is though. btw this is my first fic so pls bear with me if its cringy I'm trying

Also forgive me if pansy, lorenzo and Daphne are not so in character these are just how I imagine their personalities are

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

It was a sunny friday afternoon and you were going to your last class of the day. You were thinking of what you were going to do the next day when you heard someone call your name from behind.

"Y/n!" they called. You turned around and saw your best friend Pansy running down the hallway.

"Yes?" You answered

Pansy caught her breath before she asked, "Do you have any plans for tomorrow afternoon?"

"not much, just going to stay in my dorm all day I guess, why?"

"I was thinking that we should have a girl's day, you know just the two of us, shopping at hogsmeade. Since our NEWTS are coming up and I know its gonna take a lot of our time, tomorrow is the perfect time for us to hang out before we have to stress about our exams. So, what do you say?" She said, with her eyes almost looking like she’s pleading for you to say yes.

You thought for a while. You didn't have anything else to do aside from sleeping and staying in your bed all day anyway. You also finished all your homework yesterday, you just need to hope that your last professor gives mercy on all of you students and lets you go without any homework.

"Okay sure, I need a break from school anyway." You finally answered.

"Great! Let's meet at the great hall at 9am, sound good?"

"Yep, see you tomorrow Pans!"

"Bye!"

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

"Thank god we don't have any homework assigned today" you muttered as you entered the slytherin common room, heading to your boyfriend's dorm.

You knocked 3 times before you heard someone answer from inside;

"Who is it?“ Lorenzo shouted

"It's just me" you answered

"Oh alright, the door's open"

You entered and saw him sitting on his bed, reading a book. He already changed out of his robes and wore some comfy clothes.

He looked up from his book the second you entered the room.

"Hey darling, how's your day?" He asked

"Tiring, how's yours?" You said while taking off your robe and putting it on the coat rack

"It's alright, if you exclude the fact that seamus almost set the classroom and everyone in it on fire in potions."

"Wow, that bad?"

"Yeah, luckily snape was there. But of course he had to take points off Gryffindor because of the chaos Seamus created."

By now you had already changed into some comfortable clothes and was climbing in bed "But everyone was okay, right?"

"Of course, but enough about my day. Tell me what happened to yours?" He said, while cuddling you putting you on top of him

"Well pansy came to me a few hours ago, asking me to go on a girl's day with her tomorrow at hogsmeade. Since our exams are coming up she wants to hangout before we all get busy studying."

"And what did you answer her?"

"I said yes of course she's my best friend"

"I thought you said we're going to spend the whole day together tomorrow?" He looked down at you with a pouty face

"I said on sunday, love"

"No you definitely said Saturday"

"I'm pretty sure I said sunday"

"Fine you did"

"I promise you on sunday I'm all yours, okay? No one is going to disturb us."

"Alright fine"

Before you could say anything else he suddenly flipped both of you and he was on top of you

“Love what are you trying to do right now?”

“What I’ve wanted to do since classes ended”

Then you felt his lips on yours

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

You were roughly making out for about 5 minutes now when you both heard a knock on the door.

"You lovebirds done? Its nearly dinner already so stop making out and let's go to the great hall." Theo groaned from the other side of the door.

"Okay okay we're coming" you said fixing yourself up

"Cmon lets just stay behind they won't even mind" Enzo complained

"Sorry love but as a human being I also need food plus I'm starving" you were walking to the door when you turned around and saw him on the bed with a pouting like face

"We could continue after dinner." You said with a smirk

That made him run to the great hall.

*timeskip to the next day*

You and Pansy have been shopping for almost 2 hours now. You suggested you guys eat lunch first before continuing your shopping spree

Once you guys were finished, you were both deciding the next store you were going to when you saw a certain slytherin walking towards you with her gang. The one who has been rude to you since you and Lorenzo started dating, Daphne Greengrass. Let’s pretend she didn’t like theodore and liked lor

It was no secret to the whole school that she liked him. She practically did everything to make him notice her. Yet Lorenzo still chose you, and that made her blood boil.

"What's she doing here?" You whispered to Pansy

Pansy just shrugged

"Well well well, look who we have here, its lorenzo’s little girlfriend, L/n " Daphne said with a smirk (IM INTERNALLY CRINGING RN)

“Hello Greengrass, what brings you to hogsmeade on this lovely day?”

“Oh nothing, I just heard you and parkinson over there talking about how you’re going to spend your boyfriend’s money on a shopping spree. Does enzo even know you’re spending his money?” She said as she strode a little more closer to you

You can’t start a fight, or else some professor might pass by and punish you both by taking away house points that won’t be enough to win the house cup

You took a deep breath before answering her, “actually Greengrass, the money I’m spending right now is my monthly allowance from my parents. Now if you would excuse us, we would like to get back to our shopping.”

You tried to get past her before she blocked you and pansy’s way

“Not so fast l/n, that’s not what I came here for.”

“What is it then Greengrass?” You were starting to get annoyed

By now you were standing at arm’s length from her

“I came here because I wanted to remind you something.”

Suddenly she pushed you to the ground

“What the hell are you doing!” Pansy shouted, while trying to break free from Tracey Davis, one of Daphne’s closest friends

“Telling L/n here to stay away from what’s mine” daphne said, pointing her wand at you

Right now you were terrified of what might happen

“What the hell do you mean by staying away from what’s yours-“

“I meant staying away from Lorenzo you bitch!”

“We were friends since we were babies! We were meant for each other until you came and took him away from me!” She shouted

“So right now I’m going to take revenge on what you’ve done, stupefy!”

With that you flew and landed your back on a wall, you felt yourself getting dizzy with dark spots covering your vision. You heard Pansy run to you calling your name before everything went black

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

You woke up from a shine of light coming through your eyelids (does that make sense?), with a slight pounding in your head. You squinted your eyes a bit to get a better view to know where you were, it took a while before coming to a realization that you were in the hospital wing

You felt something or someone holding your hand, and you turned to see your boyfriend, Enzo, sleeping on a chair beside your bed holding your hand.

“Love, wake up,” you said, gently shaking the hand wrapped around yours.

You saw him fluttering his eyes a bit before looking at you with wide eyes.

“Oh my god you’re awake- hold on for a minute I need to get madam pomfrey.”

He rushed out of the hospital wing and returned with her not even 2 minutes later.

“Hello dear, how are you feeling?” Madam pomfrey asked with a gentle smile.

You looked at her and said, “my head hurts a bit, but may I ask what happened?”

“You must’ve forgotten because of how hard you hit your head yesterday.”

Hit your head? What happened? You thought for a while before all the events came back to your head. Daphne greengrass hexed you.

“Oh” was all you could say.

“Well dear once the pain in your head fades you are free to go anytime,” And with that madam pomfrey left.

You turned to look at your boyfriend and he looked at you with concerned eyes

“Um” he started “I heard from Blaise what Daphne has done to you, he was walking in hogsmeade when he saw Pansy trying to drag you back to the castle. I’m really sorry that-“

“It’s not your fault love” you cut him off

“No it partly is, I should’ve made it clear it Daphne that we weren’t going to work out if we ever got together. I guess I kind of led her on before I asked you out.”

“Well even if you say it is, you weren’t the one who hexed me.”

“Alright but I’m going to stay by your side all the time now, wherever you go I’m always gonna be there”

“Even during girl’s day??” you asked with a fake shocked face

“Even during girl’s day.” He said with a grin

“Noooo”

“Just kidding love, but still just in case so you won’t end up in the hospital wing again.”

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

I’m not really satisfied with the ending, I might redo it once I think of a better one. But anyways I hope you guys enjoyed! :)

[valyrfia]

I have seen a lot of criticism on Charles’ mentality because he didnt fight the team’s order telling him to hold position. People are saying he lacks the edge to win WDC.

Do you think Charles should defy the team order from a technical point of view?

He needs to learn to push back against team orders more often, yes. But to say he lacks the edge to win a WDC is ridiculous. We all saw him in 2019 eat up Sebastian Vettel despite team orders. The difference with yesterday is that Max Verstappen in a Red Bull is currently a little unbeatable, and Ferrari is now P2 in the constructors only 4 points off of Red Bull due to Charles helping them to maximise points. Charles could have fought Carlos quite easily and probably overtaken him for P1, but they would have wasted precious tyre deg and Carlos could have been easily overtaken by Lando then, especially since Carlos's tyre deg was higher than Charles's in the final laps, thus losing Ferrari three points.

So Charles obeying team orders was probably the right thing to do for the team on this occasion. The only issue I have is everyone going "oh Carlos is the only one who can beat Max Verstappen! Charles is so washed! Ferrari fired the wrong driver!" without looking at the whole picture. Both times, Charles has graciously played the role of second driver when needed in order to secure the team a win (a role Carlos has not reciprocated, lest we forget Vegas). It's just unfortunate that the only times Carlos beats him in a quali head to head are the times that Max is out of commission and Ferrari has the chance of fighting for a win. But I believe Charles's time will come again, after all seven front row starts in a row isn't too shabby.

Someone (I forget who) said it best in that this season for Charles will likely parallel Max's 2020 season, which was quietly fantastic. Apart from retirements, Max didn't finish a race below P6, which he only did once and then rest of the time finished in the top 3, pulling in two wins along the way. In a lot of ways, it sets Charles's 2025 season up to also parallel Max's 2021 season, a new teammate, the year before new regs, and an ever-improving technical team at the factory.....well I'll leave it up to you to draw conclusions.

Additionally, Max didn't win a championship until his seventh year in Formula 1, up until then there were also washed allegations surrounding him, and look at him now. The 2024 season is Charles's seventh season. Charles is only approaching his prime. He's still the third youngest driver to ever win a grand prix, and has a pole count equal with some WDCs. Just because Charles followed team orders in order to help secure his team two wins in an era that has otherwise been absolutely dominated by Max Verstappen in a Red Bull does NOT mean he's not WDC material.

[upon-a-starry-night]

While We Dream Pt.3

Kylo Ren x Fem! Reader

Star Wars Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: As Kylo sleeps he finds himself mysteriously transported to your modern world, while you sleep you find yourself following alongside Kylo as he goes about his duties as “supreme leader?” who even was this guy? And why does he keep talking about ‘The Force?'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to the sound of your alarms and on auto-pilot sit up to get ready for work, only to slump back down when you remember the events of yesterday; getting fired, making a wish, almost dying, meeting a mysterious stranger who you felt some strange connection to. They didn’t seem familiar but perhaps you’d met them before?

Either way, you’re not going to pass up the opportunity to sleep in late so you let your eyes flutter closed as you attempt to fall back into a blissful slumber. You toss and turn to no avail and after a few minutes you frustratingly open your eyes and stare up at your ceiling, only it’s not your ceiling anymore. 

Instead of your off-white slightly chipped roof, you're met with a sleek high-rise gray ceiling made out of a material that makes you feel like you’re in a sci-fi movie. The room is impossibly dark, with no source of natural light and weirdly futuristic features. It’s strangely silent save for the low hum of electricity.

Maybe you had managed to fall asleep after all? But you felt too awake for this to be a dream, and everything felt too real. Your dreams had never been this clear before, or this detailed.

The room was the size of a studio apartment but appeared to be mainly a bedroom. Nearly every surface was some shade of gray or black with the occasional red accent on pieces of furniture. The bed you were sitting on was queen-sized and big enough for two people but based on the lack of accessories and decoration it seems like only one person used it.

To your right, there’s a large L-shaped kitchenette area, all entirely black of course, but devoid of any visible appliances or foods. There’s a circular table with only one chair that makes you kind of sad to look at so you focus on observing the rest of the room.

From the kitchenette, there’s a wall that juts out diagonally with a single door. You assume it’s either a closet or a bathroom based on its size. 

The wall in front of the bed only has a singular door in the shape of a stretched pentagon, it’s devoid of any door handle and instead has an illuminated keypad on the wall. It’s the most elaborate door you’ve ever seen for a single bedroom and it further cements the idea that you were probably lucid dreaming.

There’s a small couch at the foot of the bed that looks pretty comfy and a small bookshelf on the wall to the left, along with another closed door that could lead anywhere. It’s a flat that probably costs a good few thousand depending on the area that you’re in.

You don’t know how or why your mind has conjured up such a place but you’ll take this over your other dreams any day. As you stand up from the bed your body feels lighter than usual, like you’re not carrying your whole physical weight. The tension you’re used to holding from the stress of life is gone and you revel in the feeling of relaxation that washes over you.

If you could spend every night here in your dreams you’d probably feel a lot better in real life.

Looking down, you notice that you’re sitting on top of the comforter despite the warmth flowing through your body. You must still be under the covers in real life. You never expected lucid dreaming to feel this alert.

As you shift, you scrunch your brow in confusion as you notice your body doesn’t impact the bed at all. You leave no imprint as you sit, and when you attempt to pick up the blanket you can’t grip it.

Weird. Aren't you supposed to be able to do what you want in lucid dreams? 

Despite feeling lighter, your body still looks the same, you’re not see-through or glowing or anything abnormal but as you focus on your body you realize you can’t actually feel anything.

The bed you’re sitting on doesn’t register when you touch it and you realize your mind must be filling in all the blanks for whatever you’d normally feel. If you stop focusing as hard, your mind creates the illusion of feeling whatever object you’re touching but doesn’t actually impact anything in this dream world.

To test your theory, you stand up on the bed and begin jumping on it. The bed itself doesn’t move an inch but your body bounces as if you were on a real bed. It’s simultaneously astonishing and terrifying.

Your new position on the bed allows you to see curtains above the headboard that you hadn't been able to see behind you. Ever curious, you move to open them to see just where you are when a beeping sound from behind you has you whipping around just in time to see the door sliding open. 

The sudden burst of fluorescent light forces you to squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t get blinded but when you open them again you’re met with the familiar sight of your bedroom ceiling.

It takes you a second to readjust to the full weight of your body and the feeling of objects touching you. There’s sunlight streaming in through your bedroom window and the familiar sounds of birds chirping and cars passing by. It’s a stark contrast to whatever dream you were just having but not an unwelcome one.

You spent years curating the perfect place for yourself and throughout all the effort you’d finally made your home your safe space. You would never get tired of it.

Sensing that you’re finally awake, your orange and white tabby cat Toast comes bounding in ready for you to feed him. He’s only a few months old so he’s not big enough to jump up on your bed. Instead, he sits at the foot of your bed and meows until you get up to get him his food.

Sitting up, you realize you feel the most well-rested you’ve ever felt in your life and can’t help but attribute it to your weird dream. Either way, it gives you more than enough energy to start your day, so you scoop Toast up into your arms and head out into your living room to start your day.

—-----

Kylo Ren has been scanning through every inch of the galaxy trying to find a planet that looks like yours. The closest matches he could find were Coruscant and Alderaan but Alderaan had been wiped out long ago by the Death Star and Coruscant’s technology was more advanced than what he’d seen on your world.

Not to mention your entire population seemed to be entirely of the human race, which isn't a common standard throughout the galaxy. Most worlds had at least a few other species that chose to inhabit the same planet. Perhaps you were beyond any galaxy anyone had ever visited. And if that was the case, he was better off actually listening to this meeting he was in instead of searching for you.

“Ren, are you even listening?” Kylo rolls his eyes under his helmet at the sound of his least favorite colleague. How did Hux always know when he was in a sour mood? Still, it would do Hux good to remember that he wasn’t just ‘Ren’ anymore.

He stands up from his seat and tilts his head to the side as he watches everyone in the room collectively hold their breath, letting his height do most of the talking. He smirks at the way Hux attempts to hide his fear but a look in his head shows his thoughts are running through all of the times he’s been force-choked by Ren.

“What was that, general?” He makes sure to emphasize Hux’s inferior title, watching as his neck turns red in anger. A few other captains in the room chuckle at his reaction. “Need I remind you who you’re talking to?”

Hux sets his jaw in anger but doesn’t dare lash out against Kylo. He’s already considered the least favorable of all of the generals on board, he doesn’t need more gossip spreading about him having another outburst.

“My apologies, Supreme Leader, I was just trying to advise you to consider…assimilating such valuable information.” He grits his teeth as he forces out the formal tone and title and Kylo is about to rile him up more when he feels a familiar pull.

