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yveaart · 4 months

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how to lose a guy in 10 days — csc

choi seungcheol x reader

genre : fluff, smut, enemies to lovers, jealousy (?), fake relationship, bets (yk how the movie goes), profanities

synopsis : you had to prove to your friends that you could easily make a guy lose interest within a week, having no interest in indulging yourself in a relationship after your past ones. all those relationships led you to narrow down a list on how to make a guy sick of you. you had all the card in your hands and seems like you don’t get to play it.

warnings : mdni, proceed with causion bc this is my first actual svt fic it might be shitty. not proofread lol, reminder that this is my take on the plot and it will not flow the exact same plots in the movie

i do not feel so confident about this bc i wrote this with mind in shambles. literally me comforting myself with svt while i'm dying from my studies rn :') pls tell me if you like it bc i would most def appreciate it <3

it was another slow day at work when you sat down at your desk and sighed. all your work mates and friends seems to confide in your reaction but your circle knew that this sigh wasn’t a “damn-im-so-stressed-and-sick-of-work-sigh” for them it was more of a “wow-life-is-hectic-its-almost-making-me-want-a-man”

and just like clockwork their brains clicked and hovered over your cubicle. poor u so startled that you almost gagged on your coffee.

“what?” you shooted

“are we gonna meet boyfriend number 13?” karina said in a sing song voice

“more like fling number 17?” sakura retorted

“maybe a first situationship since she haven’t experienced one yet” yunjin said curiously

“jesus christ i’ve had that much men and i’m not gay yet?” you said surprised

“maybe you just need a new set up?” yunjin asked

“like what doggy style?” karina questioned

“not like that you idiot” sakura glared

“maybe i’m just meant to end up in a church and dedicate my life to holiness” you huffed

“please you would burn the moment you step in a cathedral” sakura laughed

“well i just know how every relationships end, it’s almost like completing all endings for a video game, its predictable and cliche” you sighed

“let’s welcome fling number 17 then” karina announced

“i’m too tired for just fucks you know? it won’t take long before i actually get infection and i turn into a zombie and bite you all from all these stupid ideas” you rolled your eyes at your friends.

right now you just actually need to see if theres a guy out there in the world who could actually commit and actually accept a persons flaws out of love.

all too cheesy but you would like to find a partner who would find no flaws in you and probably just call them your little unique antiques that they can live with.

you were so sick on seeing tutorials or manifestation hacks on the internet because does anyone genuinely love each other anymore? all these “how to become a maneater”, “how to make them dream of you”, “how to make him fall in love using a potion” bullshit got you sick of people now.

why did god even create men to accompany themselves if they’re preferences and expectations are for the deities taste themselves.

“OH MY GOD I GOT IT!” yunjin screamed making all your peers look over to your area

“what is it?” you asked dying for a solution

“what if you meet a guy and just unfling him?” she said as if there was a light bulb above her head

“yall need to make her stop doing overtime” sakura deadpanned

“NOO, like you’re talking all these commitment things all the time then what if you find a random guy and make him not fall in love with you and see if he stays?” she said

“so like i should go out being an annoying red flag and see if he stays?” you giggle but it all went away when all your friends kind of agreed because they’re also sick of u having these guy problems already.

“i guess thats not all bad” karina suggests

“you should wear your best outfit tonight because we will find your lucky target then y/nnie” sakura winked at you before discussing the plans with yunjin and karina

it was not long until the night came as you got ready, you scoffed on how stupid this bet is because it’s like you claimed “very predictable and cliche” to lose a guy.

it was then your friends picked you up and pulled up to the bar. a few shots came by as you hustled through the crowd searching for your so called the one. but as you surf through the tables everyone fell short to your friends standards as if it was a big serious thing.

you grew tired, what was the point, you knew your fate then you should probably accept it now.

you drank your last shot for tonight planning your weekend with whole lots of tubs of ice cream until you flinched by karina grabbing your arm.

“him” she said, audible enough for the three of you to hear. you faced the guy she was referring to as all the noice fade into the background blur hearing yunjin screech and them clapping happily, your time froze.

the most goddamn, drop dead gorgeous man came to sight.

“isn’t that choi seungcheol?” sakura stating a rhetorical question

“they said no one could ever bag him up” yunjin replied

“ooh sounds like one of y/n’s guys” karina giggled.

“are you up for it then?” sakura challenged you

“please this will probably come by a breeze, so? 100 bucks each?” you winked as the three of them agrees after a total chaos.

“choi seungcheol, let the games begin” you muttered

on the other side of the bar there was a crowded group of 13 people who were mindlessly taking shot over shot as they were crowned as the most obnoxiously loud people for the night.

most of them spitting out tipsy thoughts to one another as they joined forces on pinning and choosing choi seungcheol as the victim for tonight.

“here comes the virgin joseph for tonight, choi seungcheol!” dk hooted while hoshi was giggling to any phrases the latter would make out

“isn’t it mary though?” joshua pondered drunkly on the edge of the couch munching on the nuts hoping it would make him sober as it was too early to go home.

“whatever, we still get the point. so what’s with the anti-women behavior cheol?” jeonghan grinned. his smile too wide to seem oblivious of the answer.

“i think dating is now deemed predictable to me,every woman i dated either wants my money, my body, fame, or a father figure” cheol sighed deeply

“wait you’re a dad?” dino’s brows furrowed in deep confusion as cheol stood there with utter disbelief

“i thought we we’re supposed to have a fun hangout today, and now all of you are just looking like alcoholics with all these bottles in our table” seungcheol complained

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING ALCOHOLICS?!” mingyu exclaimed looking at the opposite direction of where cheol was.

“FUCKER I DIDNT CALL YOU ANYTHING” minghao retorted to a confused mingyu facing him causing cheol to place a palm over his forehead.

“how about you start charming women for who you truly are?” vernon continuing the passed topic.

cheol didnt know if he was thankful for vernon re entering a topic, all the “seemingly” sober people joined up on the topic. they soon somehow convinced cheol to meet new people and try making them fall in love with him.

kkuma needed a mom, maybe he did too (but not in a maternal sense

“i doubt scoups can make a girl fall in love with him” dino giggled in the verge of passing out.

“i sure can ! it’s like a walk in the park” seungcheol defended.

“not even within a month” jeonghan added

“not even a week” jun stared blankly.

seungcheol always had placed his pride on a pedestal, it’s the source of his cocky behavior.

“oh please, give me 10 days it would be like she’s under a love spell” cheol snickered blanketing his bruised ego.

“deal, i bet 20 that we’ll have another meeting on the 10th day having cheol drop dead drunk at thus exact spot” jeonghan screamed only standing for the first time for the night.

it was chaos after that, but the group was almost divided equally in the process of them making bets and weighing the odds of cheol’s fate.

seungcheol wished the ground opened its jaws and buried him six feet under

even he was lying to himself with his statement, but one thing about choi seungcheol— he always wins.

“i’m gonna head home now” cheol said, he wish he didn’t.

he somehow wished that they were all too drunk to force him into the grave he dug himself. mercy will be the end of their bond, so as fate has written cheol’s fortune.

“i guess cheol is accepting his pussy title” jeonghan sighed

“i am not a pussy” cheol responded

“then i guess you’ll have to prove that” joshua sighed blankly at him

“let’s start by choosing the lucky girl who’s gonna take cheol’s v card”

“i’m not even a virgin” cheol rebutted with a frown, the liquor making him submit to his true emotions.

“please you barely lost it” dk laughed

“well i barely felt it….” cheol muttered

“let’s do her” dino pointed at the wall as he stood quickly stumbling with his head spinning

“who’s he pointing at? did he shave his eyes as well?” woozi said laughing

“shut up pink panty guy, i’m talking about the girl that has red hair and wearing a black dress” dino said laying on the floor

“ooh, she looks hot like seungcheol’s type” jun teased

if he didn’t spot your bright auburn hair he would’ve sworn to himself that these guys we’re just throwing a hate crime at him, but god, you we’re his type.

“go on mr. choi, show us your charm” mingyu pushing cheol closer to your area in the bar

you were planning on stepping up, but you had to make one thing sure, so you turned around to your friends with burgundy rushing through your cheeks with the thrill throwing you into your pit of endless thoughts.

“makeup, and outfit : perfect” yunjin started with a wide grin

“hair : gorgeous and can easily make a ponytail” karina winked as you glared at her

“teeth clean and ready for sucking” sakura smiled

jesus christ you were asking for a reality check and they just simply can’t avoid adding scandalous statements as if that’s all you do.

you were ready

were?

are?

was?

fuck.

you backed up quickly as you saw a guy charging at your direction ready to barf up on you.

quick arms catches your moving physique, as your back became dependent on the person unbeknownst to you.

two groups filled your senses with squeals, laughing and cheering waking you up from your not so cute dilemma

you turned to the person behind you seeing the man of the night

choi seungcheol.

“you okay, sweetheart?” his voiced hush, you felt warm and you swore that is was just the buzz from the liquor

quickly you went to work

“omg thankyou o-oppa” you’re voice cracked because you simply cannot believe the words that escaped your lips.

there was terror in his eyes, the moment you saw it, it went away. a pretty grin was graced upon your lips because this will be one hell of a ride

he better be sure to keep his seatbelts on because you’re gonna totally rock his world.

day 1 : the tortoise and the hare

spoiler, the hare never wins

guys hate being speedy, if they’re looking for a woman they can take home to his mom it would definitely not be the woman who wants to be dicked down after the first date.

and this wasn’t even a date

he took you to his place after your so called friends left the both of you in the landmine

he only intended you to sober up, and you only wanted him to curse you off his life. but it would be no fun if you just did it in a day, wouldn’t it?

the sound of the collision of class and marble led to both of your eyes to be met.

“thank you, really, or what else i would’ve smelled like vodka and whatever the fuck that person just ate” you sighed in relief genuinely

“no worries, you don’t smell like barf or vodka…. maybe a little of tequila but you’re good” he smiled

fuck. he’s hot and he knows it, a part of you wished that he was some sort of narcissist so you could do this thing in a easier way.

his face sculpted and graced with beauty his eyes filled with wisdom and maturity, his lips full and shaded like cherries.

you we’re definitely down to have a fling with him, but according to you, you were planning to change your ways and test the purpose and ability of men.

“mhm, i’m tired let’s watch a movie?” you smiled with your forced high-pitched voice

you love how he would hide the way his face would wince when you talk or the way his jaw slacked on your statement.

you smiled at the thought of him trying to take you out of his multi-million mansion because you were pushing boundaries he built for you

“yeah.. sure, what do you wanna watch?” he assisted you by the waist as he brought you up the stairs.

you wanted to get out, you wouldn’t think that it would go like this. fuck the boys manual maybe it doesn’t work with hot rich guys

“the notebook, i LOVE that movie” you smiled and you could see how he expected that

as you laid in his sheets, which you felt deeply sorry for actually staining his pearly and silky shits with your outside clothes, but your pride held you high. if you fell from your pride or for him then maybe then you could wash his sheets.

the room was dimly lit, the ambience warm as he intended.

he sat next to you, with distance for respect according to cheol’s brain.

you couldn’t predict him, and maybe he sends mix signals, and that made you feel less guilty because you concluded that he’s a womanizer. he knew all of these antics a little too well.

“it’s getting hot” you sighed fanning your face adjusting your dress to the right extent, you held your hair exposing your neck to him making sure he saw it.

"really? my ac is so low right now" he was surely acting oblivious.

you may be frustrated at him for not taking your hits but you guess it would make a good build up, meanwhile he was there dumbfounded from all the tricks you pulled, he was slowly getting hard but that's another story.

he was thinking if he should drop it, it seemed like you just wanted a one night stand, but speaking of the devil (angel) jeonghan sent him a text showing him how much money he would be getting if he proved them wrong.

somehow in the end all of his friends were convinced that he would stay bitchless. there was a whole chapter within their groupchat making fun of what he said earlier at the bar.

truth be told, he didn't give a fuck about the money, he wanted his dignity and pride back.

"my body is so warm because of all the shots i took though" you reasoned out quickly.

"well my body is really cool right now" he faced you slowly pulling you close but you had other plans

you quickly kissed him as if you were desperate for it.

"mmm- i think we should slow down y/n" he rushed to tell you.

you wanted to grin so bad, victory laid on your side, but you had to put a sad face asking him if he no longer likes you repeatedly as he escorted you out of his house.

you quickly twirled and skipped across the road when you were sure he was inside already. he was there though, watching through his window.

maybe he had to step up.

day 2 : the in-laws

there was not a single text on cheols phone the next morning, soon learning your phone was inside the purse you left at his house.

he wanted to scan your purse thinking of a way to sweep you off your feet today. but a gentleman doesn't mess with a ladies purse.

after the the long chat you had last night, you exchanged your details to each other which now led cheol to your apartment building with flowers and a wide smile.

"hi i got these for you-"

"wait cheollie, say hi to your mom !" you cut him off with a smile

his face quickly shifting, you what?! he was slowly shaking on the inside quickly settling down your purse, flowers on your coffee table.

"h-hi mommm" he grinned as if his mom could see him.

"seungcheol i didn't raise you to hide your partners from me like this, i really like y/n you know, so when's the wedding?" his mom ushered

"a wedding?" you gasped and started screeching as if it was real

"we'll see mom haha.." he replied deranged from the situation made just 2 minutes ago. he quickly hung up before his mom could get any more ideas.

"well that was interesting, i didn't know that you knew my mom" he restrained himself from losing himself.

"well i have to meet your parents anyways right, cheollie?" you smiled at him

"yeah, but we just met yesterday" he deadpanned

"well, you don't think we're gonna work out" you started sobbing in front of him making small obnoxious hiccups

"well that's not what i meant baby" he hushed and spent the afternoon babying you while whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

day 3 : monday flings

"i seriously cannot fathom how much patience he has to reach day 3" you genuinely lay your opinion

"i was a complete total psycho, but he must be mental" you said to yourself

"that's fucking crazy because if i had to put up with that you would never hear from me again" sakura said bluntly which bruised and praised you at the same time

"i need a break from my alter ego as well, i hope he has no plans on asking me on anything anymore at least"

the day went as if you had never met choi seungcheol at all, which made you relieved for at least having a rest day, sure it was such a short time but god how tiring it was to be somebody else

"i just really realized how to fit in somebody else's shoes" you sighed as you and your friends exited the building together ready to go home and simply pass out.

"then don't fucking wear them" karina said

"but this is the whole point, being a stereotypical woman in a relationship"

you all soon parted in your own ways as you walked through the neighborhood near yours, you realized you just walked passed by seungcheol's house and this made you walk a bit faster and try to fabricate your distinguishable looks. but guess what

"aw baby don't hide from me" he coos slowly pulling you in his embrace.