The same one that led him to you in the forest.

“Dismissed” Kylo is already out of the door and striding towards the pull before he can see Hux’s unfavorable scowl. He doesn’t know how much time he has before you disappear again and he’s determined to find out where you are.

Kylo hesitates slightly as he recognizes the way to his quarters following the pull. Why did you appear there? He quickens his gait as he approaches his door and quickly punches in his code.

His room is shrouded in darkness and for a moment he sees the shadow of a figure on his bed but the second light flows into the room you’re gone. He clenches his fist in frustration. Every time he’s close to speaking with you you disappear. Was this some sort of trick you were playing on him? Was this even your doing or was it something bigger? Were you a vision the Rebels were using to distract him?

A million thoughts are running through his head as he stares at his room which shows no signs of interference. The bed sheets are untouched, the furniture remains how he left it, and the feeling in his stomach slowly fizzles out the longer he stands there.

Unanswered questions race through his mind as he stands in his doorway but as he steps into his quarters there’s one distinct question that protrudes above the rest:

What were you doing on his bed?

Pt.4

A/n: Kylo Ren’s bedroom looks different to me in every fic tbh so I wanted to help you guys get a clear picture of what I was imagining while writing this! ~ Starry

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie x fem!reader Part 2.5 🚨18+Only, smut, angst, sex with someone other than reader, penetrative sex (protected), maybe also fuckboy!eddie? But he doesn’t want to be. 90's music & nostalgia, insomnia, smoking, mention of cheating (not on reader), Eddie is having a hard time, but I promise it will get better.

wc: 1.7k

Series Masterlist

🔸To the handful of cherished readers on this ride with me: this is a 2.5, a little bitty part, because I posted Part 2 yesterday early and realized I wanted to add more. Chapter 3 will be done by this weekend xoxo

ALSO, the Erika mentioned in this chapter will be introduced more later, but it's NOT Erica Sinclair, my god I would never.

This was not the night Eddie had in mind for a first time hanging out with you. There was admittedly a long list of regrets in his life thus far, but deciding to invite you to the Hideout of all places was now up there somewhere at the top. That dive never used to be like that. Back when he was a teenager, it wasn’t so rough or so full of angry burnouts ready to rage. The only drunks who used to frequent it were sad and polite, and almost half dead.

You handed him and Steve a few tissues from the front seat because Steve’s nose was dripping blood and Eddie’s lip was split. Neither one of them felt a thing, though, not in that moment---the adrenaline was still pumping hot.

Eddie didn’t say much for the rest of the drive, except to ask Katie to take them back to Munson’s Garage so they could take a truck over and pick up their bikes once the chaos died down.

This whole connection he thought maybe the two of you had was not a good idea. For fucks sake, you had been a hair away from getting a secondary blow from the brawl---he couldn’t handle the thought, it made him sick to his stomach. He got the feeling that you were bothered by his silence on the ride back, but there was nothing he could do about it at that point: he was shutting down. He was hammering nails in the boards over the windows inside of him where people (you) could peak in. It was a survival technique he’d been forced to learn when he was a kid.

Katie reminded him that she was Danny Clayton’s older sister, and he had been one of his old D&D buddies—reminding him of a time in his life that he missed. He barely had time to practice his guitar these days, let alone fuck around as Dungeon Master in a role-playing game.

In a haze, he remembered thanking you, but then you said something else to him as he was bent over lighting a smoke, headed toward the garage, and he just kept walking, pretending not to hear you. Once he shut the door, he regretted it with a curse, and went back out to see if he could catch you, but there was nothing but brake lights in the distance.

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve asked Eddie once they were in the transport truck on the way back to the Hideout.

Eddie had a cigarette pinched between his lips and he looked offended. “What is there to talk about?”

“Listen, man,” Steve adjusted his vest and sat back in the passenger seat. “You might not want to give me credit for knowing you as well as I do, but I can tell when you’re slipping over into the dark side.”

Nothing but silence from Eddie.

“You like that girl, or what?” Steve kept talking, because much like you, he wanted the old Eddie back.

“What’s not to like?” Eddie responded under his breath, flicking his cigarette out the window. “I’m sure I’ll never see her again. It’s for the best.”

“Oh, I doubt that man---look what I got,” and then Steve stuck his tongue out and held up the Wrigley��s gum wrapper with Katie’s phone number on it. “You said they’re roommates right?”

Eddie looked over at the number, and then he looked up at Steve’s excited face, and he shook his head, but there was the glimmer of a smile there.

After they brought the bikes back, Steve took off to take care of some family stuff, and Eddie sat on the old couch up in his apartment above the garage, staring out the window with nothing but snow static on the TV. He’d been watching the Dave Attell show Insomniac with a frozen bag of peas on his punching hand, but it ended, and now he was in his head again, a place that he dreaded lately. He knew he wouldn’t get more than 2 or 3 hours of sleep again that night, he could feel it in his bones, and it didn’t matter how exhausted he was.

So, in order to keep himself from thinking about you, he called up one of his faithful booty calls: her name was Erika.

She’d been a long time groupie of his band and she had a kink for guys on motorcycles. He always treated her good and made her cum, but he never let her sleep over.

He never let anyone sleep over.

And he was always gone by daybreak if he happened to pass out in someone else’s bed.

He had this way of going out of his body, so to speak, when he had intercourse with these women he didn’t love. It was like he hollowed himself out and became someone else. He became exactly what they all wanted; this dominant force who choked them a little and fucked them rough and made them beg for more.

That night, with Erika, he kept thinking of you, and it made him stop a few times to blink and catch his breath. “What’s wrong, baby?” She’d ask, just as she was on all fours and his cock was inside of her, the condom straining at the size of his girth.

He shook his head and kept going, but at one point, he was doing her missionary, and in the dark of the room, with his eyes closed and his forehead pressed against hers—he could pretend it really was you.

He went slow, he kissed your face, your eyelids, and down your neck. He imagined that it was you with your hands in his hair, telling him how good it felt, how close you were to cumming. That it was your voice that said, “don’t stop, baby, you feel so good,” and he kissed your mouth, tongues searching deep, as he buried himself inside you with a strangled cry. He imagined that he didn’t have the condom on and you wanted him like that; to pour his seed into you and make you his.

He trembled as his orgasm overtook him, and he came so hard that time, he worried that he forgot to put the condom on.

When it was over and he opened his eyes, all of his intrusive thoughts came rushing back and the light behind his eyes was all but snuffed out.

------

“That was amazing!” You shouted at Katie, rubbing her shoulder, thanking her for the stealthy getaway while Cryin’ by Aerosmith played on the radio.

You turned around in your seat to say something to the guys, and then immediately started pulling tissues out of the Kleenex box in the middle console.

“Aw shucks, it’s just a flesh wound,” Steve joked, quoting Monty Python as he gargled blood in his throat.

Eddie was directly behind you, and when you twisted your body to hand him some tissues, he took them and looked down, not wanting to meet your eyes.

“Well, that was...intense,” Katie said from behind the wheel, slowing down for a stop light after checking in the rear view mirror to make sure there were no cops behind her.

“Just another day for us,” Steve chuckled, and then he pulled up close behind her seat to compliment her getaway. Katie didn’t say anything back, but you could see her blush. Katie had been a bit of a wild child back in her day, but adulthood had changed her, as it did most people.

From behind you, Eddie mumbled, “god, I hate this town.”

For the most part, Eddie was abnormally quiet in the back seat, and so you tried cracking some jokes, but Steve was the only one who engaged with you.

“Who was that guy?” You asked Steve, because you couldn’t bear the silence.

“Just some douche bag,” Steve responded, a piece of tissue stuffed up one nostril. “I accidentally had an affair with his wife almost a decade ago, and I guess he never forgot about it.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. “How does something like that happen accidentally?”

“Well, for one,” Steve sat forward in his seat and clamped one hand on the back of Katie’s chair. “She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. And two, I’m not sure I would’ve cared at the time, even if she had.”

That response elicited a bit of a scoff-chuckle from Eddie.

Munson’s Garage wasn’t too far from where you’d just been, and Steve jumped out to open the security gate before climbing back into his seat.

As the car idled in front of the main entrance to the building, white exhaust filling up the darkness, you heard Eddie get out, and then you waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He shut the door, and then you felt him hover there.

He leaned down into your open window, his head to the side and his hair hanging down. He met your eyes for a flash, but then he was trying to hand you something, and you opened your fingers so he could press something cool and tiny into your palm. “Hey, I’m really sorry about tonight. I think you dropped this the other day.”

You were too busy watching his face, the curve of his lips, the dark moon of his cuticles from residual grease stains, but when you realized he had just slipped you your missing earring, it caught you by surprise.

You could barely get out the words “wait...thank you,” before he turned on his heel and slipped a smoke between his lips, head down as he pulled his keys out to unlock the door.

“It was good to see you,” you called after him, but he was already inside the building and the door shut with a thud and a clack behind him.

Steve had been over at Katie’s window talking to her, but once he straitened up and came around to your side, he looked confused. “Where the fuck is Eddie? Did he go inside already?”

You didn’t answer him, you just waved goodbye as you rolled your window up.

“See you around, girls!” Steve called out from the center of the driveway, holding the hand in the air that had the gum wrapper number in it.

“Boys,” Katie said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she exited the complex and turned to head home. “They’ll be the death of me.”

-------

Part 3

____

[munsonhoneybaby]

Beginning Traditions | Eddie Munson X F!Reader

Summary: It’s your first Christmas in your new home with Eddie and the two of you are ready to explore the next steps you’ll take together as you form your own Christmas traditions.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, just some heavy making out honestly nothing bad in this one

A/N: takes place in december of ‘94. bit more of a blurb/drabble. this was originally gonna be some super sweet extensive thing with a lil breeding kink and some sex by the fireplace but uh- the month really got away from me. i’ll try and make it up to y’all with whatever i post next <3

The bluesy cadence of Elvis’s voice floated quietly through the main rooms of your home, the old holiday records your family had passed down having been dusted off in the name of the season. It was certainly a change of pace from the rock and metal cassettes you typically had playing. The golden twinkle of the Christmas lights worked hand in hand with the flickering fireplace to fill the room with a warm glow.

Four inches of snow blanketed the ground outside and, according to the weather report, the elements wouldn’t be letting up anytime soon. Inside, however, Eddie had turned up the heat and started the fire while you had made two mugs of hot chocolate ‘with all the fixins’. The Christmas tree was fully decorated, including multiple ornaments the two of you had made together. The only thing missing was the star on top, which was what led you to balance precariously at the top of your step stool, stretching to reach the top of the eight-foot tree.

Warm palms met your exposed skin as your boyfriend of eight years grasped your hips to steady you. “You gotta be more careful, pretty girl. Gonna gimme a heart attack.”

“Eds, babe, the ladder’s like two feet tall. If anything, I’m worried about takin’ the tree down with me.” You fidgeted with the fake branches, “Is the star sitting straight?”

“Looks perfect, honey.” He held a hand out to help you step down, tugging you a few steps back to take a look.

You hummed in agreement as he kissed your temple, your back pressing into his chest. “It’s pretty. You did a good job on the lights.”

He smiled at you before glancing out the window where the wind howled and the tree branches shook. “Thank God I put up the lights outside yesterday. Who knows when this storm’s gonna let up.”

Hip bumping his, you gave him a suppressed smirk. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find ways to keep busy. I just hope we don’t lose power, even with the heat going I’m still freezing.”

“If we can find ways to keep busy, we can definitely find a way to keep warm. Don’t you worry, honey baby.”

A ding from the oven drew you to the kitchen as Eddie put away the step stool. Grabbing the bag he’d stowed away in the guest room, he met you in the kitchen where you were swapping out the freshly baked sugar cookies for unbaked cookie dough. “Hey, I’ve got somethin’ for us to do tonight.”

“When did you go to Family Video?” You frowned in confusion at the bag in his hands.

Ignoring your question, he asked, “Remember that one kids’ Christmas movie you liked that came out last year? The Tim Burton one?”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas?” The smile spreading on your face had him pulling the brand-new VHS from the bag. With a little squeal, you took it from him to inspect it. He’d even gotten one with a plastic hardcover instead of a paper one. Your arms wound around his neck with a tight squeeze, “Thank you, Eddie!”

Squeezing your waist right back, he chuckled. “‘Course, pretty girl. Why don’t you go turn the movie on and I’ll make us some popcorn, hm?”

Less than a year until he’d turn thirty, and even after so many years with you he still stood in the doorway to watch you bend over and put the VHS in– only then did your boyfriend attend to his task of making popcorn. The hot bag burned his fingers as he dumped the microwaved popcorn into a big bowl. He joined you on the couch after pressing play for you, the festive pattern of your matching pajama pants blending together as your legs curled against his.

Eddie eyed your content expression as you watched the movie with a small smile. It had been a philosophy of yours to try and maintain the spirit of the holiday season for as long as Eddie had known you. Even when he’d still lived with Wayne, you’d insist on coming over to help decorate the trailer. He still remembers asking you about it on your first Christmas together as a couple. My family doesn’t really get along, you’d explained with an expression of shame that made his chest hurt. Not a lot of people show up to celebrate, and there’s always a fight when they do. I guess I just wanna try and enjoy what I have around times like this, y’know? Bring people together. He looked over at the two stockings hanging from the mantle of the fireplace and imagined more hanging beside them. “So, are you gonna leave cookies and milk out for Santa this year?”

Meeting his eyes out of the corner of yours, you smiled and popped a piece of popcorn in your mouth. “I s’pose I could if Santa actually wants to sneak in the living room at midnight to put the presents under the tree.”

“Well, I think he’s going to. He’s gonna need the practice if he’s gonna have a little one or two to deliver presents to in the Christmases to come.” He tried to keep a lightheartedly teasing expression on his face, but part of him tried to gauge how you would react to that.

“Little ones, huh?”

“Doesn’t have to be by next Christmas,” He reassured with a little smile. “All this’s just makin’ me think about it.”

“Yeah?” Your hand soothed over his clothed chest before slipping beneath his shirt to do the same to his skin. “Eddie Munson’s really thinkin’ about kids?”

His face flushed, head tilting down as his eyes darted around. “I don’t know, it’s just…we’re in such a good place– and I wanna stay like this for a while longer, I do, ‘cause this is perfect, y’know? I just think we’re getting there, I guess. Like maybe it’s time to start talking about parenting stuff a little more and preparing together?”

Cupping his cheek, you met his gaze with a small smile. You couldn’t help but kiss him, fingers winding into the loose messy bun that was falling out at the base of his neck. “We’ll talk about it, Eds. I promise.” You could feel his smile against your lips as they molded to his again, his arms surrounding you to draw you into his lap. “Eddie, the movie,” You pouted half-heartedly into the kiss.

“We’ve got it on VHS now, babe. We can watch it anytime,” He argued as his mouth found its way to your neck. Head rolling back to give him more room, you pulled your borrowed scrunchie from his hair. His hands wandered from your hips over your waist and up your back, mapping out each curve as though he didn’t already have them all memorized.

Pulling back slightly, your thumb stroked over his jaw. “You’re gonna be such a good dad.”

“You really think so?” He asked, a little nervousness seeping into his tone.

“I know so, baby. You’re gonna be amazing.”

He pulled you down into another ravenous kiss, mumbling against your lips. “I love you.”

On Christmas that year, he got down on one knee and gave you a ring.

The next year, you bit your nail as you watched Eddie unwrap his final Christmas gift from you– the first of several positive pregnancy tests.

<3

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[tatterings]

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 9, "A Flourish of New Growth"

AO3 LINK HERE

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Explicit (THE SMUT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR)

Tags/warnings: 18+, SEX, making out, emotional talk, frotting, top astarion, bottom halsin

Word count: 11,000

Header art by @solmesia. Proof/beta read & edited by @solmesia and @bloodlessbhaalbabe. Thanks to you both <3

“Oh Silvanus help me,” Halsin groaned as he shifted his hips. His blunt nails dug into Astarion’s hips.

A cry for his god. That would not do, not for this. The vampire almost sneered.

“Ah, ah, my darling,” Astarion tutted, his voice breathy and an octave lower than normal. He slowed his pumps just enough to pull what sounded like a sob from the larger elf’s lips.

Fic under the cut <3

“Protect my way back to you, my heart,” Halsin had said, his words’ gravitas not lost on the pale elf.

Astarion could comprehend that sensitive, druidic magic held the fragile portal open. He understood Halsin’s hesitance, his uncertainty if he could pass through, given that vampires were accursed creatures for which the gods have abandoned. What could Astarion offer the Oak Father as sacrifice, as supplication, to convince Silvanus to allow him to accompany the druid?

Astarion reeled, both from the vision of Halsin disappearing into the portal, and from the emotional hangover from being in the presence of the man who had peeled scabs from his scars and kissed them closed again. He swayed slightly in place, his eyes focusing not on the portal, but beyond it, as he stood amidst the ruckus of battle. Astarion felt sick to his stomach; that rotten bile he had felt when Halsin had rushed into battle yesterday returned. He realized now, parsing through his racing thoughts, that it was heartache. Over Halsin.

A fire bolt had struck the portal as Astarion stood frozen in place. He felt the bitterness rise to his throat as the portal flickered, threatening to close, its near-translucent light shimmering, flickering dangerously before it stabilized. His lips pulled taut to a thin line.

In a show of catlike agility, Astarion simultaneously turned on his heel from the portal and dropped to one knee and nocked an arrow in his short bow. He faced the hordes of shadow-touched monsters, and took aim at the sorcerer who had cast the firebolt. He let loose the explosive arrow and struck his mark. The creature’s robes burst into flame as it fell back several yards. Astarion sneered, fangs glinting as he watched the creature writhe in the agony it deserved for its boldness to attack the portal and Halsin’s way back to him. His partner’s way back to him.

Partner. What a strange concept; although he and Halsin had only just discussed the idea last night. The security afforded by the term had brought levity to his heart and mind he hadn’t felt in 200 years. Pure resilience had won his hard-fought survival during that time, and had been crafted by blocking up his feelings behind a wall. Each sexual, physical conquest had added another brick, and each session of torture had applied more mortar.

Astarion descended from the rock outcropping in shadow, slipping behind a cursed Harper and slitting its throat. Before the wretched creature could fall, Astarion had already moved on, slipping his dagger between the ribs of a cursed Githyanki a few yards away.He moved as an inaudible plague through the waves of enemies. His vampiric bloodlust was the embodiment of agility, of perfect stealth, of divine brutality; he was an apex predator with skills honed far beyond what nature had deigned to create.

His freedom had been won by fickle fate; not by feelings, not by begging for his freedom, pleading for any mercy from Cazador. And yet Astarion had considered, while wrapped in Halsin’s arms the last night, that the fragility of allowing himself to feel could offer a different sort of freedom. As he and Halsin had nestled their bodies in the bedroll, he had accepted the other elf’s offer of partnership. He had felt pixies flap their wings in his stomach at the idea of trusting another being with his safety.

The clothing of the slain Gith was a sufficient rag onto which he wiped the creature’s cursed blood from his blade. How odd, that he and Halsin were so tied by blood, here in these lands; Halsin’s offer of his lifeblood as nourishment had been genuine, out of concern that Astarion would starve in this place.

The druid was correct about the corrupted blood of shadow-cursed fiends. So, each night when Astarion went to feed, he fought to not also feed his own skepticism. His distrust of someone who seemed so genuine. But the druid made his dead heart feel as though it fluttered. No one prior had looked out for Astarion, said a kind thing to him. Halsin was the only one; the only one to have a bleeding, noble heart full of endless kindness. Far more benevolent and helpful than any god could ever be.

Another wave of shadow creatures appeared from the darkness; thick, thorny vines lashed out at the party, and snarls erupted from beasts half-rotted and half-burned by the ravages of the curse. More Githyanki who’d been dragged into the blackness appeared, lobbing attacks at the portal; and likely attacking his party members as well. But the vampire’s bloodlust was for those attacking the portal, and not for his friends who could stand their own ground.

Each time an arrow or spell struck the portal, Astarion felt his throat close. He had no faith in the gods to offer help; even Selûne, who arguably could have defended the portal by herself. Loathe though he was to admit it, and as much as it pushed the bile from his throat and into the back of his mouth, Astarion placed his faith in Halsin - his partner. And Halsin had placed his own faith in Astarion.

The vampire felt a fog fall over his eyes as he shot an arrow across the battlefield to fell a creature attempting to climb the rocks. He nocked another to aim and shoot at a charging, curse-ravaged dog. It lodged in the hound’s open maw and felled the creature mid-gallop. His blows were automatic, instinctual, and smooth. He was a dancer whose choreography had been honed to perfection through the symphony of fading mortal pulses. Astarion was jolted from his blood haze as the portal widened with a crackling buzz.

“It’s done!” shouted the druid Halsin, his broad shape appearing from the light. His shadow concealed most of the small body he held in his arms. The portal shrank and closed behind him with a fizz.

Astarion seemed to be made of mist as he weaved between the few foes remaining on the battlefield; he launched himself from the ground to the top of the rocks, landing on his feet with his feline grace. The rest of the party felled the remaining shadow creatures before coming to Halsin’s side.

The large druid lowered himself to a kneel, gently placing Thaniel’s small body on the cold stone. “I have him…but something is wrong,” Halsin said to Astarion, who loomed above them both. Halsin’s voice had wavered with concern. His sun-kissed face was smeared with scarlet; his hot blood dripped from a gash on his chin. Claws had been pulled across his exposed shoulders and through the armor on his chest, leaving cuts both deep and ragged, as though he had shaken a creature loose from his shoulders. On his broad cheeks and forearms, purple bruises blossomed. The druid had not healed himself while inside the Shadowfell.

His hands shook over Thaniel’s body as the boy lay limp on the stone, but only a crackle of green magic fell from his hands. Even Astarion sensed that the sort of magic afflicting Thaniel couldn’t be resolved through the efforts of a healer.

Halsin bent further to lift the fragile boy into his arms. “Thank you, all of you,” he said, his breath labored and short. “Help me bring him back to camp; something is dreadfully wrong. Some part of him is missing. He is…hollow.”

Astarion felt the bile finally rise into his mouth.

*****************

Though Halsin could have easily carried Thaniel’s limp body back to camp alone, his companions - his friends - had insisted on helping. Wyll and Lae’zel had taken the lead, torches in one hand and weapons in the other, ensuring their trek was safe. With what little magical power Shadowheart had left, she had cast minor healing spells on both Thaniel and Halsin to stop the bleeding from their deepest wounds. Karlach had held damp cloths in her hands, steam rising from the rags. She had dabbed them on Thaniel’s frigid hands and feet while they walked, trying to raise the boy’s low body temperature. Gale had held a moonlantern towards the rear, accompanied by Astarion, to ward off ambushes from behind.

The druid had walked silently with the group, the only noise having been the sizzle of steam from Karlach’s rags, the jangling of their armor, and the crunch of the pathway beneath their feet. Each adventurer had been exhausted, body and soul, and eager to return to their bedrolls. Had the arch druid truly known how fiercely the darkness would fight back, he would have called upon Jaheira and the Harpers for aid.

When the group had returned to camp, Halsin could assess Thaniel’s condition - there was nothing any of them could do to help him this night. They could search for an answer in the morning. Lae’zel had not waited long after Halsin’s explanation to trudge to her bedroll. Gale had left soon after staking the moonlantern in the soil by Halsin’s tent. Shadowheart, once she had confirmed that Halsin did not need her help, had also retired to bed; the druid had heard her flop onto the ground, armor and all, in a dull clunk. Despite his insistence, Karlach had stuck to the Halsin’s side as he examined Thaniel. After being reassured that she could not offer any aid in her current battle-worn state, the Tiefling had accepted Halsin’s order to go to sleep. Before Wyll had stumbled to bed, he had set up a small tent for Thaniel right beside Halsin’s, under the direction of Astarion - “A little to the left, darling, give them some breathing room”. Scratch had settled inside the tent, curling beside Thaniel’s cool body and resting his head on the boy’s chest.

Astarion had left Halsin’s side last. He offered no comment as the druid examined Thaniel; he sat in silence beside Halsin, cleaning out the underside of his sharp fingernails with his dagger. The arch druid appreciated his company, but guilt racked him when he observed the grime and blood crusted spatters on Astarion’s face.

“Please Astarion, go and rest. Do not stay here for my sake,” Halsin said, placing a hand on the vampire’s thigh. “I will hold vigil for a while longer, then you are welcome to visit with me. Although I cannot offer my blood,” Halsin met Astarion’s eyes with a meek smile, “I shed much of it in the Shadowfell.” The vampire only shrugged in response and nodded at his words, before he slipped away to his own tent with a soft, “As you wish.”

Halsin had since left Thaniel under the watchful eye of Scratch, whose tail flopped gently when Halsin had patted his head before leaving. He sat alone in his tent, fluffing the pillows into a pile to prepare for his trance.

But the crunch of gravel and the sound of someone gently clearing their throat caught his attention. “Knock knock, darling,” chirped a soft voice in a faux-whisper. Astarion lifted the tent flap, his curls brushing along the top as he entered. The vampire had taken the time to clean himself and change into his comfortable camp clothes. In his arms he held a small burgundy velveteen pouch, pulled closed with a golden string.

Halsin’s arms and legs felt as though they were weighed down with bricks. He ached from physical and emotional exertion and his injuries. He wished nothing more than to lie down, but as Astarion entered his tent, he felt as though he had downed a gallon of the most energizing tea. The sight of his partner pulled a wide smile to Halsin’s face and a warmth to his chest. He shifted to lean against the pillows and patted on the bedroll beside him.

“My heart, I am overjoyed you joined me tonight. Despite the lack of blood for you this evening,” Halsin said sincerely as Astarion settled beside him. He was always enamored by the vampire’s graceful composure when he was not caught off-guard; and as equally enamored by his awkward, less-planned out nature when he was not wearing his aloof mask.

“Oh come now, surely you don’t think I like you for just your blood?” Astarion asked, with a playful smirk, his quip an obvious joke to divert attention. “I do quite enjoy your body heat, too.” The vampire leaned against Halsin’s shoulder for emphasis and squeezed his pectoral muscle. Halsin jerked in response; Astarion’s slender fingers had accidentally pressed on one of his wounds. His brows furrowed in pain, but no anger formed inside him; it was a simple mistake. And yet, at Halsin’s severe expression, the vampire seemed to shrink beside him. His slender fingers dug into the bedroll. Halsin’s chest now hurt for more than one reason - his partner’s hypervigilance.

“Ah, I will survive Astarion,” Halsin said softly, placing his palm on top of Astarion’s hand, “I just ache all over; a minor inconvenience. Nothing to worry about.” Astarion’s shoulders seemed to relax. The vampire’s gaze darted to the pouch he had placed in his lap.

“So what did you bring, my heart?” Halsin said, his voice taking on an effervescent cadence, “I suppose it’s not honey to drizzle on my neck this evening?” He said with a chuckle, squeezing Astarion’s hand lightly.

A smile crept onto Astarion’s face and he shook his head at the lighthearted jest. His gorgeous curls bounced around his ears, which flushed slightly at Halsin’s teasing. The light from the lantern inside his tent cast a golden halo around Astarion’s white curls, making him seem ethereal, even more unnaturally beautiful. Halsin’s thumb rubbed against his delicate hand, and the druid’s heart skipped a beat when Astarion squeezed back.

“Well, let’s be honest with ourselves, Halsin,” Astarion started, his voice sharp, but ringing with humor. “You’re an exceptional healer, but I believe you have the humility to admit you’re in a rather pitiful state at the moment.” His teasing sent another chuckle to Halsin’s lips. He found Astarion’s sass endearing nearly every time, and frustrating only occasionally.

The vampire continued, pulling his hand from Halsin’s grasp to gesticulate as he spoke. “And, with Shadowheart equally exhausted, I thought I would be kind enough to offer my skills before an infection sets up in…all of that,” the vampire drawled, waving his hand at the wounds on Halsin’s chest and shoulder.

Halsin shrugged, then winced at the movement as it pulled on his wounds. “I did not want to consume the precious few healing potions we have left,” Halsin said with a defeated sigh, “Especially for wounds which I should have easily avoided.” The druid chuckled slightly and tilted his head to Astarion. “I hoped they’d serve as a reminder to take some lessons in agility from you once I healed.”

Astarion’s face flushed slightly, his lips pursing together in a smirk, then curving downward into an exaggerated scowl. “Here you are again being a self-sacrificial, stubborn old bear,” he said, landing a gentle, affectionate swat on Halsin’s biceps. “With all the rot about this place, it’s foolish to leave your cuts open to fester. But fortunately for you, I won’t let you do anything too foolish. I’m quite skilled with a needle and thread. I can suture the worst of your wounds shut for now.” His shoulders rose almost to his ears; the vampire was clearly more frustrated than his jokes let on.

Halsin’s head fell slightly, eyes dropping to the tent floor. He had already loosened his hair from his ponytail; his thick auburn locks fell into his face. “Again, you demonstrate your wisdom, my heart,” he said with a sigh. The druid tilted his head to look into Astarion’s eyes. “Kagha once accused me of being a sheep in bear’s clothing,” Halsin admitted with a bitter laugh. “And perhaps she is right. Perhaps my wild shape should be a sheep. Or perhaps a wild ass.” The druid smiled at Astarion, who let out a genuine laugh. It was soft, melodic, like a wind chime in a spring breeze.

“I would choose the latter of those two,” Astarion said with a wry grin, “Donkeys are nasty little creatures; they don’t ask before they bite.” The vampire leaned in to tuck loose hairs behind Halsin’s ear. “And you’re as stubborn a wild ass.” He got quiet for a moment, his ruby eyes studying Halsin’s face. “I wish you’d develop a harder heart. Shall I go seek Dammon to see what he could forge for you?”

It was Halsin’s turn to laugh, and his chuckle burst from his lips. The vampire continued as Halsin’s laughter died down. “I jest, of course, but you do need some mending, Halsin,” Astarion said, his jovial tone becoming intensely somber. “Now, do you want to stall more or may I stab you now?” The vampire grinned, patting his sack of needle and thread.

Halsin chuckled again, nodding his head. His ear still tingled where Astarion had brushed it when he tucked his hair back. “I place myself in your skilled hands,” Halsin replied with confidence. Astarion was far kinder than he let on, and the druid’s fondness for the vampire seemed to grow each day. Astarion was perhaps rough around the edges, but his heart was pure diamond, despite his insistence that his soul and heart were black as coal.

The druid unfastened the buttons on his vest, wincing as he slid the material from his shoulders. He glanced at the wounds on his chest - three of them oozed blood despite the battle being over hours ago. They would likely leave marks too, joining Halsin’s other scars that told the story of his life. But these would be special to him; they would bear evidence of both his success in retrieving Thaniel, and be markers of Astarion’s caring touch. Halsin took a deep breath and shifted to a cross-legged position, facing his partner.

The vampire averted his eyes back to the pouch of embroidery materials and busied his hands with preparing his tools. Astarion held the needle over the lantern flame, sterilizing the instrument. It grew red-hot before Astarion shook it to cool it. He slipped a thread of embroidery floss through the eye.

The vampire studied Halsin under half-lidded eyes, an unspoken question between them. Halsin nodded in response and patted his lap. The slender elf shifted to nestle in the hole between Halsin’s crossed legs. They sat, chests touching; Halsin’s hot-to-the-touch, fully-haired chest to Astarion’s clothed, cooler one. The vampire settled his knees at each side of Halsin’s ribcage.

Halsin did not shift nor speak; he did not want to break the vampire’s concentration. Astarion’s eyebrows were knit together in concentration, his lower lip pressed firmly underneath his fangs. The druid focused on his breathing; he knew tensing up would only increase the pain. His focus was steady, and as the needle punctured his skin for the first time, he reacted only with a slow exhale of his breath.

Astarion’s cool fingers nimbly pulled the thread taught, crossing to the other side of the wound to place the needle once more. Again, Halsin tried to focus on his breath, but the beautiful man in his lap, whose face contorted into a grimace as he treated Halsin’s wounds, was a wonderful distraction. Astarion finished his stitches on the first wound and dug for scissors in his pouch to cut and tie it off. Halsin peered down at the vampire perched in his lap.