"i was just looking for you" he smiled as he rushed you into his home

you somehow wished he could just stab you right now.

he led you to his living room filled with rose petals and candles dedicating a whole playlist of his vinyl records for you. you spent the evening sharing his home cooked dinner, which was actually delicious. and he soon brought out his photo albums from when he was a kid.

"do you think our children look just like you?' your sentence made you freak out but you supressed it wanting him to be affected by your vicious visions.

"how about we go back about the marriage thing for now" he faked out a laugh.

"i want this to be our family's house too" you sighed in content while scanning the architectural structure.

"if that's what you want" he smiled and pecked your forehead, which had caught you by a surprise.

"it is" you smiled, you didn't want to admit it but something formed within you when he said that.

"i'll be having a boys night tomorrow so i might not respond quickly to your texts"

"is it strictly 'boys only' ?" you asked forming an idea and swallowing these funny feelings that have bloomed within you.

"well it had always been"

day 4 : poker night

if fate was inevitable, they should you hit you up then.

you were in a cab with your hands filled with cheol's place in mind.

"cheol having a 4 day record is worth celebrating" jeonghan teased

"it's been that long?" mingyu asked actually impressed

"i've been in a lot of relationships since college, stop making it seem like im a loser" he sighed

"probably just in college" minghao retorted

"it's probably going well, maybe next year she could meet his parents" seungkwan noted

"please, she met them the second day we met" cheol answered scoffing at the thought

"now i know why girls are driven away from you" jun cringed at cheol

"she called them herself the day we met, she even said that our children will live here, and she tried to sleep with me the first day we met !" cheol finally shared his experience the past few days

"ooh feisty and a woman with a plan, that's so horanghae coded" hoshi smiled reaching his palms out and curling the ends of her fingers.

"you're going delusional again hamster" minghao smacked the back of hoshi's head causing the latter to relieve it by rubbing his head.

"maybe cheol could get laid now with her bold behavior, someone who can tame mr. pride-over-pants-down-choi-seungcheol over here" joshua said

"she's just a bet-"

the violent reactions that flashed through the faces of his group-mainly cheol when you came in the door in the middle of the game.

the guys quickly recovered teasing cheol for being so attached already calling her over for a boys night.

"hi guys!!" you said excitingly trying on your best cute expression you could muster up while hoshi replied to you with the horanghae pose as you quickly reciprocated it.

"i just thought i could put some of my stuff here so you could always remember me cheollie" your eyes twitching the moment your face was parallel with the wall

cheol was in awe with the first few vases you put out, until there were at lest 13 in his living room only. his house looking like he was out there selling urns

you were going around his place disrupting them, even changing their ambient music into some of britney spear's playlist

and even making very concerning screams around the kitchen just behind the living room.

"cheollie, can you get me some water" you whined when you heard them telling cheol it was his turn

he caught you reaching out unto the cupboards for a glass, he quickly got you what you requested and leaving you there

you were quick to grab onto his arm and grab the cigarette out of his mouth.

"you need to stop smoking" you tell him genuinely, his demeanor sensing your honesty his brows rested as he gave you a smile.

"i need to keep my lungs healthy for our children huh?" he teased you with a knowing smile

day 5 : ghosting

after his game with the boys, you two spent so much time together after.

he was being sulky after receiving his first losing game last night from all your disruptions last night.

but he never mentioned you being a nuisance, and just maybe because it was stored somewhere deep his chest the frustrations he held

but you stayed clingy to him filling him up with your presence even when you already went home flooding his texts until it was dawn

today you decided to stay low, you were lying in wait in this part of the plan

by doing so much the past few days today you decided to give ghosting a shot

"god i just wanna die if i need to go through this just to find a decent human being" you sighed frustrated at yourself

you wish you could stop now, there was 150 bucks on the line

or this is what you thought that hindered from you from stopping, you stared longingly on your laptop

quickly dialing his number you grinned at the sound of his voice

day 6 : a large iced diet coke and a kiss to go

today you planned on watching a knicks game with cheol, it was both your favorite thing to watch.

the stadium filled with cheers as you were shaking with thrill watching the tight game among your favorite team handling each other by the neck

most of the game went well according to cheol

during the break the venue managers continued to do the kiss cam.

you were interested looking at random people sharing affection through this stupid camera. but you didn't know it would face you.

you saw your face light up with surprise as the other guy next to you exposed on the kiss cam

you were looking at him

"i'm-" the guy was cut off when seungcheol grabbed you by the nape sealing your lips with his plush ones, the camera then panning to the both of you instead of you and the other guy.

"you weren't in the kiss cam" you said smiling- wait no don't.

"well i was just now" he said cockily

"i'm not gonna let you kiss him when i'm here" he said and that lit a fire within you

the final part of the game resumed as you both were cheering wildly through the crowds

it was time.

you asked cheol to bring you coke since you were extremely famished according to your words.

cheol quickly glanced at you, the bottom of the stadium, on the scoreboard, and back to your eyes.

he quickly ran getting you the drink that you wanted.

"i cant drink too much sugar though i need the diet one" his face turning into a distressed one jogging back up the long steep flights of stairs as he huffed to the vendor that you wanted the coke one, being only available to watch the game through the small monitor by the ceiling

there was about 3 minutes left, your team still having time to win over

he rushed back to you quickly handing you your coke, but there was another thing-

"i need ice cheollie" you whined at him, he groaned but still went over to do it

only a few moments left before the game ends the vendor still working on you precious drink, seungcheol staring at the monitor.

you felt bad, like actually. but you had to keep this up

you were enjoying the game until you were drowned in your thoughts on how you were ever gonna ask for his forgiveness after all this

you were a bitch and get over your act.

the crowd calling out through your ears realizing your favored team won, you had to force a smile especially a lovely one at cheol to make him think you were being a menace

maybe if you pushed him enough you could end this sooner, you can't admit that he was charming, handsome, and his behavior is no less than how a gentleman should act.

sorry coups.

the game ended, you were exiting the venue with cheol as his arm around your shoulder quickly calling you a cab home.

"thank you for this babe" you smiled passing him the cup, hoping you were rude enough for him to not call you up anymore

"no problem, you gave me your other ticket to watch with you anyway" he smiled pecking you before you left.

he crumpled the cup and threw it away.

day 7 : the revelation

you and cheol spent this day with a quick breakfast by the small cafe nearby, chatting through the busy streets of your city, he asked you to come to his event tomorrow which you accepted. after breakfast there were barely any interactions coming between the two of you.

why stay through this conditions?

well we bring you to the day 1

you were troubled writing your new article on the magazine company you were working for.

your boss expecting so much from you, you simply cannot write anything too political or anything controversial at all, so you stuck on to writing these stupid "how to" to articles which was a huge success for your company.

you were stuck, nothing to write, drafts filled with calling out peace for all countries experiencing genocide and territorial invasions or calling out to politicians who were legitimately caught only on scandalous events but never the seat of any meetings.

you were a writer a "how to girl", you swore you did it all and wrote them, how to talk your way out of a ticket, how to feng shui your apartment and even having those little tests you wrote printed by the magazine.

seungcheol was a lawyer, he stayed in his grandfathers law firm, his grandfather desperate for him to get wed and have a family who will take care of the firm and would take care of him as well.

seungcheol's grandfather knew his luck in love, so he prayed that even when he passes, his grandson will still have someone to be with.

day 8 : pride over love

cheol came over to your place at dusk seeing you with your flattering yellow dress with a backless cut on the back.

he was stunned by your beauty, his hand leading to his chest.

"my god" he whispered to himself as he paced closer to you

"you're gorgeous" he smiled as he kissed your temple

"you don't look to bad yourself" you grinned at him

you decided to stay in your apartment for a while as you settled a few of your stuff before you leave

he glanced over your record player and fidget over your albums then he finally sat down digesting the whole essence of your place, it was hard for him to stay still thinking that you were some dumb bet but he knew you were more than that, he knew you we're attractive but the breeze tonight was only revealing your true selves to each other.

you came in the room with your purse settling it by the coffee table as your favorite song came by, you couldn't help but singing along to it

and other girls dreamed that they'd be cheol's partner

they'd be cheol's partner and

you're so vain

you probably think this song is about you

and then you both exploded in to giggles proceeding to do silly dances before heading out.

you both arrive at an immaculately decorated building, you could already hear all the people chattering inside the building making a light buzz on your ears

"cheol, you should come meet our new stockholder" his coworker ushered him as he looked at you with slight worry

"i'll be fine you should go" you pushed him lightly and he just nodded at you making a phone call sign telling u to call him if anything happens

it was a while when you were just sitting by the bar drinking your nth drink for the night, it wasn't your intention to do so, but that was the only thing that can occupy you. you didn't want to bother cheol on his night so you stayed lowkey.

you weren't drunk but you rethink because you didn't know why seungcheol's grandfather ushering you to talk to him.

"so i heard that you have been seeing my grandson" he started

"oh yeah i am" you politely answered, guilt wrapping you up when you realized that you were only feigning everything.

"i'm glad that he told me about a girl he goes out with, he barely tells me anymore because they don't last long" he giggled

"oh really? i would expect him to be married by now actually" you joked with him

you felt comfortable around him, his friends, his relatives, and even his co workers, they really provided you with a nice environment.

"i'm happy that you stayed with him even after knowing that you just started as a bet-"

"excuse me?" you were violated.

"i mean please excuse me i need to get some fresh air"

there was regret in mr.choi's face but it also held worry, was it true? you were a bet? what did he win for you? for this? what did he mean that you started as a bet?

you were furious, you knew you were also doing him wrong, but you felt bad for all of it.

it wasn't helping that you had to admit to yourself that you did like him. even through the fucked up situations you had this week, it was all messed up, fake.

but even in all that chaos, he was consistent, he was there.

now you're doubting if that was his acting as well

because now you were burning everywhere, because you knew you crossed the fine line along the feigned adoration over real devotion.

you adore choi seungcheol.

but now that meant nothing.

quick and heavy foot steps were heard behind you

"y/n!" cheol managed out with huffed breaths

you faced him with disdain painting your face.

“wow, you’re gonna run away after you defy me?” he laughed sarcastically, his face sullen his eyes filled with fury

“defy you? what about you making me a bet?” it dawned on him realizing that you knew about his faults too.

it was true, you did defy him, not that it was your choice, you had to do it for your job, you wrote about him, one of your how-to blog and magazine experiments.

how to lose a guy in 10 days

this was your last project being a part of this magazine line. you swore you couldn’t keep on using people for an article, you planned on being a journalist after quitting, after making him your last.

because after all, you love him.

your article could also be called “how to stupidly fall in love and find a man in 10 days”

“it was a bet at first, then i fell, but you just played me” he looked at you as if you just stabbed him straight to the chest

“what?” you said confused

“leave. i don’t ever wanna see you anymore” he warned

“didn’t know you could stoop so low, and don’t worry i will”

“how to lose a guy in 10 days huh?” he started “lucky you y/n because you just lost him” he uttered walking away.

the night turned completely upside down, both of your chests swelled with guilt, shame and anger.

your heart dropped, but you just swallowed you pride and left.

day 9 : drive me out of town

quickly packing your things to leave, you won’t do any good here now that everything is tainted by the man you met just a little more than a week ago.

you spent your whole day just wallowing the sadness from your love life leaving your friends, your apartment.

you published that article about choi seungcheol to have income before you left your low life and start as a struggling journalist to do what you always wanted, to write about more important things

conventional, innovative, a cry of the oppressed.

but people seemed to worry if blondes were more fun than brunettes.

you truly regret using him, but you both did the wrong things to the write people, only fate knew that.

you rode your cab ready to leave this damned city to move to another identical one.

the familiar streets slowly blurred into the abyss of the distance as you called your friends and relatives one by one just catching up and telling them little life updates.

you were sad, but you knew that seungcheol is probably feeling a lot more than you were.

the darkness of the sky basked you a sense of comfort, there’s always a new day.

you wished him peace.

it was a fault writing about him and confessing about you felt at the same time, but he deserved the last bit if honesty left to your fake situationship.

a raging motorcycle suddenly honks at your vehicle endlessly. your cab giving way but it seemed like it wasn’t what the motor rider meant

“OH MY GOD PLEASE STOP” you told the cab driver when you realized it was cheol’s bike.

was he planning to run you over?

you got out displaying yourself in front of the man you loved.

“y/n, it was all true” he said taking his helmet off he huffed tiredly but not slowing down his pace to get close to you

“what are you saying?”

“i liked you that’s why i agreed with the bet, hoping you would like me back, even though your personality was hard to work with” he laughed to himself

“why are you saying this? why now?”

“maybe i flipped the page too quick not seeing that you loved me as well”

“love”

“what?”

“i still love you” you whispered

“you won your bet a little too well mr.choi seungcheol”

“i love you too, and i don’t care if you pull your annoying your girl antics i still love you”

“that wasn’t me” you laughed

“well there was a part of you who did it, and i love all of you” he smiled showing his gummy grin.

you couldn’t help but feel free, you weren’t stuck in that annoying girl’s body forcing the guy you love to hate you.

“kiss me, cheol” you teared up

he didn’t need to be told twice as he rushed to close the distance between the two of you, his lips crashing to yours savoring every inch of it. your head shifting in sync as you both connected not wanting to let go.

today’s day 1. the first day of making it real.

day 10 : my heart, it lies within yours.

passed 12 am

i guess you did actually lose your bet now with your friends. at day 10 choi seungcheol was plush against your skin his lips in yours, and your hands in his hair.

“i hate that you have me wrapped around your finger” he groaned onto your lips

“i hate that you actually won your stupid bet” you sighed

“i always win, and this feels so much better than winning” he said lifting you

your bags left on the floor the moment you reached his home, he told you to call it yours as well, from now on.

your silence didn’t last long when the both of you were longing for each other leading you up to this moment.

“hm so cocky huh?” you teased him as you started kissing down on his neck as he laid you on his bed.

you pulled down on his tie realizing he was so busy at work all day.

you kissed him once more and switching the positions that you were previously on as you climbed onto his lap and continued making out

your hands wandering on his hair and his hands on your ass.

your tongue interacting as he let you do whatever you want, his hands started wandering on your body leaving your skin burning for more.

your kiss being more needy as you started to grind on his hard on. he groaned onto your lips leaving you to grind harder.

you started to unbutton his clothes as he followed suit, removing yours as well.

he was pulling on his tie

“no” you stopped him

“keep it on love” you commanded

he could throw you and turn this around, but he didn’t. he enjoyed this a little too much, loving the feeling of being taken care of.

you both were left on your under garments except him having his tie on

he looked so hot having his tie rest on his smooth and hard muscles, his abs and pecs shining from the moonlight.

you continued grinding on him until he held your hips to stop.