“Thank you, for your kindness, Astarion,” Halsin said, smiling into Astarion’s curls as he pecked a kiss onto the vampire’s head. Astarion seemed to lean into his kiss, like a cat leaning in for a scratch of its chin. The druid could cover the pale elf’s body in kisses and it still would not be enough.

Astarion’s head shot up, one brow raised upwards. “Well, don’t get used to it, Halsin,” he said, his lips in a pout. “I learn from the lessons of others - look what kindness has gotten you.” He pierced Halsin’s sun-kissed skin with the needle to start sutures on the second deep wound. Halsin grunted at the pain; he hadn’t been prepared.

The druid closed his eyes, steadying it once more. “Astarion, I…want to say that I am deeply sorry,” Halsin said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. The pale elf paused, needle in hand, to meet Halsin’s eyes. “I will never again endanger you like I did at the portal. I care far too much for you to have you risk your own life along with mine.” The druid made out the concern in Astarion’s eyes; it wasn’t evident in any tears, but in the way the ruby eyes softened and rounded. The vampire’s shoulders lowered from his ears, and his hand fell slightly, needle still in his fingers; it was clear that he was not used to hearing apologies.

Halsin continued, bringing one of his hands to rub the tense muscles at the base of Astarion’s skull. “Thankfully, I have a brilliant partner whose sense of self-preservation is leagues stronger than my own,” the druid said with a chuckle, causing Astarion to jostle in his lap slightly. He placed his other large hand on the small of Astarion’s back. “And perhaps he could help me become more moderate in my foolishness?”

Halsin’s stomach flipped at the hint of a smile that began to form on Astarion’s plump pink lips. The druid couldn’t resist pulling gently at the smaller elf’s earlobe with his finger and thumb, before he bent forward to place a kiss on it.

“Oh my dear Halsin, you forgot to mention one thing,” Astarion said, holding up a finger. Halsin tilted his head in confusion as he pulled away. “I’m your brilliant, beautiful partner. Who fortunately knows his way around a needle and thread in the interim until his oaf of a druid learns to not let himself get carried away.” Astarion’s smile became genuine, tiny crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “But I still have some more work to do, so hold still.”

Halsin laughed heartily at Astarion’s words, and finally settled down, leaning back against the pillows again. The druid felt the affection in his heart grow hot, spreading through his body and down to his groin. Despite that their touch wasn’t sexual, Halsin felt himself swell at the thought of his future with this clever, beautiful man. He tried to shift nonchalantly, delicately, so that Astarion would not feel the erection beneath him.

“So, Astarion, where did you learn your embroidery skills?” Halsin asked, a deflection to distract from his attempts to rid himself of his hardness. Astarion’s hands paused above Halsin’s flesh and he exhaled in a sigh. His cool breath on the wound brought chill bumps to Halsin’s skin. The smaller elf’s body stiffened in his lap; the druid felt ashamed of once again finding a sensitive topic of conversation.

“To make a 200-year-long story mercifully short,” Astarion said, his lilt flowing in the blithe manner he adopted when he begrudgingly discussed the past, “Cazador was a penny-pinching bastard; we were rarely, if ever, given new clothing. I’ve mended my wardrobe more times than I can count. What I couldn’t mend, I had to steal.” His expression was severe; the contrast of the deep shadows and the light of the lantern stressed the creases on his face.

Halsin listened soberly to Astarion’s voice, wincing as the needle pierced his flesh and the thread pulled through. The slight swish of the thread, the crackle of the lantern’s wick, and his own occasional grunts were the only sounds heard in the seclusion of Halsin’s tent. He cradled the back of Astarion’s neck, but held his hands still; Halsin knew this was a time to provide shelter for the vampire, as strong and stoic as the stones of the Grove.

Astarion continued, bending closer to examine Halsin’s chest; his head blocked the direct light from the lamp. The vampire’s cool breath ruffled the curly hair on Halsin’s chest. “The tailoring skills were as helpful for mending rips and tears as they were for cuts and scrapes, which occurred occasionally when our…guests were less than willing to come with us. We would pickpocket thread and needle for both purposes.”

Astarion quieted again, tying off the last of his stitches. Halsin fought the growl forming in his gut as he ruminated on how the sadistic bastard would send his spawns on missions without the most basic necessities. The vampire lord did far worse than that far more regularly, as far as the druid could guess. Astarion’s mannerisms spoke volumes of Cazador’s cruelties, and it made Halsin’s heart ache as much as his body currently did.

Astarion’s lips pursed as he leaned back to observe his handiwork. Halsin’s hand darted out behind him, wrapping around the smaller elf to brace his lower back. As his calloused hands brushed against Astarion’s finely-mended shirt, he felt the vampire shiver slightly. His ruby eyes darted across Halsin’s shoulders and chest. The druid had found himself lost in those eyes dozens of times or more. Halsin followed his gaze.

As he studied the sutures, which started on his collarbone and ended nearly at his nipple, Halsin became increasingly impressed. Despite a red crust forming along the edges of the wounds, thick blood still oozed around the stitching of the deepest wound. Overall though, the thread pattern was tidy and careful, yet also functional. Indicative of immense care put into their creation. Halsin felt heat rush to his face and, much to his embarrassment, his groin again.

“I will give ample credit where it is due, Astarion. Your stitches are both more functional and prettier than any I could have managed myself,” he said with a wry grin. “Relying too much on the Oak Father’s blessed magic instead of practical skills has its repercussions, it seems. Thank you, my heart, for spending the evening with me, and for your skill with needle and thread.”

Halsin beamed at the vampire, his white smile shining brightly against his tanned skin in the lantern light. Astarion peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, his eyelashes fluttering on unusually flushed cheeks. The vampire seemed proud of himself, but had apparently decided not to gloat. His delicate hands had already set down the needle and thread, and hovered slightly above Halsin’s torso, brushing against the thick chest hair.

The druid met his eyes, his stomach fluttering with affection for the other man. Words alone were not enough of a show of appreciation. One large hand pressed against Astarion’s lower back to hold the smaller elf against his torso; the other tangled in Astarion’s curls. Halsin placed tender kisses along his brow. “I care for you so much, Astarion,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the pale elf’s ear.

Halsin exhaled slightly as he felt Astarion’s tented pants poke into his own erection. Then he felt resistance from Astarion shifting slightly. The druid banished the thoughts. He released his grip on the small elf; both hands still supported his back. The shadow cursed lands were typically chilly; but at this moment, Halsin felt as though he were in a sauna.

“You’re very sweet Halsin, thank you,” Astarion said, ears nearly as red as his eyes. “But, I’m not quite finished, if you’ll humor an idea.” The elf leaned back into Halsin’s hands, shifting his hips as though Halsin’s hands were pressing a pressure point. The druid rubbed the point with tenderness, delighting in the fluttering of Astarion’s pale eyelashes as he helped the vampire release the knot.

Astarion seemed to lose himself for a moment before he blinked quickly and returned to the moment. “How familiar are you with, erm,” Astarion started, pulling one hand from Halsin’s chest to tap his chin with a slender finger, “the properties of vampire saliva?”

Halsin’s hazel eyes went round, one thick brow arching upward. “I must say I am unfamiliar with it. Although, I did notice that the bite wounds from your feedings seem to heal quickly,” the druid admitted.

Astarion tilted his head back, studying Halsin through his eyelashes. “Of course you noticed, you’re an erudite man. In essence, the saliva has clotting properties to help seal the wound once we’ve gotten our fill.” The pale elf’s hand dropped back to Halsin’s chest as the vampire’s plush lips pulled into a taut line. “Or, they can help our own wounds heal faster. Cazador…never provided healing salves or potions. If we could not steal them, we were left to lick our wounds like dogs.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

The druid felt his fingers curl into Astarion’s back muscles; he intentionally loosened his jaw, else he would risk breaking a tooth with how hard he clenched his teeth together. He inhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry, Astarion,” he said, trailing his fingers up and down the smaller elf’s back. He felt chill bumps rise even through Astarion’s shirt, as well as what felt like ridges of scars. Halsin felt his pupils dilate and a growl form in his throat. If that bastard whipped him, I will rip out his throat myself, he thought.

“The past is the past,” Astarion said flippantly, waving his hand between their bodies. “I only brought it up to offer the same to you. There is one cut in particular that could benefit from my attention.” He dropped his finger to point at the longest laceration. It still oozed slightly.

Halsin exhaled, releasing his anger at Cazador along with his breath. “That would be most appreciated, my heart,” Halsin said, wise enough to know it would be unwise to ask for more details.

“Well then, lie back darling. It’ll be easiest that way,” Astarion said with a coquettish smile, exaggerating the risque potential in the situation. He gently pushed against Halsin’s broad pectoral muscles; the druid reclined against the pillows behind him.

*****************

If Astarion’s heart could beat, it would have thumped from his chest. Instead, he felt pressure there nearly as firm as the ache in his groin, which he had successfully ignored while closing Halsin’s wounds. How odd it was, to feel himself grow hard during a non-sexual act; he thought at the time it was the innuendo implied by piercing Halsin’s flesh. But as he saw the result of Halsin’s wounds cleaned and closed by his own hand, Astarion realized he had become aroused by simply caring for the man. After Halsin had returned through the portal, Astarion’s gut had twisted at the sight of Halsin’s flesh; his life blood had wept from the ragged wounds.

He had immediately felt a gnawing urge to help Halsin, and had cursed himself for carrying no spare healing potions. Astarion understood how it felt to be compelled by another; Cazador’s orders made his body obey as if they were his own desires. But as the vampire had gently tended to Halsin, he felt just as compelled to protect this man, to touch him, to feel the druid’s body against his own. But this urge was a choice; a desire.

It was an intoxicant that both rattled Astarion’s nerves and sent heat to his groin. Astarion settled his hands on either side of the druid’s torso, unable to resist sliding his fingernails along the ridges of his ribcage. It slightly unnerved him to see his own fingers tremble as they explored Halsin’s body. The vampire lowered his mouth to the start of the gash, along the large elf’s collarbone. Halsin’s large chest twitched at the sudden cold of his tongue.

Halsin’s torso arched upward as Astarion dragged his tongue along the claw wound. He lapped down from his shoulder to his collarbone; the stitches were rough against Astarion’s tongue. They were far more precise and careful than those he had ever done for Dalyria; and certainly those he had stabbed into Petras. On Halsin, his sutures were delicate patterns, beautiful even amongst the angry, red skin surrounding the threads. The wounds had dried almost instantaneously behind where his tongue had been. The druid’s body shivered from how the chilly saliva dampened his chest hair.

The druid seemed restless underneath him; Halsin’s hands trailed up Astarion’s spine, rubbing circles into the vampire’s muscles with his thumbs. Astarion nearly bit his tongue as he resisted arching his back in response. Halsin always seemed to find exactly where his muscles had knotted, and his practiced fingertips always loosened his tension. The pale elf could not recall a time in which he had touched Halsin and did not leave his arms feeling giddy. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

He lapped his tongue lower onto Halsin’s broad chest, curling the tip of his tongue as he licked. The druid writhed beneath him, similar to how he had during times Astarion had fed from him. The vampire wasn’t sure how long he had been lapping at the druid’s body, but he was sure that he enjoyed it. Feeling the much larger man wriggle beneath him at only the slightest flick of his tongue, made Astarion’s head spin with pleasure.

Astarion wanted to see more. To do more. To watch Halsin lose his composure at his masterful touch. He traced his tongue lower along the druid’s chest, far past where the wounds were, onto his undamaged flesh. His ministrations pulled a whistling hiss from Halsin. The druid’s hands had stopped wandering, and had settled on Astarion’s hips, fingertips gripping tightly.

Halsin lowered his chin to make eye contact again with Astarion. The druid had crescent indentions in the soft skin of his lower lip; he had been biting them as Astarion tasted his skin and his blood. Halsin lifted his hips into Astarion, the full weight of the vampire on top of him.

Astarion’s face flushed as he felt the solid, thick bulge of Halsin’s cock throbbing beneath his own. Halsin’s hands shook as he raised them to rest on Astarion’s ass, the tips of his fingers kneading on his skin. The vampire’s leather trousers became tighter in response. The druid’s heady expression, his lips parted and strands of hair stuck to his forehead, sent another pulse of need to his groin and a storm of anxiety to his mind.

Even with all the wounds, Halsin was a stunningly handsome elf. Astarion tilted his head, ruby eyes scanning the druid’s body; perhaps the wounds made him more handsome - the evidence of his intimidating nature in battle. It sent another pulse of need to his cock, which he automatically pressed against Halsin’s with a roll of his hips. The druid’s erection twitched in response.

He is exquisite, Astarion thought. He wanted to touch Halsin everywhere; watch his face contort in ecstasy, hear his pleasured whispers. As his mind swam with thoughts, he realized how deeply he desired Halsin, in more ways than they had previously experienced. Astarion longed to drown in Halsin like a cleric of Umberlee in the ocean, to be reborn again.

The idea of ceding control to the druid was an alarming yet terribly delicious concept. An urge that made the vampire roll his hips against Halsin’s swollen arousal. A whine escaped his plump lips at the friction. Halsin’s hands tightened on his ass cheeks, pulling at him from above. The druid’s mouth parted in a ragged exhale.

“Thank you, for caring for me, my heart,” Halsin said, his voice breathy, his hands quivering against Astarion’s muscled rear for a mere moment. Halsin’s shaky fingers soon lifted to rest against each side of Astarion’s face. One thumb brushed lightly over the vampire’s bottom lip. The other tucked a stray curl behind his red-flushed ear.

“For more than just the stitches…Thank you for also being by my side through all of this,” the druid said, his voice trembling almost as much as his hands. “And I also forgot to thank you for the kiss…at the portal.”

Astarion’s chin dipped down, Halsin’s eye contact becoming too much to bear. He felt his cheeks become warm from both blushing and the soft caress of the druid’s thumbs. “I…thank you, too. I rather liked it,” he started, before raising his gaze back to Halsin, “Although I would have preferred it to not have felt like it was our last kiss.”

Halsin chuckled heartily, bobbing Astarion up and down on his barrel chest. “Then may I make it up to you, my heart?” he asked gently, his fingers carding through Astarion’s curls. The druid’s honey eyes seemed to have misted over. Astarion’s brows furrowed as he tried to study them closer; was Halsin fighting back tears? “I would like to taste your lips. I want to kiss you with the reverence that you so truly deserve.”

Astarion felt faint, overwhelmed by all that was the arch druid Halsin: his amorous words, tender eyes, and now his strong arms, which had shifted to the pale elf’s back to embrace him once more. This feeling, whatever it was - infatuation, desire, lust - made the vampire anxious.

Astarion settled down, calming himself by meeting the gentle gaze of his partner, before nodding slightly. His lips parting without uttering a word as he lowered his face to Halsin’s, capturing the druid’s mouth in a kiss. Halsin’s lips felt like fire against the coolness of his own. Astarion traced his tongue along Halsin’s bottom lip, over the scars that lingered there.

Halsin returned the kiss greedily before his lips flittered along the vampire’s jawbone, down to his angular chin. His blunt teeth nibbled at the tender underside of Astarion’s neck before his wide, hot tongue pulled across the pale elf’s throat. Astarion felt as though he were molasses under Halsin’s ministrations; he felt himself melting in his mouth. Halsin lapped at the circular divots scarred on Astarion’s neck, suckling the ivory skin to raise a bouquet of blossoming bruises to its surface.

Astarion felt as though he had spent the night drinking; his head spun as he groaned at Halsin’s love bites, and his hips seemed to act of their own accord, pressing into Halsin’s. The friction made him feel as though he were going mad with desire, and he blinked away the stars with a sultry whine.

And yet, Astarion’s hands trembled as they pressed against the undamaged patches of skin on Halsin’s chest. Astarion’ couldn’t fight the rigidity that formed in his entire body. Halsin pulled away from Astarion’s mouth as soon as he felt the pale elf’s jaw quivering in his kiss.