“let me have you first please” he sighed as he laid you down on the bed as he knelt on the ground facing your crotch.

he looked at you as if he was asking if he could remove it and you nodded back at him.

his blonde hair a bit messy as you caressed it and tugging while he was removing your underwear

his face getting closer to your heat as he started kissing on your thighs slowly.

his lips then met with your clit as he sucked slowly then proceeding to lap on your entrance already making it soaking than it already was.

his tongue bending slightly when met with the entrance teasing it and slowly stretching it.

his right hand caressing around your waist as the left one kept it on your thigh refraining it from moving.

his fingers slowly worked his mouth as he slowly dipped one into your hole.

his finger was thick, 2 of your fingers were your frequently used ones, but his reached so much deeper, felt so fuller.

he hummed against your clit as vibrations flooded through your veins. he added another finger making you writhe and pull on his hair more.

you pulled him up kissing his plump lips before making him lay down on the bed.

you held his hands as you put it above his head, you weren’t intending to restrain them at all.

his biceps protruding so well when you raised it keeping it there as you licked and sucked on his neck slowly removing his boxers.

you wanted to cum with him tonight.

his eyes went dark seeing his large dick lining up to your entrance, he wanted you to ride him, he wanted to stare at your beautiful body while you felt pleasure because of him.

"no condom?" he asked heavily, he wanted it, he wanted this, but he also wants to make sure that you're doing what you desire, not wanting to make regrets again.

"i don't care, fill me up, make me pregnant" you said in a daze, but even without the lust you had right now, you still would say yes.

"fuck" he groaned hearing your words

his length standing tall, he was already so girthy, his tip leaking red.

he wanted to feel pleasure with you, not just sitting there like some fuck doll.

you lined the tip with your entrance as you slowly sunk down already feeling an enormous stretch.

"god your cock is so big" you moaned as you rested your head by his neck sucking there to distract yourself from the slight pain.

his hands went down to your waist as he pushed you further, taking him all in.

he was sent to paradise with your walls crashing to his length, engulfing it in its warmth

"your pussy was made just for me, love" he groaned as his hands guided your waist to ride him.

you were releasing moans as you rode him, it's as if he was still getting bigger inside you.

you then leaned back to your position staring at him with his tie, he looked so hot with his abs clenching every time you squeeze his dick, and how his sweat made it look like he was glowing.

he was laying back with the most drunk in lust face he got as he bit his lower lip just staring at you bouncing at him.

every curve of him filled you even more hitting the right spots that led you to your high in a few more moments.

you both released at the same time, but cheol was far from over with you

he flipped you around entering you in a missionary position, he was truly strong as he pumped himself in you with a new found energy hitting even deeper than before.

he caressed the bump his dick made deep on your stomach.

he made a guttural moan just by the thought of you being able to carry his children by the very belly he's fucking oblivion to.

you pulled onto his tie causing it to tighten a bit that he moaned. you kissed him sloppily as your saliva mixed and dripped to the side of your chin.

he went down leaving marks on your delicate skin, already having red marks on your neck, he made sure to give your tits some love.

he sucked onto your left one and massaged the one on your right, continuously flicking it. his other hand made its way to massage your clit, which made your back arch and scream his name.

"fuck seungcheol" you moaned

"seungcheol? i thought you called me cheollie" he smiled at you with a shit eating grin

you could barely even give a response, you were simply brain dead from all the pleasure you had.

his pace going faster and faster as massaged your clit to a higher intensity, you both were sent over the edge for the second time tonight.

he slowly removed his length, as your hole felt the emptiness you groaned. your mixed arousal slipping out of your pussy as cheol just stared at it.

he inserted two fingers fucking the cum back into her, you moaned at overstimulation, he continued fucking you with his fingers.

"aren't you doing too much mr. choi?" you glared at seungcheol.

"gonna make sure you keep all of it" he said as she shakes his head giggling.

you pulled him down onto the bed as you sat up stuffing your underwear in his mouth making him moan out loud.

"your turn?" you grinned.

i felt like i could do better :") im sorry if this is bad.

taglist <3

@luchiet @sebongmochi @yawnseu @christinewithluv @musingsofananxiouspotato @raggedypansexual @90s-belladonna @nerdycheol @xcynthiaaa @inexistent-bluemind @jenoxygen @i-dont-give-a-fok @nmosyne @sleepzyy @justanarchiveforfics @springdaybreaks @k07-1313 @dunixxd

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ooctlt · 3 months

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What kind of music they like? Which one of them wears headphones all the time? Which one of them should be use headphones?

gideon: roxanne, heat of the moment, fortunate son, black hole sun, joan jett etc. she does listen to danger days but she will not say she likes mcr because people start making assumptions about her. she mainly likes that album and occasionally listens to save yourself, ill hold them back a concerning amount of times in a row

pal: classical when hes studying, ska for the hype

cam: house music, brass/horns heavy stuff. also likes ska and guitar-heavy songs

dulcinea: 2000s party music, R&B and jazz

harrow: cathedral nuns singing (9 hours), muttering radio channel (20 hours)

PSA: please do not send asks asking characters their opinions on singular songs/song genres/tv shows/movies. they are too specific to spend time listening, thinking, and drawing an answer to and they will be ignored

#credits to thatneoncrisis who helped me build up gideons music taste bc i have a more niche music genre (the ska)#you can send the music asks to them or to me (notedchampagne) on main if you want #dulcinea septimus #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #artlog #music #basic info

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glassrowboat · 2 months

Text

Daydream in a Nightmare

Authors note: I read a soulmate au where with dream sharing. Everytime you fall asleep you and your SM would meet in a world that would reflect your consciousness and who you were. So down below are the boys and what I think the places their dreams would depict.

Mondstadt

Diluc: The cathedral. His mom, back when she was alive, used to play during service and afterwards Diluc ran over greeting her with the biggest smile, asking her to play him one more song. She never failed to. Maybe that's why there's always a gentle melody playing whenever you see him as he rests his fingers over the same white tiles, simply trying to remember how to play.

Kaeya: The Dawn Winery. Or at least parts of it. Behind closed doors there's the scent of grass, of dirt, and the faintest smell of ash. He says it's simply the vineyard that in the real world would be right outside, but he knows well as he pulls your hand from the doorknob that it's ruins of a fallen nation haunting him right on the other side.

Albedo: Glass walls. A maze of mirrors and reflections. If you ever have stopped to bother to count between Albedo’s musings as he shares with you the secrets of the world, you'd notice that for some reason he always has more reflections in the walls around you than of your own figure. Like there's more of him than there is of you.

Venti: Old Mondstadt. Back before the revolution, back when there were people in the streets wishing their God weren't so unjust, but in his dreams that wall of spiraling wind is never there. A warped perception of a life he wished to have lived as he sits in your lap not as Venti the bard, but a wind sprite trying to bury into your clothes for warmth. Just don't call him pipsqueek or he'll try and bite your fingers. Playfully. You think.

Liyue

Zhongli: A place that no longer exists, one torn away by this world during the archon war. It's unlike him not to comment on a place, a trinket, an item, as you pick something up and fiddle with it, but this place he never goes into full detail on. However, he will tell you all about the artisanship of the table you two are sharing tea over.

Baizhu: His home back in Chenyu Vale, back before the illness hit his village, back before his parents passed away. Just a modest home that shows signs of being truly well lived in and loved. Mindlessly while you two talk he'll be cleaning the place, just the way he always does at the pharmacy. Though it does help give him something to fill the silence. It turns out he's a lot more used to Changsheng chiming in with comments than he thought. He just hopes you two get along when the time to meet in person finally comes about.

Ga ming: A festival. There's water kicking up at everyone's feet, up to everyones ankles as people with their face covered in all manner of masks walk you both by. Ga ming would pull you along from booth to booth, trying his best to win prizes despite the fact you both know they'll be gone by the time you wake.

Xiao: A Chinese pavilion in the sky. You walk among the clouds as you follow the path of the street, looking over the accents that seem somehow both rich in color and dull, muddied all at the same time. Something you've noticed from his dreams compared to yours, his always have a lingering black fog creeping in at the corner of your eyes. It makes you feel like someone else is in this world with you, like there's eyes waiting to do more than just watch.

Inazuma

Kazooha: A meadow. The wind passes you both by, stirring up pages of books you two sit reading in silence. You can't help but wonder if these are all books he's read before, especially the ones that wax poetry or something else. His thoughts, perhaps? Maybe Kazuha's very own writings? But that matters little as his head is resting on your shoulder as you try to catch words between the fluttering sheets of paper.

Itto: A kabuki play. It always ends up in you two hiding away in the back room where the performers would get ready before getting back out on stage for the next act. You would see the brightest of colors, richest of fabrics, and practiced movements so fine tuned that you can't understand why Itto is so focused on taking the makeup on the vanity in the back simply so he can paint your face with red marks just like his. To each their own you suppose, and who are you to complain when it means drawing hearts on his arm when Itto isn't paying attention?

Gorou: A tea house. It's a small place, simple, but certainly not lacking charm as Gorou pours you a cup. At first the fact you could actually taste the rich herbs on your tongue in this dreamscape threw you off, but now it's just another part of this odd reality. But saying that, the first time you spat out the drink he offered as soon as the bitter taste hit you. Apparently he never expected you to not already be used to green tea. The poor fella was apologizing for the rest of the night, ears laid flat on his head and tail tucked between his legs. It's okay though, you made it even by trying to give him dog treats. It was you having to beg for forgiveness then.

Thoma: It was different this time. No glowing blue flowers and a forest that you two would stroll through mindlessly while chatting for hours. No, this time Thoma was sitting on a wooden platform below a giant stone statue. Intriguing, yes, but mattered little compared to the rope burns around his wrist. He tried to tell you not to worry about it. That it was an accident. But that mattered little as your lips pressed to the red, irritated skin and he gave you a strained smile. You knew better than to ask about it more from there.

Ayato: It's ever changing. It's like he is constantly thinking of something whenever He falls asleep and it reflects in his dreams. Once it was a Japanese styled room the next it was some room in Fontaine's architecture. But it's always a bedroom. A place of relaxation as Ayato buries his head in your lap like it was a pillow. He'll whine about being overworked until you're tempted to pull on his hair just to make the man shut up for once, but last time you did that it led to the bed being used for a lot more than just rest. For now just pat his head and let him vent, the man needs it.

Sumeru

Kaveh: A sketch brought to life from his mothers blueprints. One he saw his mother sketching back when Kaveh was a boy and she would let him sit on her lap, let him comment on the drawings. She would always find some way to incorporate his addictions into the sketch. Nowadays he knows the building that was actually constructed in the end to be simpler, duller than the one his mother wanted, but in his dreams with you it stands tall and proud.

Al Haitham: An attic. It's dusty and it clearly had a hole in the roof that was covered over by some wooden planks and nails. A patch work job that needs to be fixed but if you ever take the time to bother with it while Al Haitham sits in an old rocking chair covered by a quilt reading the night away it will only be there the next dream cycle. It pisses you off. He pisses you off. All nonchalance and an apathetic look even as you plop yourself in his lap and take that book away. And what pisses you off even more? How he dares to call you needy as he holds you close. It's best to ignore the fact he started reading over your shoulder.

Tighnari: Pardis Dhyai. He'll sit on the walkway watching you kick the water of the ponds around, paying no mind to when you splash at him. Not anymore at least. He's learned quickly if he makes a snarky comment you'll give one back and it'll go on and on until somehow it ends in him getting dragged into the pond with you. Both dripping algae filled water as he wondered what gods made this numbskull his mate.

Cyno: Lambad's Tavern. Everytime he would come back from treks in the desert he would go there, get a drink, and play a round of cards with whoever was willing. It was a pattern. Work, work, rest, and more work. But now he didn't have to constantly be on work mode as he sat with you in the old booth shuffling cards as he tried to explain to you how TCG works. So far everytime you lose you've thrown those elemental dice and him, and with a smile he lets them hit him in the head despite being fully able to dodge them. His soulmate is such a sore loser.

Wanderer: Shakkei Pavilion. He hates it. Hates that this is the place his unconscious has chosen to sink onto so stubbornly. His wooden fingers would slide over the paintings depicting Scaramouche’s past that has now been severed from him in everyone's eyes but Nahida and the Traveler. If you knew, would you still hold his hand? Would you still trace the details of his joints and comment that you find his pretty face such a stark contrast to his sharp words? He's afraid to find out, the idea that you might be his fourth betrayal always lingering in the back of his mind.

Fontaine

Neuvillette: Under the water where the currents would carry stray bits of seaweed and fish swimming past. The first time you shared a dream with him here he had to calm you down as instinctively you held your breath, taking your hands in his and assuring you if he can talk like this, you can suck in air just as well. It took some time getting used to, but now he watches as you grab starfish off the ocean floor and bring them over to him like a prize to be presented. This is what humans must be like Neuvillette tells himself as you braid them into his hair.

Worcestershire sauce: A home. A nice one at that. Big, had decent furnishings, pictures of kids hung up on the wall. If you listened closely enough you could even hear children playing outside from the cracked open windows that showed the brightest sky outside. Wriothesly would walk behind you as you would watch the grass blowing in the wind, not saying a word as he rested his chin on top of your head. He never thought he'd be back here again. The very place made him feel sick to his stomach, but with you? It was bearable. Even as you tried to grab his handcuffs from him.

Snezhnaya

Childe: His childhood home. Back before the renovations he bought for the place with his money as a harbinger, back before the redecorating of rooms to fit more children, and back to what the house was like when he was just a boy yet to fall into the abyss. Back when everything was simpler. He would pick up toys that have gone missing, never to be seen again and stare in wonder how it all is exactly how he remembers it. It makes it so much easier to be Ajax with you, rather than Tartaglia.

Dottore: The hospital he was working in when trying to help Eleazar patients. For the life of him does he hate it, being back in the desert always having to tip his shoes out of sand that never seems to fully clear off. It doesn't help you try and pour sand down his shirt, but in a way he supposes it's better you two stay out here under that blistering sun than you going inside to be met with the smell of death. No, you don't need to know about that side of him just yet.

Pantalone: His office. It always makes it hard to tell at first if he's awake, not when the same scene greets him either way. You always joke about him being married to his work and you're the mistress in this relationship. At this point he counts on the comment as soon as his eyes flutter open and he's greeted with the sight of you sitting on the desk he's been using as a pillow. Still, he can never help the genuine smile at seeing you once again.

Captain: A flower field. The snowdrops peek out from under the fluffy blanket of white powder, crunching under every step he takes. Even in his dreams the cold of Snezhnaya is ever present, ever biting. It only makes sense you are shivering behind him even as he lets you steal his cloak that is more of a blanket on you than anything. This field, he knows it well, knows that what waters these flowers is more blood than anything else, but that matters little as he wraps his arms around you. Maybe he can find a way to dream you a proper jacket.

Pierro: A grand hall. It reminds you of the way ballrooms are described in romance stories as the couple depicted would dance the night away. Columns so high you have to tilt your head back just to see where they meet the ceiling covered in paintings you've never seen before. That is until Pierro steps into your view. He always offered his hand to you before you could ask, and as your fingers interlocked he would tell you about them. Always ready to answer your questions. It meant someone was curious about a part of his long lost nation. So, of course, he was always happy to share.

Scaramouche: A never ending fire. It's a small shack, engulfed by flames that never seem to dwindle or burn out the wood it feeds on. Like this place was stuck in time in his mind. He doesn't talk to you, not any more than a sharp shut up. The only time that glare he showed you disappeared is when you pulled your hand back from the curious fire with a hiss, not expecting it to actually hurt in this fake reality. For a moment you could have sworn he took a step towards you, but he never came any closer than that as he hissed at you to be careful. Dumb mortals should at least know not to burn themselves.

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seirosu · 2 years

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⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ sharpened tails file down the fine strings of a lute. it is not the one she’s plucked away at for decades, but a second hand one well worn enough to radiate with the warm vibrato of stories long told. music was the wind beneath her wings when nothing else sufficed, filling an ancient void.

pluck pluck

melody is stitched into a loose tapestry of tale, throat tight with miserere’s plea.

#˖ ✧ ic » ( from nowhere came the age of the cathedrals )#isola mini #listening to a rhea!core song n thought about composer rhea 😭 i like hc she creates music for the church n for herself 🤔🤔🤔#i need a day off so i can use my brain for drafts but... *sets this down*

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pepperonidk · 14 days

Text

11:31 p.m. || k.mg

Pairing: mingyu x gn!reader (i do mention that the reader is walking down the aisle)

Summary: just some wedding hypotheticals. mingyu can't wait to marry you

Warnings: tom holland mention? lol

Word Count: 633

a/n: everyone around me seems to be in love and on the brink of marriage. i just keep wondering when is it my turn?

main masterlist || taglist

one day, not now but not too far away, mingyu swears he can picture it. the chapel is bright, light pouring in from the windowed walls of the cathedral and outside the woods are full of chirping birds. it’s later in the morning, but it’s only the beginning of spring and the dew drops of dawn still hang from each blade of grass.

inside, the aisle is lined with a white carpet littered with flower petals. the piano plays a classic wedding anthem and everyone stands. the pews are lined with smiling faces, but no one smiles wider than him as he catches your eye as you enter the room.

he can picture it so clearly that he wonders if it’s a vision of the future and not just a fantasy. but more so, he wonders if you see it too.

so with your head on his chest and his fingers drawing slow circles on your skin, he asks a question.

“have you ever pictured what our wedding will be like?” the question is quiet, but loud enough to hear over the tv sitcom playing in the background.

mingyu shifts his eyes to you as you turn your head up to raise an eyebrow at him.

“my my,” you tease with a small smile. “you haven’t even proposed and you’re already asking about our wedding?”

mingyu rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “you know that’s coming, baby,” he coos. “just a matter of when, not if.”

“fine,” you relent. “i have thought about it, but why do you ask?”

“just wondering,” he hums to himself. his hands move down to yours and you feel him fiddling around with your ring finger. “what have you thought about it?”

“well mostly just small details,” you explain. “like what song i want to walk down the aisle to, our first dance, whether or not we should have an open bar. i could share my pinterest board that i made when i was 16 if you want.”

“we weren’t even dating then,” mingyu states in confusion.

“yeah, it’s for when i was convinced i was going to marry Tom Holland,” you tease, and reach a finger to poke mingyu’s cheek as he pouts in return.

“so i’m just filling in for spiderman?” he pouts.

“hmmm, no you’re more of a captain america to me,” you smile.

“then why don’t i get a pinterest board?” he scoffs in frustration. he wasn’t expecting this when he asked the question, but the way you’re looking at him with such fondness in your eyes soothes any jealousy he feels for the web-shooting hero.

“because,” you shift so you can turn your whole body to face him and reach up to cup his face in your hands. “when i think about our wedding, i want to picture it with you, not laying in bed alone while scrolling through pinterest at 2 am.”

mingyu hangs his head sheepishly and his pout almost instantly fades into a smile. you can’t help but reach up to kiss him softly.

“have you thought about it?” you return the question as you pull away.

“a little,” he begins until you look at him with a prodding look. “okay, a lot.”

“well don’t keep it to yourself,” you tease.

mingyu shakes his head and presses a kiss at the crown of your head instead. “maybe after i finally propose.”

“the suspense is killing me, babe,” you laugh and reach up a hand to cup his face.

“guess i just have to hurry up and propose then,” he smiles as he leans down to kiss you sweetly.

maybe it is a vision, mingyu decides. it’s his vision. but, he thinks, whatever the two of you decide together will be better because it’s real and he’ll share it with you.

taglist: @yksthings @alonelystarfish @celestialchans @coveyland @xuimhao @sana-is-ms-rmty @gummymintae @maverey

#seventeen #mingyu #svt mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu fluff #kim mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #kim mingyu fluff #mingyu imagines #seventeen mingyu #kim mingyu #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu angst

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monimccoythings · 3 months

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Random headcanons of Alastor and his child!reader

This will mix headcanons from both the living and the afterliving times.

Tw: Controlling behavior, implied cannibalism, references to murder.

This is not proof read so I apologize for any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

Your home is always filled with music. Be it the radio, a record player or him singing. There's always someone playing a tune. Even now at the hotel you can always find him in one of the common rooms humming a song or with his cathedral radio on.

Loves dancing with you, you'll be helping him cook and next thing you know he is swirling you around the room, music mixing with your combined laughter.

From a very young age, he will teach you to love the radio. He is immensely proud of his job (the legal one) and wants to share it with you.

Likes to treat your wounds and illness the traditional way, just like he used to when you were alive. You got a scratch? He is cleaning it for you and bandaging it up. You are down with something? He'll wrap you in blankets with a hot water bottle and feed you old family remedies and warm soup. If the wound or illness is way too severe to his liking, he will immediately make it go away with a snap of his fingers, otherwise he just likes to act like your caregiver and mother hen you.

Really loves to pull the 'single hardworking dad' act that makes the mothers and female teachers at your school swoon. He is not really interested in pursuing anything further with them, but boy, does he enjoy the attention.

He likes to check on you while you are sleeping. Sometimes he just stays there, quietly watching you sleep, his ever present smile growing bigger as a sense of pride fills his chest.

Lots of dad jokes, I think he's the only one who could pull it off and have everyone laugh. It goes with his radio host charisma and personality.

He does your hair. This man has singlehandledly researched and become well versed in the art of braiding hair. Braids, pigtails, or just brush it, you call it, you got it.

Alastor loves control and having power over people, he is the kind of dad that will subtly talk you out of doing something he doesn't approve of, just using his inmense charms and smooth talking skills to convince you into thinking this was your decision after doing some critical thinking. "Cher, I don't think you should do X, how about you do Y instead?" "I'm sure your friend is too busy to hang out today, why don't we go to the ice cream shop?" He won't ever put you down or make you feel bad about anything, but if you are deviating for the path that he has already set for you (the safe path) he will immediately persuade you to go back to the right way, his way. In Hell that aspect of him has become a million times worse, since he has already lost you once and has become someone with many dangerous enemies who wouldn't hesitate to use you to get back at him. His overprotectiveness and controlling behavior skyrocket when he becomes a demon, which eventually will come back to bite him in the ass.

Doesn't like having anyone question about your biological parents. He is your parent. You don't need anybody else.

Alastor is not fond of physical affection, unless he is the one initiating it. But, since he has had you since you were a baby, he has mostly grown used to your touch. He has become proficient enough in detecting your moods that he knows exactly when you are going to need a hug, a kiss or some other kind of physical comfort, so he can get ahead and start the contact first. He admits that one of his favorite ways nowadays to show affection to you is ruffling your fluffy hair, lightly tickling your ears, his eyes fill with joy when your ears get all twitchy.

Your room back at the hotel is a carbon copy of the one you had back when you were alive, but bigger, and with a private old timey bathroom. Alastor likes to come in whenever he pleases, he is the unliving embodiment of "I'm respecting your privacy by knocking but asserting my authority as your parent by coming in anyway". He even said so once. Word by word.

You can't stand Mimzy. Sorry, it's a fact, she always gets your name wrong and only comes by if she needs something from your dad. She seems to not be very fond of you either, can't understand why in Hell Alastor would waste his time so willingly just to take care of a snooty brat that ain't even his. But your father seems to like her enough, so you swallow up your critics.

When he was alive, and came back from a 'hunt', he always brought a little memorabilia for you, maybe some old watch, a fancy toy or trinket the victim had on them at that moment. Whatever little thing that wasn't too incriminating and pretty enough to be worthy of you. Now that you know the truth, you can't stop wondering with dread if every little thing he gifts you belonged once to a poor tormented soul that crossed in his path.

Might had fed you human remians in his stews. He utterly denies it, claiming that he would never do that to your delicate stomach. But the suspicious way his eyes quickly dart around the room, makes you think otherwise. It was the Great Depression after all, food was scarce. You'd rather not dwell too much on it or you will never eat anything ever again.

He is a monster, and it pained you to have been so blind all these years, but even after discovering his true nature, the only thing you could say about his parenting before that terrible night of the discovery, was that he was an excellent dad, a tad bit overbearing and overprotective, but a great parent nonetheless.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: controlling behavior #tw: cannibalism #tw: murder

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keyotos · 1 year

Text

swear to be overdramatic and true

summary ⎯ different wedding scenarios w/ the hsr men. like they are all different. none of you are getting married in this tho. modern!au

includes ⎯ dan heng, gepard, blade, sampo, & jing yuan

notes ⎯ i want to go to a wedding so bad after tiktok kept on showing me crazy rich asians-esque venues (i love crazy rich asians)

dan heng

⎯ you promised him you’d go for the food (dan heng is not one for parties), you ended up staying for everything else.

⎯ a close friend of yours was getting married and invited you to their wedding. you were so excited and ready while dan heng was like ehhhggggg

⎯ dude is not a party-goer. but you really put your all into convincing him to go. you brought out puppy dog eyes (didn’t work), pros and cons list (didn’t work), 15 slide google slideshow (didn’t work), and finally: begging on your knees (worked).

⎯ so now, you guys are here: sitting at a table by yourselves (everyone else was dancing/mingling) and sharing a slice of wedding cake.

⎯ secretly, dan heng loved weddings. he loved the joy everyone felt and he really did enjoy the food.

⎯ he would never tell anyone this, but he was taking notes for his future wedding (preferably with you). he takes note of the theme, the food, the venues. he’s very observant of these things.

⎯ the one thing he did not like about weddings was the partying afterwards. call him boring, but after sitting in a cathedral for two hours got him exhausted.

⎯ but he could make exceptions for you. you seemed to love the party aspect of weddings: you bounced to the music and you waved your fork around like a microphone when there was a song you liked.

⎯ dan heng wished he could have your loud and exciting spirit and love for after parties, but he found himself done for the day. so now, the two of you were eating cake while most people were on the dance floor

⎯ dan heng felt bad about it; he felt like he was holding you down from your happiness because he was not the party type. he didn’t want to burden your enjoyment.

“if you want to dance, you should dance,” dan heng let go of the arm he had wrapped around you.

“what?” you furrowed your eyebrows. you took another bite out of the shared cake.

“you don’t have to worry about me. i’ll be fine. you have go have fun,” dan heng repeated himself with utmost seriousness. you almost burst out with laughter.

“i don’t need to dance to be happy,” you chuckled and interlocked your fingers with dan heng’s, “as long as i have you around, i’m perfectly content,” you grinned.

⎯ yeah. dan heng definitely enjoys weddings.

dan heng returns your smile and wraps his other arm around you once more. he pulled you closer to place a kiss on your temple. as long as you’re around, dan heng is more than perfectly content. he is overjoyed.

gepard

⎯ you two are executives for a wedding planning company; it’s not your company, it’s pela’s. you two are friends of hers and just so happen to work there together.

⎯ you two are the best in the wedding planning game. you two are also rivals.

⎯ you guys are practically trying to outdo each other with every plan. the theme, the decorations, the music: whatever it is, one of you is striving to be better than the other.

⎯ you and gepard bicker so much that some of the maintenance people think YOU GUYS are the married couple.

⎯ gepard blushes so hard that you would think he just had a heat stroke. he quickly brushes of the comment and gets back to work.

⎯ you two are just so… different. but you’re the SAME. whoever’s idea it was to put you two together on an assignment needs to be fired bc most of the time you two are bickering 😭

“why would you make that the theme?” you questioned gepard, “that doesn’t match the wedding venue at all.”

“technically it is apart of the venue. they have two,” gepard corrected you. smartass

and also, “don’t you dare move that. it’s perfect where it belongs,” you ordered.

“it’s actually not,” gepard counters, “it’s not centered.”

⎯ you end up getting so frustrated that you have to walk off the scene and run to starbucks.

⎯ but there are some points where you see gepard in a different light. like when he helps you set up the fairy lights. also when he helps you lift heavy things.

⎯ oh yeah and the fact that he caught you when you fell from a ladder.

you didn’t know how you managed to slip from a ladder, but you did. you thought you were about to face imminent death until you felt strong arms wrap around your thighs.

“what were you thinking?!” gepard exasperatedly asked.

“uhh, that i could reach it?” you brushed him off, trying not to acknowledge the position that you were in at the moment. you were also trying to ignore how fast your heart was beating, but that was blamed on adrenaline.

⎯ even though you and gepard argued for half of the time, there were a few (many) accidents, and someone spilled punch on the ground; the wedding venue ends up looking nice thanks to you and gepard!

⎯ at the end of this tiring and long day, you sat down at one of the tables and ate a few bites of leftover cake. that is until gepard randomly comes up to your table.

gepard extends his hand to you, “would you like to dance? as a way to celebrate the happy couple?”

you raise an eyebrow and give him a sly smirk, “you deign to touch the hand of your opposition?” you joked.

“i’m full of surprises,” gepard looks away from you to scan the venue, “just like this venue. it's beautiful by the way. you did well.”

you take his hand into yours; gepard’s hand is calloused and warm. “give yourself some credit,” you pull him out to the dance floor, then you pull him closer to you, “shall we?”

blade

⎯ you two are some WEDDING CRASHERS

⎯ you first suggested the idea as a joke; you’ve been wanting to go to a wedding after your tiktok kept showing you wedding venues.

⎯ you never expected to actually be wrecking a wedding so soon. you didn’t even know how blade found a wedding to crash.

“are there apps for these things?”

“um… no????”

⎯ you two sneak in undetected and you arrive just in time for the after party!!

⎯ you guys end up sitting in some randos’ seats that never showed up. so for the time being you two were the married couple mr and mx anderson.

⎯ luckily, the people you sat by had no idea what the andersons looked like. they had questions, and surely they will be confused by the end of this night, but you will never see these people ever again!! so you guys answered their questions

“how’s your newborn? we heard you guys just had a baby,” the couple next to you pointed.