“I…it seems like you want this,” Halsin panted, nearly out of breath. He placed his arms under Astarion’s, embracing him gently. “But I sense your hesitance. I do not wish to make love to the phantom of the person for whom I care most. I can abstain, Astarion.”

Halsin gently kissed the curls that stuck to the vampire’s sweat-covered brow and placed his forehead against Astarion’s. The druid inhaled and exhaled slowly, his hot breath blowing on the sweat beaded on Astarion’s neck and his damp shirt. The pale elf shivered at the contrasting temperatures of Halsin’s scorching embrace against his own undeath.

Astarion blinked quickly, squinting his eyes to hold back the wetness forming in them. For centuries he hated the idea of anyone touching him, and the sensation of touching anyone else. But as Halsin had disappeared into the portal, Astarion had felt a ravenous rot of anguish and grief twist his soul. He could have lost Halsin. Astarion himself could have been killed, whilst defending the druid at that bloody portal. Since then, the vampire had been brooding over the concept of his own mortality. At any moment, Cazador could capture and kill him, or his body could twist into a mind flayer.

Fate had never been kind to him, but could he accept its cruelty once more, by not chasing the opportunity for a genuine connection? For true intimacy? Astarion clenched his fingers, digging his nails into his palms, as if he could crush the life out of the anxieties that taunted him. He wanted to touch Halsin; More than anything in Faerun and the heavens and hells, save his own freedom. Whatever was left of his soul ached to feel something with the handsome, gentle wood elf. Did I not just spend a morning fighting for just that - my freedom to be intimate with my own partner?

Astarion broke eye contact with the druid as his fear lurched in his stomach and clawed at his chest. It sneered at his hope, insisting that the druid’s soft-spoken proclamations of dedication were falsehoods. Merely surface-level lies that were a roundabout means of possessing Astarion’s beautiful body.

The vampire did not want to believe it. Astarion brought his ruby eyes back to Halsin’s. Do I not deserve, at long last, to experience pleasure? Kindness? With someone who is interested in me, as a person…or at least someone who claims to be? Astarion felt as though he were drowning in his thoughts as he scanned Halsin’s face, searching for answers, for a life preserver to which he could cling. He desperately wanted to believe that Halsin was everything that he had shown himself to be. The vampire’s tongue could not form words, so instead he ran it across the pointed tips of his fangs.

As Astarion had sat silently, lost in his thoughts, Halsin remained patient; he did not push him to speak The large elf sat quietly and raised his hand from the small of Astarion’s back to his shoulders. Halsin rubbed the calloused pads of his fingers on Astarion’s back muscles, which felt tense from pulling his short bow.

A sigh fell from Astarion’s lips at Halsin’s warmth and tenderness.

“Halsin, I,” Astarion began, swallowing thickly, “I was…distraught at the idea of losing you today.” The large druid tilted his head, gazing at Astarion with eyes that had misted over slightly. Halsin inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, circling his thumbs now on the muscles under Astarion’s shoulder blades.

“I can’t…I can’t go another day without having explored…you. Us. And what we can experience together.” Astarion’s words were clumsy, stammering. He spoke quickly, as if he were afraid he would forget his words. “But it is still a challenge for me. To let go,” the vampire admitted, dropping his sight away from Halsin’s eyes.

Astarion jumped in surprise as his head and torso were pulled against Halsin’s chest, his cheek tickled by the druid’s thick chest hair. Halsin’s heartbeat was loud, steady, and comforting. The pale elf closed his eyes and felt his muscles loosen slightly in Halsin’s embrace. The druid’s fingers slid along his porcelain neck, up into his curls, gently trailing along his scalp. It brought goosebumps to his skin.

As Halsin prepared to speak, the vampire felt his words vibrate in his chest before they escaped his lips. “You do not have to let go,” Halsin said, placing a kiss on the smaller elf’s curls. Astarion’s arms wrapped around the larger elf.

“I have been in many situations that robbed me of my control,” Halsin continued, his rumbling voice soothing Astarion with its soft vibrations. “And those were frustrating and uncomfortable enough. I cannot imagine how 200 years of that would feel; besides perhaps the anguish of all of Nature’s most wrathful storms converging all at once.”

Halsin’s cock twitched as Astarion nuzzled into the soft skin under his chin. “But Astarion, please know that I want nothing more than to be your safe harbor in those storms,” the druid said, seeming to push his own desires aside. Halsin placed a curled finger under Astarion’s chin and pulled the vampire’s face up to meet his. A sweet smile crinkled the druid’s crow’s feet. Astarion’s blood-moon eyes went soft, attempting to memorize every wrinkle, scar, and eyelash on Halsin’s handsome face.

“Astarion, I care for you beyond reckoning. I want you for more than your body… more than your battle prowess, or your companionship by the campfire,” Halsin said, his deep voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “I want to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine.” Halsin blinked away the wetness in his eyes and raised the pad of his thumb to Astarion’s cheek. “Whether our intimacy is in sex, or in another equally magnificent form…I just want to be with you. I just want to be yours, and for you to be mine.”

The pale elf felt his lips part, and a weight lifted from his lungs. He swallowed deeply, his throat bobbing as he choked back tears that verged on breaking loose. Halsin’s heartbeat thumped forcefully against his palms, as steady and reliable as the druid himself. Astarion’s mouth closed and opened several times before he could form words.

His eyes drifted from Halsin’s, down to the druid’s thin lips. Halsin’s lips, his face, and his entire body were scarred with battles in which he’d always been on the side of good, the side of kindness. The druid seemed to be a fount of kindness itself, overflowing to pour steadily into Astarion’s empty, broken cup.

“I…want that too, Halsin. I want you. I want us. I want this,” Astarion said, his breath shaking as he spoke. He leaned towards the druid’s face, his open mouth placing a gentle kiss on Halsin’s. The pale elf placed another, capturing Halsin’s lower lip in his; the druid moaned in response, squeezing a fistful of his white curls.

Astarion could wait no longer. He laid claim to the scorching heat of Halsin’s mouth, of his tongue. He nipped at Halsin’s top lip, then the bottom, tugging gently at it between his sharp fangs as he pulled away. Halsin’s mouth followed Astarion and captured his lips in another kiss, deepening it, tasting the vampire’s tongue, slightly coppery, before pulling away.

Halsin beamed at Astarion, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It stirs my heart to hear you say that, Astarion. I would like all of that very much. But…I want you to have control over our intimacy. For as long as you need, until you are comfortable in sharing that opportunity with me,” Halsin said, his eyes glowing golden, shining at Astarion in the dim light of the tent like a cat’s eyes lit by a torch. Astarion nodded weakly, perceptible to Halsin only because of the gentle grip his fingers had found in the pale elf’s hair.

“So if you’ll have me,” the druid continued, his voice almost a growl, “I am at the mercy of your touch.” The sparkle of Halsin’s amber eyes outshone the stars as he maintained Astarion’s gaze. Astarion’s hands wrapped around Halsin’s bare waist, fingers curling into the druid’s hips, anchoring himself to the bliss of this reality.

“I would like that,” Astarion replied, a shyness in his voice that even he wasn’t prepared to hear. His lips curved into a smirk, his fangs flashing in the lamplight. He placed another needy kiss on Halsin’s lips and leaned forward, sliding his hands along Halsin’s skin, raking his fingers through the chest hair. The vampire marveled at how perky Halsin’s nipple was as his finger brushed against it. He felt his mouth water.

The pale elf pulled away, peering at Halsin through half-lidded eyes as his finger tweaked at the druid’s nipple. Halsin’s teeth had captured his bottom lip, as if he were holding himself back from ravishing Astarion. The vampire bent slightly and lowered his face to Halsin’s chest.

The druid did not protest as Astarion swirled his tongue around the pert, peachy flesh; he only threw his head back, his lips parting with a pleasured sigh. A smile crept to the corners of the vampire’s mouth. He pulled tenderly at Halsin’s nipple with his blunt front teeth, drawing a hiss from the druid. The vampire exhaled onto Halsin’s nipple, his cool breath making it somehow even harder.

Halsin hands were chaste, merely holding Astarion firmly in his lap; the druid otherwise seemed content, enthralled even, to be toyed with at Astarion’s whim. The vampire needed more. He needed to see what Halsin would do under his masterful touch.

He rolled his hips into Halsin’s, grinding their erections together through their clothes. The druid’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the delicious friction, which pulled a lustful moan from both men. Halsin’s hands drifted from Astarion’s thighs to his hips, slipping under Astarion’s loose linen tunic. The druid’s thick thumbs dug into the v-shaped muscle at the vampire’s hips as if Astarion would float away from him. Halsin pulled away and leaned back to peer at Astarion, his thick eyebrows raised upward. It was a question, unspoken - is this okay?

The vampire gave a small nod, goosebumps rising along his skin. Halsin’s grip squeezed momentarily on his hips - his hands were comforting, and so warm around his body. If his heart had a beat, Astarion was sure it would have doubled its pace when Halsin had asked him for yet another sign of consent. The druid was agonizingly gentle, unnervingly kind. Astarion worried his bottom lip with his fangs.

Halsin waited, his lips parted as he panted for breath, for the vampire to continue their passion; he held to the small elf’s hips only to stay grounded in their intimacy, not spurring Astarion on, nor discouraging his affection. Halsin’s amber eyes fixed on Astarion’s. His clothed cock throbbed beneath the pale elf. He was a loyal soldier awaiting a command, a servant expecting a request, a lover allowing a moment to build. The tenseness between them was a short bow string pulled taut; ready to either let loose or snap in two.

For the first time in two centuries, Astarion realized it was his turn to be in control. True control, akin to that of a stage director, opposed to his experience as lead actor who commanded the stage at the whims of someone else. But now, with no master except his own desires, Astarion was elated to experiment. The rush of the power was intoxicating, sending throbs of pleasure to Astarion’s aching cock. The vampire released a sigh he did not know he had been holding. Halsin inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, his hands trembling at Astarion’s sides in anticipation.

The bow string snapped in two.

In a single movement, the vampire slipped one hand behind Halsin’s neck, his auburn hair slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He pressed his mouth, open and greedy, against Halsin’s, who returned his passion eagerly. Astarion’s other hand darted to Halsin’s trousers and deftly pulled out the laces.

The druid’s girthy cock pulsed at Astarion’s movements as it fell free from its confinement. Halsin groaned at the sensation of Astarion’s cool palm gripping his shaft. Halsin was fully erect, weeping in need already, his tip flushing a deep red. Halsin’s cock was uncut, his foreskin allowing Astarion’s hand to glide along its length. Astarion savored the sensation like it was the blood of a sacrificial virgin.

“By all the gods Halsin, you’re beautiful,” Astarion said, his lips parted slightly. The tips of his fangs were visible, glinting in the lamplight. Halsin was thick, and the firmness of his erection in his cool palm made the vampire’s own cock throb with unabashed desire. The druid moaned again, pulsing in the vampire’s hand, his hips swaying slightly beneath Astarion. In response, the pale elf offered a couple slow pulls from the base of Halsin’s shaft to the tip.

“Fuck,” was all Halsin could manage, his head falling back as he panted into the air. Seeing the druid come undone at his touch gave Astarion luxurious shivers of satisfaction from his scalp to his cock.

Halsin, true to his word, kept his hands as still as he could. His large fingers still dug into Astarion’s hip bones through his leather trousers, shaking with yearning. The large elf met Astarion’s gaze with his pupils blown out, his lips slightly parted as a moan slipped from his mouth. Astarion’s palms were slick with sweat and his fingers fumbled as he used his free hand to unfasten his own trousers.

The vampire’s arousal sprung free from his pants and bobbed in the air. Astarion hissed at the coolness surrounding his cock and thrust his hips closer to Halsin. He wrapped slender fingers around them both, shivering with the pleasure of Halsin’s heat against his erection. Halsin locked eyes with Astarion as the vampire pressed their cocks together.

“Astarion, every part of you is magnificent,” Halsin praised through labored breaths. “Your touch, I-” The druid’s words escaped him as Astarion shifted his hand to rub up and down their lengths. Halsin’s loose hair fell in front of his ears, onto his shoulders, sticking to his sweat-dampened chest. He glistened in the lamplight, like some sort of apparition.

Astarion struggled to not lose himself at Halsin’s appearance, at the tenderness and longing in the druid’s gaze. He pulled a few slow strokes for them both, his mouth open in a pant as their cocks rubbed against each other. The undersides of each of them slid against the other; the swollen shafts shifting as Astarion pumped his hand around them.

Halsin’s mouth fell open, the words he attempted to form trapped behind his tongue. His thoughts, praises, and curses seemed to escape him as Astarion flicked his thumbs over their slits. Pre-cum dribbled down their shafts as Astarion languidly circled his thumbs down the glistening heads, lubricating them further. The vampire’s strokes were smooth, his firm grip gliding over their mutual hardness as their foreskins pulled back and forward with his pumping hand.

Astarion looked to his own hand as it encircled both of their cocks; he relished in the sight of Halsin’s arousal next to his own. Halsin followed his gaze down; the druid’s sex pulsed and felt like it had grown harder at the sight alone. Halsin was thicker, but Astarion had a luscious curve that promised to hit all the naughtiest places. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see that even Halsin’s shaft was sun-touched and as tan as the rest of his skin. The vampire, of course, was pale as a full moon, except for the head of his cock, ruddy with the rush of blood.

The visual contrast was striking enough that Astarion realized it had been a moment since he stroked them together. Halsin had not rushed him to move, but his hips were pressed firmly upwards in need. Astarion’s breath caught in his throat as he pulled upwards again, more pre-cum beading at the tip of both their shafts. The vampire had tried similar positions before, and had plenty of experience with men; but in this moment, he forgot all of them. He and Halsin existed alone in this new world, one of pleasure and of comfort, and he wanted to explore it completely.

Astarion maintained the pumping rhythm with one hand, drawing more guttural moans from Halsin’s lips. With his other hand, he teased Halsin by swirling his fingers under the flared head of the druid’s cock. His fangs peeked from his upturned lips as the druid groaned at his touch. The druid’s contortions and hushed murmurs of rapture were irresistible prayers; Astarion felt like the god before whom Halsin supplicated.

Astarion’s cock quivered in need, more slick pre-cum spilling from its pink tip, dripping onto the vampire’s hand as he pumped both of their erections steadily. The druid peered hungrily at Astarion’s cock like it was a feast, and he was a ravenous dinner guest. But Halsin showed immense self-restraint, his hands still curled around Astarion’s waist, allowing the smaller elf to enjoy complete control.

The vampire basked in Halsin’s attention, in his own gratification, and in the pleasures he bestowed to his partner. Astarion bit back back the curses that he, too, wanted to let loose; the tip of his own fangs pierced his bottom lip.

“Oh Silvanus help me,” Halsin groaned as he shifted his hips. His blunt nails dug into Astarion’s hips.

A cry for his god. That would not do, not for this. The vampire almost sneered.

“Ah, ah, my darling,” Astarion tutted, his voice breathy and an octave lower than normal. He slowed his pumps just enough to pull what sounded like a sob from the larger elf’s lips. Halsin’s noises were foul. They were erotic. They were delicious.

Astarion savored the change of pace, the tantalizing tease of edging. He wanted to see how far he could take the larger man; how far he could take himself. The pale elf struggled to compose himself against the luscious friction. For once in his long life, he wanted to prolong the indulgence, the satisfaction, and the climax. It was a taunt; it was an indulgence. It was the ambrosia of a divinity all his own, brought to reality as he explored his hedonism with Halsin.

Astarion’s vision blurred as Halsin’s hips strained under him. The druid was eager and aching to thrust into the vampire’s palm but unable to, with how fiercely his knees trembled, and with Astarion’s weight in his lap. A rumble began in Halsin’s throat, and Astarion nearly climaxed from both the sound and the power he had over the man beneath him.

Other lovers had moaned his name of course, or more often, slurred it. But how delectable would it sound coming from Halsin’s lips instead? Astarion’s chest tightened. He had to find out.

He distracted himself from the daydream by sliding one hand from their shafts to cup Halsin’s balls, pulling yet another rumbling moan from the large elf. The druid’s sac was heavy in his palm, the curly hair tickling against Astarion’s milky skin. The vampire slid two fingers along the seam on Halsin’s sac, then pressed slightly on his perineum, back and forth, until he drew a moan from his partner. Astarion grinned in satisfaction.