⎯ psa for my gn!readers or male!readers, you guys just had a surrogate

⎯ BABY??????? you nearly choked on your food. chivalrously, blade took the opportunity to answer for you.

"we did," blade smiled and rubbed your stomach, "we're hoping for another one soon," he smirked when he looked at you.

⎯ your eyes popped out of your skull and you turned to him. you took the rest of your food down with a gulp and you turned to face the couple across from you.

⎯ once they left, you elbowed blade in his ribcage. or, you tried to anyway, you doubt he felt anything from it.

"what was that?" your eyes went wide. you tried to hide your embarrassment.

"what was what?" blade asked. his tone with filled with mock-confusion. the bastard knew what he was doing.

"please, don't make me say it out loud," you hide your face in your hands, trying not to smile. to say you haven't thought of a domestic life with blade would be a lie.

blade rubbed your shoulder and then slid his arm over your waist, pulling you closer, "it was funny," he chuckled.

you unmasked your face to punch him in the shoulder, "it was mortifying," you laughed.

blade planted a kiss near your ear, "'m sorry," he was not, "let's go dance. enjoy yourself. before the next one comes," he added. you almost shoved him off of you after that.

⎯ blade is NOT funny.

sampo

⎯ here you were surrounded by so many couples, yet you are alone. you are alone at the bar and you've had waaaaay too many margaritas to be thinking straight.

⎯ you were almost about to leave when a mysterious blue-haired man slid into the seat next to yours.

⎯ sampo had been watching you for the entire wedding. maybe watching wasn't the right word: he had been observing you. that is not the right word either. simply put, he was entranced by you. you were stunning; you lit up the entire room. it's strange how someone like you had no one by your side.

"care if i bought you a drink?" sampo asked, leaning towards you.

"i think i'm too drunk to drink," you slurred. you were tired and single and lonely. not even this random man could console you.

⎯ when you laid your head down and groaned, sampo was a little concerned. he was concerned for two reasons: for your wellbeing and for what he might've accidentally gotten himself into.

⎯ sampo has fallen victim to hangovers multiple times and, judging by how wasted you are right now, you are about to be the next victim.

⎯ he asked the bartender to get you a glass of water. now, he just had to wake you up. or cheer you up.

“hey, you might wanna drink think,” sampo pushed the drink towards you.

you raised your head up, surveyed the drink, and then pushed it away. “nice try buddy. i know you put something in that.”

⎯ sampo’s jaw went agape. he completely forgot about that possibility. of course you wouldn’t take a drink from a stranger that randomly came up to you.

“uh, how about we just get you another glass of water,” he grabbed the cup back and ordered another one, this time with you watching. once you made sure nothing happened to your drink, you gulped it down.

“thanks,” you set the glass down. “i’ll be needing that in the morning,” you groaned.

⎯ even when you’re miserable you’re beautiful, sampo thought

“i get it,” sampo laughed. you two exchanged names and you started to tell the story of why you were so drunk in the first place

⎯ when you finished, sampo remembered every detail of your story. he wanted the sound of your voice to be imprinted into his brain; he wanted the sight of you burned into his eyes.

⎯ and by the end of that night, after you two exchanged phone numbers, sampo was sure to make his dream a reality.

jing yuan

⎯ best couple alert??? you guys are just there for fun and relaxation

⎯ everyone knows you two are the couple that’s getting married next. just the love that you two have for each other is enough evidence to prove their theory.

⎯ you two are there for the reception, the actual wedding, the after party. like you guys EAT WEDDINGS UP.

⎯ it’s a sweet and silent love. it doesn’t overshadow the wedding couple, but everyone can tell that it’s prevalent and it’s most definitely there.

⎯ everyone can also see the immense love jing yuan has for you just by looking at his expression. as a general, most would think his mind is preoccupied on strategy and tactics. that is not true though; jing yuan would argue that, half of the time, his mind is on you. he wonders about you, thinks about you, wishes about you.

⎯ and his actions?? the way he always pulls out a chair for you so you can sit before him. the way he carefully tugs you to the side if someone were about to hit you. the way his hand rests coyly on your thigh.

⎯ don't get me started on when you two start dancing.

cliche as it is, sometimes i does feel like the world is shining it's light on the two of you when you two dance. you two aren't master dancers or anything. with jing yuan's lifestyle, there is no time for trivial activities such as dancing, but for you he'd always make an exception.

⎯ you two are both awful. omfg you guys actually suck at dancing. like get off of the dance floor LMAO. since you two probably have very busy lives, there isn't much time for fun like weddings. that's why the two of you try to embrace weddings and other fun activities as much as possible

"you keep stepping on my feet," jing yuan laughs. he tries to guide the two of you to an empty slot on the floor, but fails.

"i'd be able to dance properly if someone stopped knocking me into others," you jokingly retorted. even though jing yuan was a general, all his poise and prosperities was washed away on the dance floor.

"i highly doubt that," he twirled you. you leaned closer into his chest this time, melting into his body. he was warm; a good contrast to the chill of the room. even with his shitty dancing skills, you think that you could never be sick of him.

⎯ yeah u two are definitely getting married in the near future. jing yuan is sure of it. after all, he's already gotten a ring.

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #gepard x reader #gepard x you #blade x reader #blade x you #sampo x reader #sampo x you #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #giggled when i wrote some of these lol

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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months

Text

— DEMONOLOGY AND HEARTACHE

SUMMARY : dean is a devout catholic and has never known a life outside the church, all his resolve is broken by the temptation of a hellish seductress

PAIRING : priest!dean winchester x demon!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS : explicit(18+), smut, p in v, oral (m. receiving), corruption kink, praise kink, priest au, priest kink, sub/dom dynamics, sub!dean, defiling holy stuff

WORD COUNT : 4.9k

A/N : title from an atreyu song. dean’s not undercover, just pure corruption. I’m going to hell. my sister said his seed is holy, lmaoo. this one fills my “Go to hell!”/“Where do you think I came from?” square for my @jacklesversebingo card. enjoy Dean’s holy seed (and I’m sorry if y’all are religious, I used to be religious, too, to make it worse) XX

Green eyes illuminated by moonlight. They flit across the dark and empty space of the nave casually. There’s a draught that makes him shudder, but he remains unphased. He makes sure the lights are off, double checks that the doors and windows are closed, and continues onward to his room to rest for the night.

He’s still in his vestments, blending in with the darkness. He only becomes darker in the shadows of the hallways, making his way to the staircase leading to his room. The wooden stairs creak beneath his formal shoes, olden oak that’s more silent in the day, thunders in the silent dark.

A crucifix greets him when he’s at the top of the staircase and he makes the sign of the cross automatically, but slowly, with reverence. Moonlight kisses his delicate features; green eyes twinkle like a billion stars, gold lashes like the lustre of the sun’s reflection on the moon’s surface, freckles show clearly now beneath the exposing light.

His splendour is unmatched even inside the grand cathedral.

He makes his way blindly to his bedroom and wipes a hand over his stubble, scratching lightly at his jaw, thoughtfully planning out his next day. He gets to his room and begins to toe off his shoes as he pushes the door open all the way.

He expects moonlight to strike his face, but it’s quiet and dark. He can smell firewood and something foul, unfamiliar. He thinks nothing of it, he can feel the breeze pushing between his curtains, and assumes it’s something outside. He turns around to shut the door and holds the wall for balance as he pulls his shoes off all the way.

“Father,” he hears a soft voice, unknown to him. He turns quickly, half-scared, half-confused: how did someone get up here and why is there a woman in my room? were the first questions asked in his mind. The dim light on his bedside table lights up his room and reveals a nun in her nightgown sitting on his bed.

He recognises her now and relaxed, only slightly. She’s new and arrived two weeks ago. Sister… something or another; it’s been a busy couple of weeks.

She watches him curiously, her brows furrow and her eyes mysterious. She leans back casually on her arms, too relaxed for his comfort. The top of her nightgown undone, two strings hang loosely over her breasts. A chill teases his spine and rides up to the top of his head, prickling the freckled skin of his body. He doesn’t move.

“What are you doing here?” He asks quietly, offering his hand to her to get her to stand from his bed. She stares at it indifferently. “You should be in your quarters,” he adds, reaching out for her arm instead.

“I’ve been thinking about what I confessed to you yesterday, Father,” she murmurs, shaking her arm out of his hand. He sighs tiredly, but smiles kindly at her anyway. He can’t remember her confession, everyone confesses multiple times about multiple things, and goes to him—searching for repentance.

“You’re forgiven, you need to move forward,” he reassures her.

“I don’t think I can,” she replies almost instantly. He raises a brow, but lets her continue. “Does that… make me a bad person?” She asks, concern and guilt laces her voice.

“No, it makes you human.” He purses his lips and takes her soft hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You should sleep, we can talk tomorrow,” he tries again, loosening his grip on her cool hand, but she keeps holding onto it.

He narrows his eyes, his jaw clenches when she lifts her cotton gown. He raises a brow when she’s standing up on her knees, and a crease forms between his eyebrows. Her other hand curls around the back of his neck and he opens his mouth to question her, moving back slightly. Instead, her grip becomes firm and her warm lips press against his lips and he stiffens, confused.

He can feel her hand around his wrist moving and her gown ruffles. He feels her warmth beneath his fingers, wetness against his fingertips, that makes him gasp and pull away. He snatches his hand away from between her legs and sees that she’s smiling knowingly.

“What are you doing?” He asks in disbelief, but his heart is pounding, sending blood to his cock. “You need to leave,” he clears his throat. Heat, like hellfire, washes over his body, and turns away to hide himself when his face flushes and his cock twitches.

“Come on, Father,” she murmurs provocatively. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply before turning to face her with a glare. “I know what you’ve been dreaming of,” she laughs mischievously, sitting back on her legs. She pulls down the top of her nightgown, freeing her breast to play with her nipple. Her other hand moves down between her legs, she opens herself by parting her legs, and starts to tease her wet slit while he watches.

“Go to hell!” He shouts at her, looking away and trying to get out of his room. He reaches the doorknob and gets the door open only for it to slam shut.

“Where do you think I came from?” She asks darkly, and his stomach sinks. He shakes the doorknob wildly and pulls as hard as he can, but it doesn’t budge. He feels her hand grab the back of his shirt and she flings him across the room so he lands on the bed. He scrambles up on it and tries to get away when her eyes flash completely black. “You’re getting rusty, Dean, ignoring all those omens,” she shakes her head and tsks, climbing up on the bed with him.

He thinks about what she says, he never thought much about the mutilations because of the wolves that roam freely, or the electrical storms because of the cold and the usage of heaters, or the crop failures due to the weather. He shouldn’t have brushed it off, but he hadn’t encountered demonic activity in years. This whole time, it was circling him and he didn’t even notice.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” he starts to whisper, grabbing the rosary from around his neck. “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incur-” She grabbed the rosary from him roughly, quieting the exorcism from continuing, and stared at it with a wicked smile before pulling it harshly.

“That won’t work on me, baby.” The beads fell over his body when the rosary snapped. Wooden beads and black beads bounce on his bed, then scatter loudly onto the floor, rolling and sliding across wood until they stop on their own or hit a wall.

“You… you were making me dream all those things,” he accuses breathlessly. She nods wordlessly, stepping in between his parted legs with her hands on his bent knees. She bites her lip, stares lustfully at the black attire he wears. A holy man.

“I know… you liked it,” she whispers, causing him to swallow nervously. “I watched you pleasure yourself every time you woke up,” she admits shamelessly, fingers meeting his belt to get it off. He squirmed and grabbed her hand to stop her, but his cock was hard just remembering his hedonistic actions and the lewd dreams that haunted him every night for weeks. “What was it like dreaming of how soft I feel? Do you think your hand feels as good as I do inside? Do you want my mouth like you loved using it in your dreams?” She continues to tease, leaning over him, hands sliding up the front of his body.

He was warm and taut beneath her hands. His body hums with pleasure, he aches to touch her despite knowing it was wrong. He craves to feel her body beneath his own, wrapped around him so tightly. He hates himself for it, but it’s all his mind could think of, especially when he could feel her warm breath over his tingly lips.

“What do you want from me?” He asks quietly, staring deeply into her black eyes. She blinks and they return to normal eyes again, a sweet smile growing on her face. It could’ve fooled him, that warmth that sparkled inside—it must actually be hellfire.

“I want you to beg me to fuck you, I want you to need it really bad,” she whispered hotly, tracing the buttons on his shirt. He swallowed anxiously, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of her pink lips and soft skin, supple breasts in plain sight, smooth thighs pressed against his. His whole body longed for the feel of her lips, her hands, for everything of hers to be on him.

“I… I can’t do that,” he choked out. He grabs her hands and moves them away from his body then scoots up on his bed to put some distance between them.

“You can,” she encourages him with a wicked smile, crawling up to him. “You will,” she promises, reaching between his legs for his belt.

He squirms, weakly attempting to push her away because that’s what his instincts told him to do. She’s a demon, he’s a priest. She is unholy and he’s supposed to be an intermediary for God, Jesus, the angels, the Holy Spirit, and everything else that’s good. He can’t just lay with a woman, especially when she comes directly from hell.

She didn’t make a single move. She just waited for him and her hair fell prettily over her shoulder when she tilted her head at him expectantly. Her skin looked smooth and her lips were pink and they looked soft. He could easily remember what they looked like around his cock in his dreams. He didn’t want to give in to her, he spent years in the church, he has every scripture memorised, and he’s helped hundreds of people without expecting so much as a thanks.

But he wanted to really feel what he’d felt in his dreams for two weeks. He craved it like he’d never craved sex before—or anything else for that matter. Here, in a holy place was a very sexy woman in his bed, a woman who crawled her way out of hell and became fixated on him. For weeks, she tormented him, planted herself in his dreams and gave him glimpses of her in real life as a nun covered from head to toe.

Now, she sat between his legs, with nothing underneath her sleeping gown. The pure white dress hid the true darkness of her soul. He rubbed his fingers together, though they were dry, his slacks tightened just remembering the feel of her wet folds against his fingertips. He’d never been this hard and desperate before, it usually went away quickly when the guilt of his libidinous thoughts consumed him.

He’d never done anything bad before, never strayed from his teachings or from the rules. Here she was, tempting him to take a bite of her, tempting him to give himself to her for her pleasure, for his pleasure. Demon or not, no one’s ever gone out of their way to get to him, that was a messed up thought, but it turned him on.

“Please,” he chokes out. It shocked him. He stared at her in surprise, but she just looked back at him arrogantly. Slowly, as if waiting for his protest, she tugged his belt and got the leather out of the buckle. He started to breathe heavily, aroused by her gaze and thought of being defiled.

She starts to pull the belt from the loops of his slacks and he willingly lifts his hips when it catches beneath him. He gives in easily when she pops the button out of the slit. He even lets his head fall back into the pillow and rolls his hips upwards when she slowly pulls the zipper down.

She starts to pull his pants down, he can feel the rough scrap of his boxers against his skin when she tries to do it all at once. He doesn’t care anymore, with his thumbs hooked at the sides, he pulls them down with her help. He can feel the cool air kiss his cock, slowly as she exposes him. He moans softly when he’s fully free, he knows there’s precum leaking at the slit, it feels colder.

He feels like a wanton whore and he’s barely made a sound. He can hear the delicate fabric of his clothes hit the floor, it makes him feel more excited.

“Wow, you really are blessed,” she murmurs, her warm breath blowing over his cock. He fists the sheets, feels it twitch instantly, and opens his eyes to stare at her. “It’s just as pretty as the rest of you,” she praises, keeping eye contact with him. He bites his lip and he’s about to respond with a ‘shut up’ when she lets a string of her saliva drip onto his tip.

The words catch in his throat. She leans forward, her soft hair falls over her face, and her tongue makes contact with the warm head of his cock. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when she hums at the taste of him. His body stiffens and it feels even better than he dreamed. When he lets his head fall back into the pillow, he catches a glimpse of the crucifix over his bed. She turned it upside down.

“Father,” she whispers, “don’t look away from me.” He looks back at her, her soft hands manoeuvre his body so he has his knees bent upwards again. He feels exposed, vulnerable, sinful, and dirty.

“Don’t call me that,” he requests softly. He reaches for her jaw to guide her back down onto him. That excites her, he can see her eyes livening. His stomach flutters.

“Dean,” she sneers when she wraps her hand around the base of his cock and starts to twist her hand upwards. He growls lowly, shyly lifts his arm, and puts it over his eyes. “I prefer calling you Father. It makes this way hotter. Don’t you think?” She asks teasingly and then laughs.

“No….” He trailed off, spreading his legs a little wider when she leaned forward to kiss his stomach.

“Call me whatever you want, Father,” she whispers against his skin, trailing her lips downwards as she jerks him off. “Whore, demon, hellspawn… Sister,” she smirks when he whines, then sucks on his hip bone. A red mark blossoms on his skin. “I’m so wet,” she tells him, teasingly flattering her palm over the tip of his dick, “this is the most fun I’ve had in ages.” He watches the little smirk on her face and while he’s curious about what she does in hell, he can feel his impending release.

“Please,” he begs quietly. It makes her stop instead. She puts one hand on the inside of his thigh and spreads him open the way a man would do to a woman and she stares down at him curiously. He wiggles to close his legs but she’s stronger than he is, and keeps him as she has him. She pulls gently at his balls, then pushes, and eventually finds a pace where it starts to feel more intense.

“Jesus Christ,” she murmurs with a chuckle, “you’re so fucking sexy.” He flushes at her words and watches her lean down to suck on his balls. He moans loudly and tangles his hand in her hair, then tugs so she moves upwards. “You’re built like a god, any man would be jealous,” she teases, letting him guide her.

“Do what you did in my dreams,” he suggests, then slid his hand down her shoulder and inside the top of her nightgown. He fondled her breasts and innocently held eye contact with her.

“What did I do?” She asks playfully, placing one small kiss on his leaking cock. He glares at her, but she shrugs like she has no idea what he’s talking about. She continues to tease him instead, bites down on his thigh and sucks until he’s whining.

“Please, suck it,” he begs bashfully, pulling his hand out of the gown. She moves up his body, he’s sure it’s to embarrass him when she stares down at him.

“Suck what?” He groans at her question, lifts both hands to tug frustratedly at his hair. She moves away nonchalantly, slowly begins to lift the white gown upwards, revealing inch by glorious inch of her perfect body. He watches her touch herself with his mouth parted in astonishment, her hands play with her breasts and she teases herself between her legs.

“Suck my cock, please, I want to feel your mouth,” he rushes out quickly. He sits up and takes her waist, dragging her forward until he has his warm mouth on her nipple.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, Dean,” she promises, playing with his hair. She rubs her thighs together and lets him switch from one nipple to the other. He stares up at her the whole time, his eyes shimmering with lust. “I hope this haunts you forever,” she sneers. Giving his hair a sharp tug to move him away forcefully and go down on him. He grunts softly and wraps his hand around his cock, slowly sliding a dry hand up and down.

“That’s my job,” she scolds, slapping his hand away. She settles between his legs, and without warning, she wraps her lips around the tip, sending a sharp electric feeling running up his spine. It’s unbelievable how wet she feels around him, how warm her mouth feels engulfing him inch by inch. His stomach becomes taut with the way she runs her tongue along the bottom vein, sucking when she lifts up slightly, then does it over and over.

Her slowness drives him crazy. She was merciless in his dreams, passionate and focused on making him reach the ultimate pleasure, but now, she’s just torturing him. One of her hands follows her mouth and the other slides up his chest beneath the buttoned black shirt. Her nails scrape his chest gently but her fingers brush teasingly against his nipple. He arches his back and moans loudly, he doesn’t care that the night amplifies his voice and carries his pretty noises quickly down the halls of the holy church.

She slides her hand away from his chest and blindly finds his wrist. He grips the sheets tightly, moaning and groaning. The sounds he made travelled to her clit, it pulsed, her walls clenched around nothing, and she dripped between her legs with a flood of warm heat. He let her place his hand on her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. She’s not going to give him what he wants, she wants him to take what he wants. It’s the ultimate goal for her, to make him loosen up and fuck her mouth.

“Please, I want…” he trails off, both his hands now resting on her head. She drools around his cock and hums when he pushes her down farther. She wants to shove him deeper into her, to take him fast and hard, but it turns her on more to make him needy and desperate. To make him be the one that uses her demonic mouth and hellish body for his pleasure.

She holds onto the back of his thighs and pushes them so they’re almost at his chest. When her nose is pressed against his pelvis and she swallows around him, he holds her there.

“Oh, Jesus,” he moans, his balls draw inwards and his stomach coils. She moans softly and starts to pull off him, only to start sucking and bobbing her head up and down just as he wanted her to. He gets louder somehow and rougher, his grip on her hair is almost painful. The sounds of her throat getting fucked makes him shudder and squirm. He needs to cum so bad. “Yes, don’t stop…” he breathes out.

She hums again, he thought it was a promise that she wouldn’t stop, but when he makes that specific grunt he tends to make when he’s about to cum and when he stiffens and gasps, the warmth of her wet mouth is replaced by the drag of cool air from the room.

He whines and his eyes fly open. He watches her smirk and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She still has one hand on his thigh, bending him and keeping him open. He gets shy again, but she doesn’t let him keep his dignity. She gets closer to him and she leans over him to whisper, “you taste so good, Father, I’d imagine it’s all the holy fuckery you consume and spew to others…”

“It turns me on. You make me so wet and needy. Your mouth is mine.” She kisses him softly, even though her words offend him. He glares at her for her blasphemy, but his eyes close when her soft, sweet lips make contact with his. The tenderness of her kiss fools him, takes his mind off her offensive expressions, and keeps him complacent.

Her tongue prods at his lips. Her lewdness makes him eager, she’s thorough, licking across his lips slowly. When he opens his mouth to her, her kiss is hungry. She traces the inside of his mouth with her tongue, like a cartographer, she’s precise and she makes him breathless. She barely pulls away, allowing him to catch his breath temporarily before resuming.

She’s warm when her tongue brushes against his, velvety and sweet. She tastes like wine and fruit, bitter and sweet. The taste of her is divine, opposing her unholy nature and the filthy words she uses to worship him. She pulls away again and straddles his hips. He barely recovers from her kiss when he feels her rub herself over his cock.

He feels his stomach do flips like a dog excited to show his master tricks for a treat. She moans softly and continues rolling her hips. He bends his knees and grasps her thighs painfully, watches between their bodies how she slides her wetness up and down his cock. She begins to unbutton his shirt and carelessly throw the clerical collar behind her when she fully gets the shirt open.

“Wait,” he stops her breathlessly, “is this your body?”

She raises a brow and looks down at herself with a nod. “Had to dig it out of a hole in the forest. I was a witch, a badass one. Those stupid hunters,” she grumbles the last bit under her breath, lifts herself up and positions his tip at her entrance. He raises a brow, too, a smile of amusement grew on his lips as he bit down on it. “Why? Do you like it?” She smirks, but his response is cut off by a moan when she lowers herself on his cock.

She feels even better than he dreamed. He huffs out a breath, he feels sweatier with the shirt and the suit jacket he still wears, but if she doesn’t feel like letting him take it off, he doesn’t mind. She grinds down on him and finds his hands to place one on her breasts and the other between her legs.

“You feel fucking amazing inside me, Dean,” she praises. His stomach lurches, the use of his name turns him on more, and he bucks his hips up. With a little moan she starts to lift herself up, he can feel every inch of her against his cock, the wetness, the warmth. He doesn’t think he’ll last as long as he did in his dreams. He carefully thumbs between her folds and feels for her clit. Her gasp guides him and he gently flicks it until she’s riding him faster. She leans back against his bent legs, arches her back, and he squeezes her breast roughly. “That’s right, you’re doing so good,” she says softly, spreading her legs to open herself more to his adept fingers.

Her words spur him on, the bedsprings start to squeak, the headboard starts to hit the wall, the upside down crucifix rattles on the wall. His senses are high. She feels amazing wrapped around his cock, her breathy moans fuel the fire of his orgasm. She tightens and squeezes around him, walls clamping down and keeping him inside her. He starts to get louder, too, he can’t help it. Groans slip from his lips and he whimpers occasionally, he can feel her react each time, and he doesn’t plan on shutting up.

“You’re so good, so goddamned perfect,” she cries softly, it’s the hottest thing he’s heard or seen. She gets sloppy and desperate, staring down at him covetously. He stares back, even if he wants to shut his eyes and hide away from her gaze. He rubs around her clit faster and watches her fall apart, little by little.

She sounds, looks, and feels even hotter. In his dreams, he understood her intentions and how hot it would be if they had sex, but the reality of it is far more intense and intimate compared to any of his dreams. She filled his mind with fantasies he’d never had before. Having sex in the confessional, on the altar, in the Bishop’s office, and countless locations that were far too holy—in his opinion—being defiled by both of them. He pinches her nipple roughly, she moans and tightens around him. Then, he flicks her clit faster, watches her seize while whining his name.

“Be a good boy and cum for me, Dean. Want you to fill me up,” she says breathlessly. He throbs inside of her and whimpers involuntarily, feeling himself spill inside her as if his body worked according to her commands.

“God,” he moans, bucking his hips upwards. He abandons her clit and her breast, and bruisingly digs his fingers into her thighs. He moans softly, letting the orgasm take over his body and mind. He pulls her down with both hands on her hips and keeps her on his cock shortly, her walls flutter and she inhales sharply. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes half-open.

“Holy fuck,” she gasps, toes curling as she falls apart at the sensation of his cum warming her up. She slowly moves up and down, letting him feel every inch of her pulsing walls along his throbbing cock. Her fingers find her clit to intensify and lengthen her orgasm, finishing what he’d begun. She doesn’t expect his tenderness, but he sits up and tangles his hand into her hair and kisses her deeply.

He mimics how she’d kissed him earlier. His inexperienced tongue traces the roof of her mouth and he brushes his tongue timidly against hers. She deepens the kiss, encourages him to keep doing what he wants to do and tugs his hair. His quiet moans make her horny again and he pulls away. Now that she’s abandoned her clit, she shoves his clothes off his shoulders.

She kisses his neck and his chest. His mind starts to drift now that he’s basking in the afterglow, her lips ghost downward and she lightly touches his nipple with the tip of her tongue. He stiffens and focuses on her again. She moves off his softened cock which is coated in a mixture of their release. She chuckles and then beholds him in his entirety.

He glows and he’s flushed, pink and shiny with sweat. His cock rests on his thighs and he has a mark on his hip from her lips. His lips are swollen, almost red from biting them, coated in saliva—hers and his. His hair is a mess, sexy and soft. He looks guilty now, but she moves forward and looks him in the eyes when she licks the cum off his sensitive cock.

“Don’t worry, Father,” she murmurs before sucking gently on the tip. He gasps and clutches her hair, pulling her off him forcibly. “Even for this… they’ll forgive you, Dean,” she whispers darkly. She gets off the bed and he watches her walk to the small altar he has. She steals a white cloth then walks around his room curiously. She stops in front of a photograph of Jesus and she opens her legs to clean herself.

His eyes widen as he watches her, “hey, come here.” He takes her attention away successfully and watches her drop her leg to walk towards him. “Why are you interested in me?” Is the first question that comes to mind as he panics. “Will you… be less interested in me if I sin more, like we did tonight?” He has the feeling part of her interest in him is simply the fact that he is the weakest, the most susceptible to sin, lust, and making mistakes.

“No… because you’re not going to stray from your beliefs,” she reassures him. “You actually believe, because of your father. Stay the way you are, Dean. You’re going to repent and you’ll mean it, but when you’re with me… you’ll sin again and I’ll defile you, over and over,” she smiles down at him and then climbs onto his bed again, she settles behind him, leaning against the headboard and the wall.

“Until when?” He asks, turning around to look at her.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, then her eyes flicker down to her body. She parts her folds with two fingers. “Taste me,” she tells him. He tears his eyes from her face to look between her legs. His mouth waters and he slowly gets down into his stomach and stares back up at her. He gently prods her clit with his tongue, her other hand moves into his hair while his tongue slides between her two fingers. “Don’t you worry about the when right now… you and I will have our fun.”

➥ god, if you are above

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youryurigoddess · 5 months

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A nightingale sang in the London Blitz

When exactly was that certain night, the night Aziraphale and Crowley met — and spoke for the first time in 79 years in the midst of the London Blitz?

And what’s the deal with the nightingale’s song, really?

Grab something to drink and we’ll look for some Clues below.

The night they met

The Blitz, short for Blitzkrieg (literally: flash war) was a German aerial bombing campaign on British cities in the WW2, spanning between 7 September 1940 and 10 May 1941. The Luftwaffe attacks were carried out almost non stop, with great intensity meant to force a capitulation and similarly strong impact on British life and culture at the time.

Starting on 7 September 1940, London as the capital city was bombed for nearly 60 consecutive nights. More than one million London houses were destroyed or damaged, and more than 20,000 civilians were killed, half of the total victims of this campaign.

The night of 29 December 1940 saw the most ferocity, becoming what is now known as the Second Great Fire of London. The opening shot of the S2 1941 minisode is a direct reference to recordings of that event, with the miraculously saved St Paul’s Cathedral in the upper left corner.

The actual raid lasted between 06:15 and 09:45 PM, but its aftermath continued for days. The old and dense architecture of this particular part of the city turned into a flaming inferno larger than the Great Fire of 1666. Multiple buildings, including churches, were destroyed in just one night by over 100,000 bombs.