Halsin’s hips shifted again underneath Astarion, his well-muscled thighs pressing up against him. The druid gazed at Astarion through half-lidded eyes, sweat dripping from his brow onto his cheek. The pale elf relished in Halsin’s unkempt appearance; his lips were parted, his brows furrowed, his hair stuck to his forehead. He was gorgeous.

The vampire’s fingers rolled Halsin’s balls gently, again causing the druid to squirm underneath them and let loose a string of oaths under his breath. His fingertips softly pulled at Halsin’s sac, his nails grazing the tightened skin. The druid seemed to melt at the vampire’s ministrations; Halsin could hardly speak. However, Astarion read lips well enough to pick up the words “Oak Father” on the druid’s mouth.

Astarion shook his head again, clucking his tongue in playful admonishment. This man will ruin me, Astarion thought. He loosened his grip around them both.

“Oh, dear Halsin, the gods have nothing to do with this sin,” Astarion hissed, a wicked grin pulling at his lips as he made locked eyes with Halsin. The druid’s pupils were blown out, his irises still glowing slightly, his nostrils flared and lips parted as he clung on the precipice of climax.

“When we are together, you’ll say only my name,” Astarion purred, basking in the reverence in Halsin’s eyes. They were clouded by lust and something else, far deeper: a fervent, warm, honey-sweet affection. Astarion squeezed their shafts again for a momentary tease, eliciting a succulent whimper from Halsin’s lips.

“Gods,” Halsin practically sobbed, and gripped Astarion’s hips tighter when the vampire loosened pressure around his cock. “Please…”

“Ah ah, to whom do you beg, darling?” Astarion’s voice was firm. Commanding. Authoritative.

“To you,” Halsin corrected feverishly. His bottom lip quivered as he gazed into Astarion’s wine-red eyes. His body quaked beneath the vampire. “My heart, my everything. My Astarion-”

Astarion captured Halsin’s lips in a growl of his own. It was obscenely erotic, to have such a stoic, eloquent man undone by his hands. His stoic, eloquent man. Astarion crushed his lips onto Halsin’s harder, his tongue exploring the druid’s hot mouth, which opened readily at the vampire’s touch. Halsin’s lips were luscious, but the druid needed to breathe; Astarion pulled away, saliva stringing between their lips before dripping down onto Halsin’s chest.

He wanted Halsin to be his; for now, forever, for as long as he could swim in the bliss he felt in Halsin’s companionship. Astarion pumped their cocks steadily, firmly, occasionally wincing as his palm grazed the sensitive flare of his own cock.

He smirked when he pulled the same reaction from Halsin, and repeated the gesture gently to make the druid writhe again. Halsin’s breath came out in such delicious whimpers, breath ragged with pleasure that grew with each touch beneath Astarion’s skillful fingers.

Halsin’s head fell backwards, his auburn braids stuck to the sweat on his brow. Astarion felt the druid’s sac tighten in his palm as a low moan escaped him. He was close now.

“Pray to me, darling,” Astarion whispered against Halsin’s gasping lips.

And pray Halsin did, with a wrecked cry of his name. The druid’s hips convulsed as he climaxed, a thick rope of cum spilling over Astarion’s elegant fingers.

Astarion used Halsin’s spill as additional lubricant, panting as he pumped himself to climax. His sac tightened, his balls felt like they would burst from pressure as he came closer to his climax. The pale elf met Halsin’s gaze before his vision blurred; the druid surprised him as he captured his lips in a passionate kiss and explored the pale elf’s pliant mouth with his hot tongue.

Halsin’s attention pushed him to orgasm. Astarion’s ears rang as stars burst behind his eyelids as he, too, coated his hand with his seed. The pale elf’s head swirled, but he felt himself smile back into Halsin’s lips, the feeling of warmth of the other man’s palm against his cheek. This, Astarion decided, was perfection. This was bliss. This is how sex was supposed to be, what it should have been. What it could continue to be.

Astarion felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and he let them fall. This little death, this drowning in Halsin’s affection, this exploration of something new was stronger than any intoxicant Astarion could imagine. And he knew that, and Halsin, would be far more addictive.

Halsin pressed a palm to Astarion’s chest, breathing deeply with the pale elf as he slowly floated back to the world. If his cold heart could have done so, Astarion felt as though it would flutter at the druid’s gentle touch. Halsin wrapped his arms around Astarion’s torso and leaned back into the pillows, pulling his partner with him. Astarion felt the weight of Halsin’s arm draped across his back. The druid’s large hands stroked the vampire’s tense shoulder muscles through his now-sticky shirt. 

Post-climax bliss, something Astarion had experienced rarely over his lifetime, still fogged his mind. The vampire’s hands settled on Halsin and were tickled by the druid’s chest hair. He found relaxation in the steady thump of his beating heart. Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he nestled his face under Halsin’s neck; the heat from the druid’s skin felt soothing on his forehead. Even though his shirt was damp and forehead slick with sweat, the vampire always ran cool to the touch.

The druid’s thumbs rubbed down both sides of his spine, rumpling Astarion’s shirt. Halsin’s motions were slow and intentional; it struck Astarion that massage, too, is an art of healing. As was lying beside, on, or with his partner. Just like this. The vampire lost himself in Halsin’s gentle carress, intent on keeping this moment alive for as long as he could.

Halsin was the first to shift from their position; he pressed Astarion to his chest in another embrace, then held the smaller elf in an unusually firm grip. Astarion raised his head, brows furrowed in confusion, to stare at his partner. Halsin’s face was expressionless, unreadable. The vampire’s mouth parted as he prepared to ask Halsin’s intent as the druid’s hazel eyes met his own.

Halsin did not give his partner a chance to speak, and placed a brief kiss on Astarion’s lips, only to pull back and pepper the vampire’s face and neck with kisses, tickling Astarion’s sensitive skin. The pale elf felt a squeak escape his lips as he squirmed in Halsin’s grip. The druid captured the vampire’s wrist and held it firmly, kissing Astarion’s fingers, then his palm. Halsin seemed to delight in planting tickling kisses along Astarion’s pale wrist. Halsin nibbled in the crook of Astarion’s elbow, up his sleeved biceps, and back up to his collarbone, holding the vampire firmly as he squirmed in his grasp. Astarion felt himself erupt into laughter, genuine laughter and joy, as the druid mercilessly planted ticklish pecks along his neck and chin.

After what seemed like an eternity of delightful torture, Astarion felt the grip on him lessen. Halsin shifted the placement of his large hands onto either side of the pale elf’s face. Astarion couldn’t resist their warmth, and leaned his face into Halsin’s palm; his eyes were closed, pale eyelashes kissing his cheeks. He allowed himself to live in this moment far longer than he ever allowed himself to indulge before.

As his eyelids flitted open, Astarion met Halsin’s gaze, softer than the vampire ever thought possible. “Astarion…” Halsin whispered, bringing his lips meet his partner in another kiss. It was a soft, tender exchange; chaste and sweet, like their very first had been. The pale elf pulled away just enough to speak.

“Halsin…” Astarion said softly, just centimeters from the druid’s lips, “thank you.” He lowered his head back to Halsin’s chest, his face and ears flush. He felt the druid nuzzle his face into his hair, and Halsin’s hot breath blowing through his curls. Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut as he fell into a trance to the sound of Halsin’s heartbeat.

[tessenpai]

Kono Oto Tomare Chapter 128 Scans and Rough TL

Disclaimer: Please DO NOT use this translation to make your own TL of the chapter!! The KOT TL group works very hard to give you the most accurate translation, that does as much justice to the original script as possible. This is a ROUGH translation. That means is faulty and there must be mistakes in certain places. This is just for impatient people like myself to get a grasp on what is going on in the chapter! You can REFERENCE my TL if you want to discuss the chapter but never USE it as it was your own.

Scans: https://klz9.com/jxsh-kono-oto-tomare-raw-chapter-128.html

Page 1

Sign: Judge's Waiting Room.

Side Text: It's Tokise's turn. The competition's second day begins...

Chapter Title: #128 Dull Footsteps

Judge Tatsumi: !

Judge Tatsumi: Agata-sensei, Kurokawa-sensei. Good morning. You are both early, I see.

Page 2

Judge Agata: No, we just arrived ourselves.

Judge Tatsumi: Did you get enough rest yesterday?

Judge Agata: Well, yes.

Judge Tatsumi: I was so excited I didn't sleep a wink!

Judge Tatsumi: To think high school clubs would display such high level!

Judge Tatsumi: And today Ichiei, the best in the nation, will play. I truly can not wait.

Judge Kurokawa: Certainly, they have won for 5 consecutive years.

Judge Tatsumi: Exactly! That is amazing---

Judge Kurokawa: Then again, Ichiei's members are all children who aim to become professionals, so it's to be expected that they are at a completely different level.

Judge Tatsumi: You may be right about that but... Yesterday's Meiryo and Chibana's performances were perfect

Judge Tatsumi: I can't imagine what could possibly surpass that.

Page 3

Judge Tatsumi: ---Also, there is one school that has picked my interest.

Judge Kurokawa: !

Judge Kurokawa: Aah, you mean that problematic school...

Judge Kurokawa: They are out of the question, I would say.

Judge Kurowaka: How could they cause such a commotion and not get suspended?

Judge Tatsumi: They did explain to us that the students weren't really at fault for the incident.

Judge Kurokawa: Where there is smoke, there is fire. It's detrimental to the other students as well.

Judge Kurokawa: At least we, the judges, should give a proper and fair evaluation---

Judge Agata: Are you not planning to judge them solely based on their performance?

Judge Kurokawa: Eh...?

Page 4

Judge Agata: Excuse me but, it sounded to me like you are planning on lowering your rating over areas irrelevant to the performance, so…

Judge Kurokawa: ...I'm sorry you see it that way. To begin with, I don't believe you can separate the performance from the performer.

Judge Kurokawa: For instruments and music... Attitude. Courtesy, Respect... I believe those things are included in the performance.

Judge Kurokawa: And I will most definitely consider them in my judgment.

Judge Kurokawa: --Well, I don't know if you would understand this, Agata-sensei, since you are a musician who always does new things, like collaborating with other genres and using unusual performance methods without respecting the traditions.

Page 5

Judge Agata: I have never disrespected tradition.

Judge Arata: I am trying to explore all of its possibilities while cherishing it.

Judge Tatsumi: Now, now.

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: Man... These two are a pain in the ass as per usual...

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: ---Then again, the school in question... I feel sorry for the Tokise kids.

Judge Tatsumi[thoughts]: Even in the unlikely event that they make it to the top

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: I can clearly see the bashing we would receive from other schools and their parents.

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: I want to avoid that kind of hassle.

Page 6

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be conscience-stricken if I lowered my ranking because of that.

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: At the end of the day

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: It will be fine as long as Tokise's performance is not that good.

Judge Nanba: Good morning---

Judge Tatsumi: Nanba-sensei, Iwagaki-san, good morning.

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: --My... to think I could be so calculating and cowardly.

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: I think I have become one boring adult.

Page 7

Isaki [thoughts]: I was a bit late to leave. I wonder if I can still ambush Takaoka-kun.

Isaki [thoughts]: Also, I wonder if Uzuki will be waiting for me

Isaki [thoughts]: If not… well, that's the path he chose for himself.

???: Isaki.

Page 8

Isaki: Eh?

Tetsuki: ...

Tetsuki: ...Whatever, I've already gotten used to it. This pattern.

Tetsuki: Alright, fine. I will get in.

Page 9

Isaki: ...Takaoka-kun, sorry.

Tetsuki: Eh?

Isaki: For every time I've taken you forcibly on a drive, I have not once felt an ounce of regret about it. If anything I enjoyed seeing how much you hated it.

Tetsuki: What?

Isaki: But today

Isaki: I regret it from the bottom of my heart. I'm very sorry.

Tetsuki: What's with that, suddenly? I'm scared now.

Isaki: Well, first off, get in.

Tetsuki: I reaally don't want to...

Isaki: Just do it

Tetsuki: Whaa---...

Page 10

*No text*

TL/N: Welcome to spooky season.

Page 11

Tetsuki: ----... Uh... umm...

Tetsuki [thoughts]: Don't... tell me

Tetsuki [sfx]: Turns

Isaki: Yup, as expected you are quick on the uptake.

Isaki: -----

Page 12

Isaki: That's Chika's father.

Chika(?): No joke, the air is so crisp and clear the moment you arrive at the venue!

Mittsu(?): It feels like something is about to happen

Satowa(?): Aren't there more people than yesterday?

Chika(?): Ah, you are right.

Suzuka: Well, it's Ichiei's, the Nation's number one, turn. Also--

Page 13

Student 1: Aren't those the Tokise people?

Student 2: Woah, they are.

Student 3: They do kinda stick out like a sore thumb...

Student 4: They really came...

Sane: Ri... right...

Suspicious men: Did you take it?

Chika: !

Satowa: Kudou?

Tsukaji: Hello, you guys!

Tsukaji: How are you feeling?

Page 14

Chika: Old man!

Tsukaji: Did you get proper sleep yesterday?

Chika: Ye- yeah

Suspicious guy 1: Who's that dude. Get outta the way---

Komaki: Whaaat---

Komaki: Are these Peeping Toms what I'm seeing here? Oh gosh, scaaryy-

Tsurugi: Security, over here--!

Suspicious guy 1: Shut up. What the hell!

Suspicious guy 2: Hey, let's just go.

Tsurugi: What? You shut up!!

Tsurugi: Are you ok?

Suzuka: I'm sorry. Thank you very much.

Student 1: Even voyeurs.

Student 2: Well, isn't this their own fault?

Page 15

Student 3: Isn't it because Tokise has come that people with no civility have gathered here?

Student 4: This is really bothersome.

Tsukaji: Ugh---

Chika: Old ma...

Sane: It's all good, Tsukaji-san.

Sane: I don't mean to brag here, but we are used to playing in hostile fields

Page 16

Mittsu: You really are bragging---

Satowa: Well, we have certainly got used to it.

Satowa: To people (audibly) talking behind our backs and being looked at with disdain.

Takezou [thoughts]: They really do have thick skin... Should I be happy about that...?

Hiro: Hozuki-chan is growing so fast.

Takezou [thoughts]: Ah but, what about the first years---

Atsumu: I used to get bullied! The fact that you guys are with me now makes me feel so at ease!

Natsu: I don't care about other people.

Takezou [thoughts]: Aah, so strong.

Sane: Wahaha we know, Momoya.

Page 17

Sane: Well, that's how it is. So you don't have to---

Tsukaji: I'm so touched...

Sane: Whaat--...?

Tetsuki [thoughts]: ...Isaki-san.

Isaki [thoughts]: ...Yes.

Page 18

Tetsuki [thoughts]: What is this ride from hell?

Isaki [thoughts]: Sorry. I'm really sorry...

Isaki [thoughts]: My brother didn't even contact me, he just suddenly appeared...!!

[flashback begins]

Chika's Father: ---Isaki

Isaki: Eh?

Isaki: Wai- what!? Bro- brother!?

Isaki: Wha- no way. Why are you here!? Don't tell me you came to listen to the performance!?

Page 19

Chika's Father: ...

Isaki: Ah, no.

Isaki: Sorry, I totally thought you were not coming. You gave me a start.

Chika's Father: I'm going back.

Isaki: What!?

Isaki: Now, wait a second. Why are you so bent out of shape over this? Didn't it take a lot of determination to come here!?

Isaki: And didn't you come all the way to where I'm staying hoping I could give you some room with Chika!?

Page 20

Chika's Father: ...I haven't really thought about something like that.

Chika's Father: I don't want to see him.

Isaki: ...Then why did you come all they way to this place.

Chika's Father: ...

Chika's Father: ... ....

Isaki [sfx]: Pissed

Isaki: Whatever, I gotta go pick those two up. For the time being, just get in the car, Brother!!

[end flashback]

Isaki[thoughts]: Maybe I was too reckless---

Page 21

Isaki [thoguths]: No, but if I let him like that, I'm sure Brother would've gone back...

Isaki [thoughts]: Even so, this atmosphere is so heavy---

Tetsuki: Um.

Tetsuki: Is today perhaps... your day off from work?

Isaki [thougths]: Takaoka-kun...

Chika's Father: No...

Tetsuki: Ah, that means you took a vacation day to come here, then.

Chika's Father [sfx]: Glare...

Tetsuki [thoughts]: Woah

Isaki: Hold on!! You drop that rude attitude towards Takaoka-kun right now, you stupid brother.

Chika's Father: !

Page 22

Isaki: He has always been beside Chika supporting him, and the reason he is able to smile now is because of Takaoka-kun!

Isaki: Instead of glaring at him shouldn't you be thanking him?

Chika's Father: ...I ...See.

Chika's Father: ... ... Sorry...

Tetsuki: Ah, not at all...

Isaki[thoughts]: A man who won't say"Thank you"...

Page 23

Chika's Father: ...Are you also his... friend?

Tetsuki & Isaki: !!

Uzuki: ...No. I'm...

Uzuki: The person who vandalized Chika's Granpa's place and then framed Chika as the culprit.

Tetsuki & Isaki [thoguths]: Geh....!!!!

Page 24

Chika's Father: Wha...

Uzuki: Also, recently, to make Chika look bad, I edited a video where he was helping out a kid from being harassed, posted it on social media, and it became trending.

Tetsuki: He- Hey, Uzuki Are you serious...

Chika's Father: ..Wha

Chika's Father: What... Are you saying...?

Chika's Father: You mean that incident, it wasn't the guys he hung out with---

Isaki: I don't know how many times I've told you, Chika had nothing to do with it.

Chika's Father: But... The fact that he was the cause of it is true, isn't it!?

Isaki: ...Trying to become happy... He grabbed onto Dad's hand, that's all.

Chika's Father: Hu...

Page 25

Uzuki: Fu ...If you had really looked at Chika.

Uzuki: You would have easily known that.

Isaki: Uzuki-kuuun?? You are right, but that is not something you should be saying, is it?

Isaki: You have no right to reproach my brother.

Page 26

Uzuki: ... I'm sorry...

Tetsuki [thoughts]: ...What is this ride from hell... (Second time)

Isaki [thoghts]: I promise I will invite you to eat expensive meat.

[flashback]

Chika's Father: You are a disgrace!!

Chika's Father: In your 3rd year of middle school, and you can't tell the difference between what is right and what is wrong to do!?

Isaki: Wait, Brother! Stop it, we are in front of Dad.

Chika's Father: You stay out of it!

Chika's Father: What's with those eyes. If you have an excuse, then say it

Chika: ...Nah, not really.

Page 27

Chika's Father: What did you say?

Chika: Whatever, I don't care.

Chika [memory]: Dad

Chika [memory]: Dad

Chika[distorted]: D a d...

Page 28

Chika: I don't give a shit about what you think about me anymore.

Chika [memory]: I'm sorry for being born.

[end flashback]

Page 29

Chika's Dad [thoughts]: Even if there is a person right next to me who framed my son for a crime.

Chika's Dad [thoughts]: Even if that person spits sarcasm at me.

Page 30

Chika's Dad [thoughts]: The right to be angry about such a thing.

Chika's Dad [thoughts]: I don't have it.

Sane: I'm glad we can sit together.

Kota: Riight?---

Page 31

Takezou's Mom: Takezou! Takezou!

Takezou: Ah

Chika: Your mom and dad?

Takezou: Yeah...

Chika: Wahaha You look just like your mom!!

Page 32

Assistant: Ichiei High School, you have 10 minutes before leaving.

Kifune-sensei: Yes, thank you. Ok, guys, let's get ready to leave---...

Page 33

Kifune-sensei: Mi...

Luka: Miran, it's time.

Page 34

Akira: If I remember correctly, Ichiei was playing 4th, right?

Suzuka: Yes.

Akira: Um... Did you notice? Ichiei's parts. Before, they---...

Suzuka: Aah, yes.

Program:

Solo - Luka Chevalier

1st Koto - Hoshou Sao

2nd Koto: Hanahata Imari

3rd Koto: Saotome Miran

17-Stringed Koto: Takamura Togo

Suzuka: Apparently, they have no intention of giving up first place this year either.

Side Text: The new interpretation of [Tomfoolery] that Luka and Miran's exchange has sparked is---...

---Kono Oto Tomare! will continue on the next issue!---

[cetaitlaverite]

Why All This Music?

Masters of the Air - Rosie Rosenthal x OC

masterlist is linked here <3

40. A Life to Start

“Yesterday morning at 2:41am, at General Eisenhower’s headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and of Grand Admiral Dönitz, the designated head of the German State, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German land, sea, and air forces in Europe to the Allied Expeditionary Force and simultaneously to the Soviet High Command.”

Freddie held her breath. Her arms, already wrapped so tight as to be uncomfortable around Croz beside her, tightened their grip.

“Hostilities will end officially at one minute after midnight tonight, Tuesday the 8th of May.”

Neither she nor Croz turned to look at each other. Their gazes were fixed on the radio in front of them and the calm voice of Prime Minister Winston Churchill emerging from it.

“But in the interest of saving lives,” Churchill continued, “the cease-fire began yesterday, to be sounded all along the front and our dear Channel Islands.”

Croz turned and wrapped Freddie up in a hug, so tight she could barely breathe. They were laughing, deliriously and breathlessly, loudly into each other's ears - so loudly they barely caught the rest of the speech.

“Finally almost the whole world was combined against the evil-doers, who are now prostrate before us. Our gratitude to our splendid Allies goes forth from all our hearts in this Island and throughout the British Empire.”

“It’s over,” Freddie whispered. She realised, distantly, that she was shaking in Croz’s arms. “It’s over,” she said louder.

“It’s over,” Croz confirmed.

“We’ve lost so much,” Freddie said. Her eyes suddenly, inexplicably, filled with tears.

She felt Croz nod into her shoulder. He didn’t speak just now.

This war, Freddie thought, which was over now with little more than an official piece of paper signed by official people in an official room, had taken so many lives. She had always thought it would end after merely a couple of years and she and Daniel would get married, but it had been four years since he’d gone down, six years since he’d left Oxford to become a pilot. It had always felt to her, somehow, that once the war was over the dead would come back. But they weren’t coming back. So many good men, all lost to a war which was finished.

“Come on,” Croz decided, sitting back and giving Freddie’s arms a squeeze. “Let’s go find your husband.”

Rosie was being lifted over the heads of many of the men on base when Freddie and Croz found him. Freddie stood back and laughed, pressing a hand to her lips as she watched because she knew how he hated to be the centre of attention like this. But he withstood it like a champ, and the instant his feet were back on the ground he was pushing his way through the crowd towards Freddie and clutching her against his chest.

“Can’t believe it’s over,” Freddie spoke into his jacket, holding on tight to him.

“Been a long time coming, huh?” Rosie answered her, pressing a firm kiss into the top of her head.

“Yeah,” Freddie agreed quietly. She tilted her head back so Rosie would kiss her and smiled when he did. “Home time soon,” she said.

Rosie’s eyes lit up. His smile was wide. “Home time soon,” he echoed back to her. “Still coming to New York?”

Freddie laughed. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

The party in the officers’ club that night was monumental. It far exceeded all other parties they’d had in there throughout Freddie’s time at Thorpe Abbotts. People were dancing on tables, alcohol was being poured over heads, jackets were thrown off and ties loosened and couples locked in passionate embraces wherever you turned - even couples who had not been couples before tonight.

For old times’ sake, Freddie, Millie, and Jem all drank whiskey out of a bottle Jem stole from behind the bar, giggling and bickering and joking as they always had at their sleepovers. Freddie was sitting in Rosie’s lap, Millie in Brady’s, and Jem was holding onto Paddy’s hand while the other girl stood behind her chair, her back turned while she spoke to Amy.

“Jem, will you come to New York?” Freddie spoke abruptly after a particularly long draw of whiskey.

“What business do I have in New York?” Jem asked with a laugh.

Freddie raised her eyebrows, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Mils and I will both be there, so I think it’s only right that you come.”

“You and Mils will be able to move because you’ll have married Americans,” Jem argued.

Millie let out a loud, high-pitched giggle and buried her face in Brady’s neck. The two of them weren’t married yet but they’d been talking about it non-stop since Brady had gotten back from Germany; he’d taken Freddie with him to pick out a ring, bought it, and had been planning to propose today before it had become VE Day. He didn’t want their proposal celebrations to be overshadowed, so he was postponing it a day, but by tomorrow night Millie and Brady would be engaged and Freddie wouldn’t be surprised if they raced down the aisle similar to how she and Rosie had.

“There are other ways to get American citizenship,” Freddie replied to Jem. “I’m sure of it. Aren’t there, Rosie?”

“Sure,” Rosie agreed.

Freddie opened her mouth to say something else but Jem cut across her. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and left it at that.

Freddie frowned but didn’t argue, just took another swig of whiskey and handed the bottle off to Millie before turning to Rosie. “Oh darling husband mine, will you dance with me?”

Rosie grinned, as he always did when she was dramatic with her terms of endearment - and, incidentally, when she referred to him as her husband - before setting down his beer and offering her his hand to help her stand. Soon after, they were curled tightly together on the dance floor, beaming up at each other with stars in their eyes as they danced to the love song on the gramophone.

The night quickly disappeared into the chaos of drinking. No one could really keep track of how much they had, they just knew it was a lot. And, at the end of the night, Freddie dragged Rosie by the hand to the plane he’d been flying his mercy missions in so they could make love in the back for old times’ sake, giggling on the way there and sighing as they lay together afterwards.

“You know, there are many things I won’t miss about the war but I think I will miss this,” Freddie spoke wistfully. She had her ear pressed to Rosie’s chest so she could listen to his heartbeat. The summer night air was gentle and cool on her sweaty skin. “Spending all night in the officers’ club with our friends and then sneaking out here to mess around in your plane. For so long we wished for a bed but there’s been something so magical about using this as our own private bedroom, don’t you think?”

“There’s been something magical about every minute we’ve ever spent together,” Rosie replied easily. His smile was audible in his voice. “Can’t wait to take you home and start making millions more memories with you.”

Freddie smiled and pecked a kiss to his chest. “I’m excited. A big king size bed all to ourselves in a house all to ourselves. I can see it so clearly.”

“Me too,” Rosie said, kissing the top of her head.

Freddie smiled softly until the smile turned rueful. “I still need to ask my parents about coming.”

Rosie paused. His hands, once running up and down her back, stalled momentarily. “Will you still come if they say no?”

Freddie sat up so she could look down at him and tangled her fingers in his messy curls. She smiled fondly, adoringly down at him. “Of course. I’m spending the rest of my life with you and I can’t best do that from the wrong side of the ocean.” Rosie laughed. Freddie grinned but her smile faded soon enough. “But I’ll find it so hard to leave them. I really hope they say yes.”

“Me too, honey,” Rosie replied. “Me too.”

The following day, the first official day of peacetime in Europe, was filled with many, many headaches and upset stomachs and dark bags under eyes. It was also filled with some intense conversations. Couples had to decide whether they’d be staying together or parting ways now that they wouldn’t be living in each other’s pockets on base, and if they chose to stick it out they had to decide where they’d be going. Others had to try to reconcile with themselves how they were going to live without friends who had become something closer than family.

Freddie and Benny had a decision to make.

Meatball was lying in the grass on the airfield between them, oblivious to the conversation about to commence, simply revelling in the warm summer sunshine. Freddie could feel the sting of tears in her eyes already because she knew she’d have to let him go.

“Fred…” Benny started and trailed off. His eyes were sad, regretful.

Freddie shook her head. “No, Benny, it’s okay,” she hurried to reassure him. “It’s - no, it’s okay. He’s your dog and I’ve only been looking after him and if I got too attached that’s my fault.” She had to stop talking because a sob had worked its way into her voice and turned it into a high-pitched wine. She had to press a hand against her lips to get her bottom lip to stop wobbling, had to fight hard to swallow the lump in her throat and push back her tears. “I promise it’s okay.”

Her eyes fell to Meatball, lying peacefully in the grass, and another sob wrenched itself out of her throat. Burying her free hand in his fur, Freddie let out a shaky breath and forced herself to pull herself together. “He’s your dog,” she reasserted firmly, regaining her composure.

Benny sighed and shook his head sadly, then reached forward to rest his hand on top of hers in Meatball’s coat. “He’s your dog,” he corrected her softly. “He’s yours.”

As though a door had been suddenly thrust open in Freddie’s head, tears came spilling down her cheeks. “Really?” she squeaked, letting out small sobs and shaking her head at her own lack of self-control.

“Really,” Benny confirmed with a quiet laugh. “He’s - look, he’s been with you longer than he was with me and he loves you. I can tell. He hasn’t enjoyed sleeping in the bunk with me and the guys and he keeps waking me up at 0700 so I’ll take him outside the way you do. He’s been sleeping on your blanket and running to you whenever he sees you in the distance. It’s -” Benny sighed, ran a hand down his face, and then let out a final, reluctant laugh. “It sucks, and I won’t tell you it doesn’t, but I levelled with myself back in the stalag that he would be yours by the time I got back. So I want you to take him. Ain’t no one else in the whole world I’d trust with him but you.”

“Oh, Benny,” Freddie cried, pressing both hands to her face and clearing it of tears before reaching across Meatball to hug him. “Are you sure?”

Benny laughed. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll take the best care of him,” Freddie vowed into his shoulder. “I’ll treat him like a real human son, I promise.”

Benny laughed once more. Freddie caught the tail end of his playful eye roll as she sat back from their hug. “Fred, you already do.”

Reluctantly, Freddie giggled, a watery, weak sound. “Yeah,” she admitted, sighing, still laughing softly, “I do.”

“‘Sides,” Benny added, “I’ll only be a couple hours away in Philly. I’ll just come visit whenever I’m missing him too much.”

Freddie sat up straighter and beamed. “We both would absolutely love that,” she declared.

Benny smiled, warm and bright, right back at her. “Then it’s a deal.”

With that settled, Freddie decided she wanted to get her final duck in its row before she set about conquering the huge, towering pile of paperwork she had to fill out to mark the end of Operation Corona. There was a whole queue of people waiting to use the air exec office telephone when she made her way over to it, everyone excited to share the end of the war with families back home, so that Freddie ended up waiting in line for over an hour before she was finally being put through to her parents’ landline.

When her mother came on the phone, Freddie couldn’t stop grinning.

“It’s over!” Freddie cheered down the line.

“It’s over!” Alma echoed. “Have you all been celebrating?”

“So much!” Freddie assured her. “We partied all last night. Today has been a lot of official paperwork and working out where things are going, though. And Benny said Meatball can come with me!”

“He did?” Alma asked. She let out a small gasp. “Oh, Wils, I’m so pleased. That makes me so happy.”

“Me too.” Freddie’s cheeks were hurting from grinning. “I’ve been dreading having to let him go. I started crying when Benny and I started speaking about it because I was so sure he was going to tell me he was taking Meatball with him. But Meatball will be coming with Rosie and I to New York, and how exciting is that?!”

“So exciting,” Alma agreed with a laugh. “When do you leave?”

“We haven’t decided yet.” Freddie’s smile turned sheepish. “We haven’t talked too much about the technicalities just yet. Nothing has truly started unwinding over here yet so we’re not sure how long we’ll have to stay. Rosie will likely be flying one of the planes home but I’m not sure when I should come and collect my things.” She shook her head, clearing those details away. “Anyway, this leads me onto my next line of thought. I wanted to run something by you.”

Alma hummed on the other end of the phone, letting Freddie know she was listening and encouraging her to go on.

But when the moment came, it was difficult for Freddie to get the words out. It was such a big ask, she knew, and her parents never liked to say no to her. They had always given her as much as they could, gone to the ends of the earth to keep her happy. But this? This was the biggest thing she’d asked of them by far.

Twirling the telephone wire around her finger, Freddie rested her head against the wall and shut her eyes, trying to tune out the many voices around her chattering excitedly about post-war plans. She summoned the image of her own post-war life to the front of her mind - she and Rosie in their house in Brooklyn, with Meatball and a baby, eventually, and her parents coming over with Bruno and Earnie every Sunday for a roast dinner to hold onto their British culture.