Incendiary bombs fell also on St Dunstan-in-the-East church that night, the real-life location of this scene as intended by Neil. It was gutted and again claimed by fire in one of the last air rides on 10 May, when the bomb destroyed the nave and roof and blew out the stained glass windows. The ruins survived to this day as a memorial park to the Blitz.

Such a delightfully Crowley thing to do: saving a bag of books with a demonic miracle adding to the biggest catastrophe for the publishing and book trade in years. 5 million volumes were lost, multiple bookshops and publishing houses destroyed in the December 29th raid alone.

Even without this context, judging by the seemingly unending night, overwhelming cold and darkness, broken heating at the theatre, and seasonal clothing (like Aziraphale and Crowley’s extremely nice winter coats), it’s rather clear that it was the very beginning of the year 1941.

Everything suggests that Aziraphale and Crowley’s Blitz reunion happened exactly 1900 years after their meeting in Rome — which, according to the script book, took place between 1 and 24 January 41 (Crowley was right: emperor Caligula was a mad tyrant and didn't need any additional tempting; there's a reason why he was murdered by his closest advisors, including members of his Praetorian Guard, on 24 January 41).

Interestingly, both events involved a role reversal in their otherwise stable dynamic, with Aziraphale spontaneously taking the lead instead of letting the demon be the one to do all the tempting and saving, and ended with a toast.

The S2 Easter Egg with the nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl playing table tennis at the theatre suggests that the Blitz meeting happened on a Tuesday afternoon, which doesn’t match any of the above mentioned days, but sets the in-universe date for 7 January 1941 or later.

The Chattering Order of Saint Beryl is under a vow to emulate Saint Beryl at all times, except on Tuesday afternoons, for half an hour, when the nuns are permitted to shut up, and, if they wish, to play table tennis.

The nightingale

January means one thing: absolutely no migratory birds in Europe yet. They’re blissfully wintering in the warm sun of Northern Africa at the time. But, ironically, when the real nightingales flew off, a certain song about them suddenly gained popularity in the West End of London.

It might be a shock, but A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square wasn’t a hit from the start — even though its creators, Eric Maschwitz and Manning Sherwin, were certainly established in their work at this point. The song was written in the then-small French fishing village of Le Lavandou shortly before the outbreak of the Second World War with first performance in the summer of 1939 in a local bar, where the melody was played on piano by the composer Manning Sherwin with the help of the resident saxophonist. Maschwitz sang his lyrics while holding a glass of wine, but nobody seemed impressed. It took time and a small miracle to change that.

Next year, the 23-year-old actress Judy Campbell had planned to perform a monologue of Dorothy Parker’s in the upcoming Eric Maschwitz revue „New Faces”. But somehow the script had been mislaid and, much to her horror, replaced with the song A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. She had never professed to be a singer but even so, she gathered her courage and went out onto the moonlit set dressed in a white ball gown. Her heartfelt rendition of the now evocative ballad captured the audience’s imagination and catapulted her West End career to stardom.

It was precisely 11 April 1940 at the Comedy Theatre in Panton Street and the revue itself proved to be a great success — not only it kept playing two performances nightly through the Blitz, but also returned the next year. And the still operating Comedy Theatre is mere five minutes on foot from the Windmill Theatre, where Aziraphale performed in 1941, and not much longer from his bookshop.

Now, most Good Omens meta analyses focus on Vera Lynn’s version of the song from 5 June 1940, but it didn’t get much attention until autumn, specifically 15 November, when Glenn Miller and his orchestra published another recording. And Glenn Miller himself is a huge point of reference in Good Omens 2.

According to the official commentary the infamous credits scene is establishing Aziraphale and Crowley’s final resolve for the next season using the same narrative device The Glenn Miller Story (1954) does in its most crucial scene. It starts with the tune (and audio in general) totally flat, then adds a piano on one side, and gradually becomes fully multidimensional. The Good Omens credits not only emulate the same sound effect, but bring it to the visual side of the narrative by literally combining the individual perspectives of the two characters together. Even though they’re physically apart, their resolve — and love to each other — brings them even closer than before. Aziraphale smiles not because he’s being brainwashed, but because he knows exactly what to do next.

Some of you might have noticed that Tori Amos’s performance for Good Omens is actually a slightly shortened version of Miller’s recording — much less sorrowful than Vera Lynn’s full lyrics that include i.a. this bridge:

The dawn came stealing up

All gold and blue

To interrupt our rendez-vous

I still remember how you smiled and said

Was that a dream or was it true?

Which is a huge hint when it comes to what we can expect from the main romantic plot line in the Good Omens series. The original song introduces an element of the doubt — it seems like there was no nightingale at all, only the mirage woven by the singer clearly intoxicated with love, much like Aziraphale and Crowley for the length of the last six episodes. Crowley’s comment in the season finale might allude to that interpretation, stating that there are no nightingales — never have been. It was all a dream. But the version we’re working with here is short and sweet, and devoid of that doubt. In the Good Omens universe angels were actually dining at the Ritz, the streets were truly paved with stars (or will be shown as such in the next season), and a nightingale really sang in Berkeley Square, as the omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent narrator, God Herself, had shown us.

All in all, it’s not an accident that the “modern” swing ballad activating Aziraphale’s memory and opening the 1941 minisode is the Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller. It’s a track naturally associated with A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square when it comes to music style and the sentiment in the lyrics.

But why the sudden popularity? In the great uncertainty and hardship of the Blitz, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square provided solace and escapism for listeners, offering a glimpse of hope and love amidst the darkness of war. It became a universal anthem of resilience and a reminder of the power of love transcending difficulties. By January 1941 the whole city knew this tune by heart, including a certain West End aficionado with a cabinet full of theatre programs in his bookshop. Thanks to Maggie’s grandmother, he most probably had a record at hand to play during his spontaneous wine night with Crowley. We can only suspect the details, but it was was mutually established as their song exactly at that time or soon afterwards. Pretty sure we will see a third installment of that minisode for many, many reasons, but especially because of this “several days in 1941” answer by Neil:

The Man Hunt

In 1941 A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square gained even more popularity as the romantic theme of the Fritz Lang’s newest film Man Hunt. The 1939 story by Geoffrey Household first appeared under the title “Rogue Male” as a serial in the Atlantic Monthly Magazine where it received widespread comment, soon becoming a world-wide phenomenon in novel form. Its premise criticizes Britain's pre-war policy of appeasement with Germany, ready to sacrifice its own innocent citizens to the tentative status quo. Sounds a bit like Heaven's politics, right?

Yes, I'm trying to make you watch old movies again — like all the other classics, Man Hunt (1941) is easily available on YouTube and other streaming websites.

The next part will include spoilers, so scroll down to the next picture if you prefer to avoid them.

The plot of the movie seems simple enough: the tall, dark, and handsome Alan Thorndike, who nearly assassinates Hitler, narrowly escapes Germany and back in London continues to evade the Nazi agents sent after him with the help of a young trench-clad “seamstress” named Jerry, bridging the class divide and becoming unlikely friends-partners-romantic interests. It doesn’t end well though.

Jerry's small London apartment serves as a hideout for Alan when he was being followed by Nazis, similarly to how Aziraphale's bookshop is a safe haven for both Crowley and Gabriel in S2. She helps the man navigate the streets and eventually out of London — by sacrificing herself and getting forcefully separated from him by a patrolling policeman. The last time they see each other, Alan watches Jerry look back at him yearningly and disappear in the fog, followed by the elderly officer.

Unfortunately in the next scene we learn that the latter is a Nazi collaborator and helps the agents apprehend Jerry in her own flat. Staying loyal to her love and uncooperative, she’s ultimately thrown out of a window to her death, but posthumously saves Alan once again — through the arrow-shaped hatpin he gifted her earlier that is presented to him as the evidence of her off-screen fate.

Long story short, thanks to Jerry’s sacrifice Alan not only survives, but is able to join the war that broke out in the meantime and go back to Germany, armed with a rifle and a final resolve to end what he started, no matter how long will it take. The justice will be served and the dictator will pay with his life for his sins.

I wouldn’t be myself without mentioning that the main villain has a Roman chariot statue similar to the one in Aziraphale’s bookshop, an antique sculpture of St Sebastian (well-known as the gayest Catholic Saint) foreshadowing his demise, and a chess set symbolizing the titular manhunt/game of tag with the protagonist.

Aziraphale’s song

Will Aziraphale sacrifice himself as well? Or has he already? If his coin magic trick can be any indicator, we should expect at least a shadow of a danger touching the angel’s wings soon.

Let’s sum up the 1941 events from Aziraphale’s perspective: the very first time they’ve interacted after almost a century, Crowley actively sabotaged his entire existence twice by stepping onto a holy ground and by being outed by agents of Hell, both on the very same night and both because of his undying dedication to the angel. That’s enough of a reason not only for performing an apology dance, but also maintaining a careful distance for Crowley’s sake for the next 26 years. Only when he heard that his idiot was planning to rob a church, he gave up since he “can't have him risking his life”.

That’s when Crowley, sitting in a car parked right under his bookshop, offered him a ride. It wasn’t even subtle anymore. It was supposed to be a date, this time both of them understood it. But Aziraphale wouldn’t risk Crowley’s safety for his own happiness, especially not when he can name his feelings towards him and knows that they are reciprocated — the biggest lesson he learnt back in 1941.

So he did what he’s best at, he cut Crowley off again, but this time with a promise of catching up to his speed at some point. Buddy Holly’s Everyday, which was originally planned to play afterwards instead of the Good Omens theme, adds additional context here:

No, thank you. Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could... I don't know… Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.

Aziraphale, carefully looking around and feeling observed through the whole conversation in the Bentley, consciously used the “Dine at the Ritz” line from A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, from their song, as a code only the two of them understand. Not as a suggestion to go out for a meal, but a promise. A hope for the privilege of being openly in love and together — maybe someday, not now, when it’s too dangerous — even if it leads to a bad ending.

Fast forward to 2023 when for one dreadful moment Crowley’s “No nightingales” robbed Aziraphale even of that semblance of hope. He looked away, unable to stop his tears anymore. Only their kiss helped him pull himself together and make sure that a nightingale did sing the last time he turned — just like in their song — this time without a smile, as a goodbye.

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bloodsoeur · 4 months

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butter gn!reader, 2.5k

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried.

you and the vampire spend a short gloaming sun discussing marriage outside the Elfsong.

word count: 2,538

crossposted on AO3 HERE

read the tags and decide your fate!

He’s softer this evening and the room is fuzzy.

The smell of richly slow-roasted meats & seasonal field greens slapped up high on battered dishes and lathered with fresh salted butter, topped with baby mint, with window-grown rosemary; with truffle salts and crushed peppercorns. Red wine gravy. The open kitchen and the overworked barkeep with sweat glistening at his cheekbone.

Chalices lift from sticky dark tables, sleeves animated in shades of burgundy & emerald moving yellowed, peeling playing cards to chests. Hands joined in prayers of gratitude and glory. Extra chairs for those held close. Laughter; lilting as the bounce of those who whirl around the open floor to the sound of the bards, folding over in some giddy stupor and barreling back to the bar for more.

You nurse a now-warm pint of Balor Ale with eyes closed, calm in empty contemplation as the city smells and sounds wash over you. A late summertide tapestry.

Though people mill about the bar frenetically and the sounds from inside the Elfsong are as raucous as ever; it all knots together to form a sweet, almost melancholy ambience.

Nearby merchants bellow late-day deals on (mildly) heat-foetid produce. Peals of children laughing as they bomb through the cobbles.

Occasionally you’ll flit your lazy eyes open to find him amongst the throngs of people inside.

And in perfect view, he lounges on the back support of an open booth seat Karlach occupies.

Other party members dot similarly around the bar area and the wine flows free as the Chionthar among them. Legs crossed one over the other and cool hands coloured in late amber - one to support, the other to hold the stem of an ‘aged’ Rosymorn Firewine which threatens to spill a little overside as his arm moves in conversation.

From this angle he’s captured beautifully in the gloaming tenday light and from his slightly straightened poise it’s clear he knows that you’re watching for him.

A voyeur.

He’d question your intent, right by your ear, in a sing-song voice so sinfully rich it’d go straight to your head; before chortling in that one silly way he knows never fails to make you smile and capturing you - his darling dearest - in a kiss for the ages.

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried.

You see he looks to you after what seems to have been a joke told by one of the group, eyes heavy lidded with joy and the worn creases by his eyes a little deeper by the day. Checking in. You join your friends when you want and are gratefully received on those many occasions, but you revere your time alone. He holds back because he doesn’t want to upset you in the slightest.

Despite reiterating that he is forever welcome to join you in said alone time - and all puns entailing your ‘ alone time ’ whispered in a soft silken purr aside - you feel it in the way he speaks to you.

A fruitfly hums by your ear. You swat it away and look to him once more.

Astarion’s eyes are back on the group.

He listens to stories beyond your earshot and smiles, lolling his pretty head back and dipping to sip from his glass often, the tips of his ears twitching ever so slightly as he does. You clock the sparkling glassware as opposed to the standard tavern-offering pewter chalice and grimace. A heavy bell rings from one of the gilded towers in the near distance.

There’s a cathedral near where you’re from - you remember your visits there as a young thing. The height of the tallest spire seemingly miles above your tiny skull. Ribbed vaulting and lancets. You’d marry him there, when he’d let you, in one of the smaller chapels just off the aged cloister walkway.

The old stone reminiscent of so many who’d loved in all sorts of mangled, patchwork ways before you two were even a thought.

You’d find a way for the sun to forgive him once this was over, so he could stand in the light of a stained rose window and feel faith in something the way those born into religion do.

A reception bursting at the seams with old friends at the Elfsong. You could dance yourselves to the point of a tired stupor with reason enough to do so. A celebration.

Travel across Toril and find a way for him to be able to stomach real food, maybe. Have a cake with marzipan and trifle with rich sherry-soaked sponge for the guests. For him.

His lips show the faintest touch of a wine singe as he looks from Wyll and across to Jaheira, squinting in the sun before standing to - presumably - head to the bar.

You close your eyes again and somewhere in the middle distance, bells continue to ring. A dopey grin as light heeled footsteps approach.

“I think everyone was beginning to wonder if we’d had a tiff.”

Astarion sniffs gently and sits - almost slumped - toward you before leaning in for the kiss.

His lips open lazily to meet yours over and over again, skimming over the back of your teeth with a tannin-stained tongue and all the urgency of a tenday rest. A cold thumb brushes over the apple of your newly freckled cheek.

A carafe of freshly corked wine on the bench before you both, glassware and a plate with warm bread. The butter you’d smelled earlier.

“Could’ve come to me sooner, lover.” You pose with a slow blink, holding his arm still at the wrist to keep his hand to your burning face.