It was so close she could taste it.

“Will you come to New York with me?”

The words emerged in a hurry, all on one exhale of anxious breath, and hung heavy on the air between them like a stone dropped harshly into a lake when someone had tried to skip it.

Alma didn’t say anything.

“Will you?” Freddie prompted after a moment. “And dad and the dogs?”

On the other end of the line, Freddie could hear her mother’s sigh.

Her heart dropped into her shoes.

“There’s a wonderful music school there called Juilliard which I’m going to audition for, and maybe dad can teach there,” Freddie rushed to add, trying to flesh out the picture for her mother, trying to make her as excited about it as she was. “They’d certainly take him with all his experience and his talent. And there are so many parks - Rosie says Central Park is huge and that the dogs would love it.” She drew in a deep breath and let it go shakily, her shoulders relaxing now that she’d gotten it all out. Finally, in a small voice, she added, “And then we can all see each other all the time.”

Silence fell for one beat, two. Freddie might have thought the line had gone dead had she not been able to hear her mother’s breathing. And then: “Wils…”

Freddie shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “What’s wrong?”

“Wils, darling, that’s - that’s a really big request.”

“I know,” Freddie whispered. Her entire face fell.

“That’s a huge upheaval.”

“I know,” Freddie said again.

“Your father and I…” Alma sighed. “We love Oxford. We loved Vienna, of course, but we love Oxford. It’s our home. We’re happy here. And we are both so, so immensely pleased and proud that you’ve found love again, and we’ve always known that you would follow Rosie to America. But -” Again, she sighed, and it sounded as though she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Wils, darling, you have a life to start. You were still a teenager when the war broke out but now you’re a woman. You’re married and you have a life to live, and your father and I can’t live it for you.”

“I’m not asking you to live it for me,” Freddie objected softly. “I’m just asking you to stay in it. I’m not ready just yet but eventually Rosie and I will have children and I can’t -” Those damned tears were back in her eyes. Even the thought of it devastated her. “I can’t not have you and daddy around to help me.”

“Rosie will be there to help you.”

“Don’t you want to meet your grandchildren?”

“Oh, Wils.” Alma’s voice was so kind, so maternal, but so very far away. “We’ll come and visit, just as you’ll come and visit us back home. But everything that happened with Daniel - I think it’s made you too reliant on us, Wils, darling. And I don’t want that for you. I want you to explore the world and live your life. I left behind my parents to follow your father to Vienna and I don’t regret it for a second. Those were some of the happiest years of my life.”

“I don’t want to miss you,” Freddie choked out, swiping a thumb hastily under her eyes to catch her tears. “I miss you so much when I’m here, even, and I’m only two hours away! I don’t want to have to miss you and have you be so far.”

Alma swallowed hard. If Freddie didn’t know better she would have thought she was choking back tears of her own. But then she drew in a strong, steady breath and spoke softly into the phone. “My darling girl, we’ll talk about this another time. Right now is the first full day of peacetime and you should be celebrating it, not letting me hold you up on the phone.” Freddie could hear the teasing smile in her voice so clearly she could see it on her mother’s kind face in her mind’s eye. “Go and find Rosie and give him a big kiss and get excited about all the many happy years you have ahead of you in peace. That’s what the two of you have always deserved. Then call me back in a few days when you’re ready, and we’ll talk about it again.”

-

a/n:

big news! i'm both overjoyed and incredibly sad to announce that this story ends tomorrow! we have one more chapter and an epilogue ahead of us and i'll be posting them both at the same time, as i always have with my other fics.

not to worry, though! i have a tradition of publishing three bonus chapters afterwards, and i'd love to know your thoughts on what they should be! scenes from rosie's perspective? scenes which didn't make the cut? snapshots of freddie's life after the events of the fic? let me know!

i've also been writing another mota fic which i'll be delighted to start sharing soon. it follows an air transport auxiliary pilot named stella finley and how she absolutely will not under any circumstances risk losing her hard-earned reputation by getting involved with a man... until she meets bucky egan. it'll be up soon!

thank you all so, so much for your support on this one!! i have been so pleased to share it with you and hear your thoughts. one day left - it seems so bizarre!! but i really can't thank you enough for your love <3<3<3

[wonsohl]

hii do you think you cld write abt gunwook ? maybe smth like popular!gunwook and shy!reader in a school setting

also, i rlly enjoyed ur yujin imagines! they're so adorable

omg! ofcc , recently gunwook has been biasing me lately after kcon 😭😭! thank you for the compliment abt my yujin imaginess <3 ! tbh i didn't know how succesful it would bee

young love 🫂 - p.gw

PAIRINGS: popular!gw + shy!freader

it was winter. your favourite time of the year - not just because it was the season of your birthday but because you loved christmas and the traditions of the mistletoe at school.

your school recently (by recently you mean 4 years ago) started this thing were they would leave mistletoes around school.

at first it was very controversial but they made it rule that you don't have to partake in the tradition if you didn't want to.

most people didn't because half of the boys in your school were ugly and smelt like canned fish.

however if they did wanna kiss someone, it would've been the f9.

f9? basically the most handsome, jaw-dropping, extravagant, elegant, heart-beating boys ever to be seen.

you had the 3seniorz - aka : sung hanbin & zhanghao from class one with kim jiwoong in class two

then you had the musicianz - aka : seok matthew & kim taerae from class one

and then finally the coocooz - aka : shen ricky, kim gyuvin , han yujin and your beloved park gunwook.

pretty much every sane girl in your school had a crush on them because who wouldnt?

the f9s pretty much run the school, if they ask someone to do something they would.

one time ricky asked a girl a year above him to buy him something from the school store, she bought the whole store for him.

another time taerae asked a girl to get his guitar from the music room, she got his guitar with the rest of the music room on her back.

so you could tell that these boys had every girl wrapped around their fingers ,

including you.

but no one knew of course.

you barely talked in lesson and never raised your hand and on top of that you sat the middle row in lessons and would always leave a sticky note on the teacher's desk ever day to remind her that you were in so she didn't need to call out your name.

and thats how you lived for pretty much all 3 years of highschool until today.

you made your way to your homeroom with your headphones in and got a sticky note from your bag to put it on the teacher's desk and plotted your bag on your chair.

whilst returning to your chair, you realised that someone must of forgotten their cleaning duty yesterday and forgot to clean your desk.

their was pen marks everywhere and gum under the table.

you sighed heavily, but too heavily so no one else knew your dissapointment. you were about to go to the toilet to get some tissue when your phone started ringing.

it was inhee your bestfriend

'Y/N!!' said inhee through her phone speaker ruining your eardrums forgetting that you were on speaker everyone in your class looks at you.

you smile back awkwardly and dash out the class room.

'omg inhee! you dont need to shout my name at 8:03 am in the morningg" you said complaing about your friends behaviour

'oh im sorry miss l/n but apprently seola from our class got a mistletoe with ricky! '

' WHAT?? damm she's so lucky! '

' I KNOW RIGHTT THAT'S WHAT I WAS SAYINGG ' says inhee and then for the next five minutes of your call inhee was complaining about how it should've been her instead of seola.

'ME AND RICKY HAVE FIRE AND WATER SIGNS WE ARE LITCH SOULMATES'

'okok i get your pointt~. it's not that deep its only a kiss he probably doesn't feel anything for her anyway.

'after all he is a player but that doesn't mean anything! i have been waiting for my first kiss to be ricky just to be knocked off by son seola who is a complete copy of me :>'

'inhee its just a one time thing, you can make a move to him on the last day of school or something'

'ONE TIME THING?'

she said again, at this point you thought she was intentionally trying to publicly embarrass you infront of everyone as well as make you deaf.

'inhee enough with this yelling over a boy! its not even past 9 am yett'

'well this boy is my lifeline, soulmate, couple, future hubby, fiance he is like my everything! he means the whole world to me just like gunwook means to you silly!'

gunwook. gun wook . park gunwook.

you loved his name.

you loved they way he talked .

you love his visuals.

most of all you loved his smile.

'yeah but gunwook is different - first of all he is not rich and spoilt , second of all he is classprezz and is not a player'

' okay but imagine if you got a mistletoe with him! like that would be so cute!'

'with who? gunwook' you scoff at her words.

'gunwook is way out of my league, i would never get mistletoe with him and that's how i like it and i wanna keep it that way for th-'

your phone fell out of your hand skidding across the marble floor of your school hallway.

you pick your self up and run to get it but another hand it there before you.

you look up to see gunwook.

'oh my god' you thought.

eugh this was so cliche for this to happen.

but even through those thoughts, you and him still kept eye contact

'ay gunwook did you get the homework for-

OMG YOU GOT A MISTLETOEE'

you look behind gunwook's broad shoulders to see his friend gyuvin running towards him whilst pointing up towards the ceiling.

and follow his fingers to see the mistletoe right above your head with you and gunwook

'BRO YOU GOTTA GIVE HER A KISS - A RICKY COME HERE GUNWOOK GOT A MISTLETOE'

'GUNWOOK HAS TO GIVE HER A KISSY WISSY OOOO~'

you look back to gunwook eyes as he meets you with an awkward smile after he elbowed gyuvin in his ribcage.

'you don't have to kiss me! it's j-just a tradition' you say excusing yourself slowly.

then all of a sudden gunwook holds you by your shoulder and mouths sorry before pulling you in for a kiss.

your lips clash onto eachother as you close your eyes not knowing how to react and slowly losen up to his touch.

those seconds then feel like minutes which feel like hours the kiss breaks up and you suddenly realise where you are.

you look around to see a whole entire crowd has formed around you two with phones everywhere.

you obviously freak out and gunwook being the man he is he drags you through the crowd and brings you too your class.

'thank you' you say smiling back with a bow

he laughs abit which make you feel embarrassed but he reassures you.

'it's ok, you looked so cute when you tried leave because i knew you liked me' he says giggling with his dimples showing.

your cheeks instantly flush and laugh back.

the bell rings meaning you have to go back to your seat and gunwook looks at his watch.

'ill get going now but if you want i can take you out for some ice cream later'

you nod back with a smile going back to your seat whilst inhee runs through your homeroom door slamming it against the wall.

'y/n. tell. me. everything.'

[stiltonbasket]

another scrapped fic from the TMAAF verse!

Hello all! Here's another scrapped oneshot from the TMAAF series—I wrote about 500 words before deciding to take this concept in a different direction, so here's the section I had to cut. Enjoy! <3

____

My dear husband,

I departed Lanling two nights ago by water, and took the next leg of the journey on horseback; and since the weather this morning is quite fine, I should be home by tomorrow afternoon. A-Ling and A-Yong and the little ones are all well—Jin Ling sends Sizhui and Jingyi his best, and assures them that no offense was taken at their absence. He also sent his love to the children and a little stuffed tiger for Wenwen, which I have with me in my bag. 

I miss you desperately, my darling. I was delighted to see A-Ling again, and our small great-niece and nephews; but you are the joy of my days, beloved, and it will never be easy to part from you. Wait only a little longer, and we will be together again. 

Faithfully yours, 

Wei Ying.

When Lan Wangji received a messenger talisman over breakfast yesterday morning, promising his husband’s return to Gusu within the next thirteen shichen, he was so glad at the news that he hardly knew what to do with himself.

Wei Ying has been away in Lanling for nearly a month, in order to be present for the birth of Jin Ling’s third child. He missed small Jin Hong’s birth three years previously, since Chunyang was born around the same time, and the birth of Jin Ling’s daughter Jin Xiu came just after the arrival of Jiang Wanyin’s little A-Lian. 

Hence, Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin were determined to be by their nephew’s side when Jin Ling’s wife gave birth to her second son, Jin An. They did not stay long, for both Nie Shiyong and small An’er are healthy and in good spirits: and now both brothers are on their way home, Jiang Wanyin to Lotus Pier and Wei Ying to the Cloud Recesses.

Home, Lan Wangji thinks to himself now, as he lights the fire beneath the Jingshi’s kitchen stove. This is my Wei Ying’s home. 

It still seems new to him that Wei Ying is his, even nine years after their marriage. Lan Wangji will never grow used to seeing his beloved toasting his feet by the fire in the Hanshi, or visiting the Cloud Recesses’ nursery with him to bring Chun-bao her packed lunches—for his love has grown more fervent with time, though his young self would not have thought it possible—and his wonder at having that love fulfilled has not left him since the day Wei Ying first accepted his hand in marriage.

I love you more now than I did this morning, he told Wei Ying once, when their son Xiaohui was still a toddling baby who refused to part from his A-Niang. And I will love you more deeply tomorrow, and deeper still the day after that.

“Papa,” a piping voice says from the door, jolting Lan Wangji from his thoughts. “Can I help make breakfast?”

Lan Wangji turns to his daughter, smiling at the sight of her sleep-ruffled hair, and kisses the top of her little head. 

“You can help me make luncheon in a little while, baobao. For now, wash your face and wake Chun-bao, and fetch Xiao-Yu from the garden.”

Shuilan nods and trundles away, clutching a bundle of drowsy yellow fur to her chest. Lan Wangji bites back a smile; for A-Lan’s favorite cat, Huangdan, must have crept into her bed while she slept.

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Okay so yesterday I binged a bunch of movies that were free on YT, including Kung Fu Pandas 1 and 2 (3 wasn't free so I didn't go looking for it) and I just gotta talk about something interesting, being

Tai Lung wasn't actually a villain?

He was an antagonist sure, but he didn't actually do anything particularly evil.

Walk with me.

So, from what we see in the movie, Tai Lung's first ever act of violence or aggression in about 18, maybe 20 years is the attack on the Valley. Sure, he decapitated a few training dummies leading up to this but yknow so does every member of the Five, so...

What's interesting about this is two things. One, we don't know if he actually killed anybody. We see him chasing people, and properties are on fire, but we don't know if he took any lives. In fact, throughout the entire movie, we don't see him kill anyone. I even looked it up to check and everybody seems to be in concensus that he didn't kill anybody.

And two. Oogway takes Tai Lung down in one move. A four-point nerve strike.

This is interesting because not only did he send Shifu first (to fight his own son no less) but he also waited up in the Jade Palace for Tai Lung to come to them instead of going down and doing that in order to save the people from his rampage. All to protect an empty scroll that Oogway knows is empty because he made it!

After this, Tai lung is locked in the prison. Made especially for him. He sits, on his knees, in a pit. Above him are giant crossbows, archers, and stalactites with bombs attached specifically to crush him to death if perceived necessary.

Pinning him down are chains. The cuffs of these chains are explicitly stated in the second movie to tighten the more the prisoner moves, and at the end of these chains are large boulders weighing him down to the floor.

He also wears a custom-made turtle shell with jade dragon head pins to suppress his chi, cause I guess Oogway's got a mean sense of humor. On top of all this, he is also shown to experience abuse from the guards, as we see one intentionally step in Tai Lung's tail and mock him.

When Tai Lung escapes the prison, he noticeably doesn't kill or even go out of his way or even in his way to kill anybody. We see him given the opportunity to kill and he uses it to just punch a guard back and continue to flee. All of the destruction is caused by the guards trying to prevent his escape. The only particularly violent thing we see him do is throw the bombs at the army of guards to get past them, and they may look dead for dramatic effect but they are actually noticeably alive, we even hear one or two groan.

And on top of all of this, there's on thing that really bothers me. The Wuxi finger hold. We first see it used by Shifu, and then later by Po, after Tai Lung tries to paralyze him out of anger. It is quite safe to assume that Oogway knew this hold (and might've used it to defeat Kai?). Knowing this, why the fuck didn't Oogway use it on Tai Lung when he defeated him??

They are preparing for the Dragon Warrior to very specifically "put a final end to Tai Lung" and I just don't understand why Oogway didn't do it then and there when he used the nerve attack.

There he has Tai Lung, unconscious (or at least immobile) on the floor. Instead of using that moment to take him out permanently, he puts him into a very inhumane, quite torturous prison for about 20 years while he has Shifu train a bunch of guys to kill him only after he breaks out and causes some more chaos.

Moral of the story: Oogway what the fuck.