Foreheads meet. The sun beats in the back and the still early evening air is interrupted by the faint buzz of insects and far-off children.

“I know. I do. You just looked so very deep in thought. Our heroic leader.” He jokes, emphasising ‘heroic leader’ in a mock grizzled tone before his head leaves yours and bringing you into his torso with his arm around you.

His stillness feels reverent.

He doesn’t jostle, not a single gesture. You steadily pour two glasses of Firewine from the hefty carafe and sit back into him again.

“I was thinking about you.” You say in earnest while moving to toy mindlessly with the hand draped over your shoulder.

“Hm?”

A flicker - his eyes are on you, a familiar burn, a fire poker. He knows that he’s often the subject of your pondering (if your word is to be believed) and has spent days of his own considering what that could mean.

On nights where his tongue sours with centuries of fermented scorn and his bedroll soaks through with thick, cold sweat; your mind is a fertile meadow and he resides as naught but a simple buxom milkmaid - giving and dense and virile atop dry grassy knolls and by stony running rivers, rutting and riding and suckling and spilling with bare teeth brushing shining cheekbones and dirt smears on thighs. Dimples on cheeks. Eyes of green and silver, blunt teeth.

“You. I was thinking about you.”

Astarion looks into the oncoming twilight. He rests his head to the side on yours, then nestles in a little. A sigh.

From that meadow however, there’s a house with a thatch roof in the far distance; in which he sits by a roaring fireplace in comfortable clothes of his own choice and you, bundling through the door with a basket of fresh produce to stew in hand.

Those lips alone capable of crafting a euphoria akin to a godsly blessing on him.

One bedroom; perhaps two.

Maybe even three.

“How so, my sweet?” He speaks with the familiar measure of a thousand yard stare.

He doesn’t make the voyeur joke you’d seen so vividly in your mind’s eye, nor does he collapse around you with both arms at either of your sides and his chin on your head; burying kisses into your hair and cackling maniacally.

His laundry must’ve dried on the balcony in your party’s quarters during the blazing height of Flamerule. Ruffled shirt linen, crisp and earthy.

“You want to know how I was thinking about you?”

A soft intake of breath.

“Yes.”

You shift a little to look to the Lower City further down the hills and pathways of Baldur’s Gate, the span of the Chionthar and its banks now lit with flaming torches.

The racket continues inside the Elfsong with songs being sung; food arriving at waiting tables and being spooned, hot, into hungry, wet mouths. Sweat slickened palms joining in prayer. Yellowed cards downed and reshuffled, hands dealt. Bards plucking at lutes and lyres on streets and in parks just far enough away.

He looks to you as you roll your tongue around the inside of your cheek. Soft round eyes seeking permission to dream alongside you.

‘I was picturing a wedding. Our wedding. In the cathedral back near home - I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before.”

Though it hasn’t been left to sit long enough to aerate, you take a long sip of wine and a cloying film of carnelian remains on your tongue.

His eyes sharpen.

“You didn’t just propose to me, did you?’

He quirks a brow.

‘Really, darling? Here?’

He gestures to your surroundings while feigning disdain and reaching for the other glass. You begin to shake your head.

‘Come on now, little love. Not even a ring?”

Astarion drinks. His voice is lower. You roll your head back in loving laughter and wriggle yourself from his grasp, buttering a chunk of bread before popping it cleanly into your mouth.

”You want a ring?’

A sip. A smile.

‘Go nick one. You’re the rogue here.” You quip, chewing still on the crust and wiping your fingers on a scrap of cloth.

He brings them to his lips and licks clean any trace of salty butter, kissing each pad of calloused flesh attentively before sipping from his glass.

“Thieving my own engagement ring? How very sad.’

Spare hand gesturing once again to the tavern in such a blasé fashion it would make you cringe if you still put any doubt into his estimation of you.

‘This whole thing.”

His brows furrow in jest, the corner of his mouth pulling at a quick smirk.

“Steal one for me, then.” You suckle at your wine, keeping the vessel close pressed to your lips lest their wavering seriousness give your smile away. Astarion studies you.

“You’d accept a stolen ring as a sign of promise? Of intent to marry?” He queries, though not sounding as airy - nor aghast - as he likely means to.

“Depends who stole it.”

He looks back to the city in the distance. Silence between the two of you.

“What were you picturing in that pretty head of yours? The wedding.”

His hands roll over one another nonchalantly as he says the word. Wedding. The glass sloshes. He’s toying on the precipice of serious, a scene he can’t quite play at comfortably yet.

“Oh no no no, my love. You’ll recoil. It was far too homely for your tastes.” You shake your head animatedly, waving your hands in emphasis.

He leans in towards you; a sordid grin. He’s comfortable now. The warmth in which his shirt dried vividly present.

“Oh go on, darling. Make me squirm. Tell me every fang-rottingly flaccid detail and I’ll absolutely hate it, I promise.”

You choose to forget the face of endless night this evening.

The anticipated fast approaching absence of the tadpole means - most likely - the rescinding of Astarion’s ability to walk in the sun, to bask under the stained glass rose in the chapel; or to waltz in a quiet midday embrace atop the Elfsong veranda.

“Can I trust you to be as absolutely appalled as I imagine you’ll be?” You whisper, saccharine in mock secrecy.

“I swear it. Hand on undead heart.”

He lingers barely above you, solemn; a voice of liquid gold.

You let the silence hang.

“A chapel’

He winces.

‘Cold and draughty in some early morning moment - a choir elsewhere in the building, not close enough to be loud but not far enough to have their verses be wholly indiscernible in song.”

“Go on.”

“Maybe a little austere in tone owing to the nature of the environment, but each moment feels anticipatory. A small - no, intimate - service, fast but…’

You tap your fingers on the dry wood of the bench. Trying to recall the exact sentiment.

‘Eager. Full of devotion so sickeningly true it literally fizzes below the surface of the flesh. Both of us.”

Now you sip, content. Astarion looks into the distance

There are no burdens pertaining to the ‘Absolute’. Life is being lived and the day feels as if it is ending only for another one - just the same - to rise in its place tomorrow. The idea of fighting and peril waits for the morning chimes. An unspoken agreement.

“I keep forgetting I can make choices like that now, truth be told. To commit myself to something with no intent other than that which I decide.”

He’s wistful. A little contemplative. Fingers tapping away.

“There’s no rush, my dove.’

Eyes back on you, hand reaching for yours.

‘Besides - for the trifle I pictured at the reception; we’d need to solve your little taste problem first before I’d dream of allowing such an indulgence to go to waste.”

Astarion coughs, a glint in his eye.

“You’re questioning my taste now?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at your choice in partner.”

He laughs softly.

“You're an insufferable thing.’

Your fingers & knapsack are both heavy already with stolen gems, as are those of every friend you’ve met along the road. Rings of onyx, quartz; once personal keepsakes & now your plunderer’s spoils. He’s like a magpie whilst rummaging through burlap sacks and rotten barrels. Token pieces without rhyme or reason.

He knows they’re worthless to sell on, anyway.

‘Who knows, though. I might like that. Once I know who I am again.”

Wobbles his head. Examines his pristine fingernails, buffing them softly against his blouse.

“Did you just accept a proposal that you fictionalised in the first place?” You gulp the last of your glass before refilling it swiftly.

“No. But now, you’ve got me thinking.”

“Pray tell?”

He looks at you, eyes now awash with mischief.

“Though I absolutely adore the vision of you on your knees for me - you know I do pet, hush now - I also like the idea of claiming the pose for myself. In a way that’s meaningful for me.’

He sips. You remain in place, hushed.

‘I’m not a details man, my love.’

Eyes on you.

‘Don’t do it for me. I want to. Once we know where we are.”

You beam at him. Pinpointing the moment he turns from rogue to butter, a soft smile on his face. Sincere in the last of the sunshine.

You’re not hinting, and you’d never intend to. When - or if - you’ll tie the knot is as asking the length of a piece of string.

The road which brought you to this very bench, however; has been one fraught with similar nonsensical questions.

#astarion x reader #astarion #fluff #not smut #my writing #one shot #talk of marriage #gender neutral reader #i think #should be anyway #soft astarion

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theostrophywife · 1 year

Text

the prince of hell.

my love is a mindless flight risk, never on time but god he's timeless he's a villain, he's a saint, he's a hero—he's a fucking renegade author's note: i've scoured high and low for demon!azriel fics and couldn't find any, so i thought why not write it myself? there will definitely be multiple parts of this. as always, thank @writingsbychlo for listening and participating in my rants about dark daddy az.

song inspiration: masterpiece by sam short.

The church bells tolled in the packed cathedral as you walked through the crowded pews. Each ring that reverberated against the stone walls mimicked the beat of your heart.

One. Your father clutched your arm, his ironclad grip preventing you from bolting. The false smile he wore held no warmth. Only greed for what he stood to earn by pawning off his only daughter like a prized mare.

Two. Your mother looked up from her seat at the front of the altar, and the words she had spoken to you before the ceremony echoed through your mind like a death sentence. You’ll learn to love him, she said. As I learned how to love your father.

Three. Your betrothed leered at you, hunger dancing behind his cold, dead eyes. I will break you, his wicked smile seemed to say. Then I will mold you into a perfect, obedient wife.

With each step, you came closer and closer to sealing your fate. The shaky breath you released fluttered through your lace veil like a ripple in the ocean. As the hem of your wedding dress kissed the marble mosaic floor, you screwed your eyes shut and prayed.

Please, you pleaded. Please, save me.

Thunder rumbled through the church. Screams erupted from all sides. The ground beneath you shook as the earth cracked open to release mist and fog from the bowels of hell.

In the midst of chaos, a winged figure emerged from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat as you caught sight of the beautiful male. Cloaked in darkness, a pair of familiar glowing golden eyes locked onto yours from across the room.

The Prince of Hell smiled. “Hello, my heart.”

He had a face like heaven and a voice like sin. A small voice in the back of your head warned you to be afraid, but your heart warred against logic. While everyone else in the room screamed in terror at the sight of the devil, you only saw salvation.

“Azriel,” you breathed. His name sounded like a prayer on your lips.

You had never seen him before, at least not while you were awake. But you knew that face. You dreamt of him every night.

Azriel was your favorite fantasy. The beautiful male that took you away from your monotonous life. A figment of your imagination that symbolized all the things that awaited in the world beyond, should you ever be afforded the chance to escape becoming someone’s simpering, obedient little wife.

He wasn’t supposed to be real, but yet here he was in the flesh.

“You’re here,” you said, hardly believing the words yourself. “You came.”

The Prince of Hell pierced you with his gaze. “I will always come for you.”

From behind him, your groom-to-be flicked dust and ash from his doublet before glancing at Azriel with contempt. “Who the hell are you?”

The male was either exceptionally brave or extremely stupid.

The Prince of Hell regarded Alaric as one would a cockroach—with thinly veiled disgust and the desire to crush the pesky little insect beneath his boot.

“I am death.” Azriel purred, his voice laced with the promise of violence. “I am shadow and darkness, the monster that haunts your nightmares. I am the Prince of Hell and I have come to collect my bride.”

He held out a scarred hand towards you, barely sparing a glance at Alaric. The male bristled with pride and stepped between you and Azriel.

Something dark and dangerous flashed in the Prince of Hell’s eyes as he came face to face with Alaric. The side by side contrast emphasized how otherworldly Azriel was. Though he took on a mortal form, there was nothing human about him.

His ethereal features were slashed with fury, dark hair rippling in waves to frame his flawless face. Flecks of amber burned like embers within his eyes and the contrast against his golden-brown skin further illuminated his strange and cruel beauty.

“You must be mistaken,” Alaric declared, puffing his chest. “She is my betrothed. We are to be wed this very day.”

Azriel glanced around the room, taking in the stained glass windows and rosewood pews of the crowded cathedral. The people that hadn’t managed to escape trembled in fear under his watchful eyes. The corners of Azriel’s full lips sloped into a frown as he dragged his gaze towards you, examining your white dress and wild expression.

“Your betrothed does not wish to marry you, mortal. ” Azriel declared, his voice barely above a whisper yet full of lethal cold.

“She is promised to me,” Alaric replied. “I have paid the bride price.”

The humorless laugh that slipped past Azriel’s lips was devoid of emotion. His gaze cut to your father, who cowered behind the marble altar. With one glance, shadows wreathed through his limbs and yanked him towards the Prince of Hell.

“Tell this male that he is mistaken,” Azriel commanded.

Your father paled, fear and trepidation evident on his face. “P-p-please, my Prince,” his voice was high and desperate. “I assumed you had forgotten. Years had passed since our bargain, and you hadn’t returned so I—“

“Thought to deceive the Prince of Hell?” Azriel seethed and his shadows whipped violently, tightening their grip on your sniveling father. “Did you not think that this day of reckoning would come?” Shadows brought him to his knees before the dark prince. “A bargain is a bargain, mortal. I want what was promised,” his eyes were feverish as they landed on you. “I want her.”

Your mother blanched in horror as she looked up at her husband. “What have you done?”

“I was only doing what I thought was best!” your father cried. “When famine ravaged the countryside, I grew desperate. I prayed to the old gods, but none of them answered. The Prince—he offered fertile lands and a bountiful harvest in exchange for a bride.”

“Then what?” you said bitterly. “The reward Azriel offered was not enough for your selfish, greedy heart, was it father? You weren’t satisfied, so you thought to sell me off once again?”

“I did it for our family. We have land! We have gold! We have riches beyond imagination! I have secured a match above your station so you may live comfortably for the rest of your life. I did this for you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. The realization that your father had traded you like some bargaining chip, not once but twice made your stomach roil. You’ve always known that he was a greedy bastard, but you didn’t think he’d go this far.

“No, father,” you said with mirthless laughter. “You did this for yourself.”

Your father struggled against his restraints as he turned towards his wife. “Tell her,” he coaxed, his words full of despair. “Tell her that I only wanted what was best for her.”

“You promised our daughter to the devil!” your mother screamed, her voice echoing against the stone walls.

You wanted to tell her that Azriel wasn’t a monster. That he’d held you in your dreams, comforted you when you cried, listened to every wish and whim that you whispered into the night, but she wouldn’t have understood. None of them would.

“It’s okay, mother,” you said, attempting to appease her agony. “Azriel won’t hurt me.”

As his expression softened, you knew that you’d spoken true. Azriel nodded in agreement. “I would never hurt you,” he declared. His attention cut back to your father. “Him, on the other hand, I have no qualms about inflicting pain upon.”

Your father squirmed in place, shooting a pleading look in your direction. The shadows tightened around his neck like a noose. “Please,” he begged with wide eyes. “Please, have mercy.”

He sounded frantic and desperate, exactly how you had been days ago when you pleaded with him not to wed you to Alaric. Your father hadn’t listened to you then. With your roles reversed, it was tempting to let his pleas fall upon deaf ears, but you decided to be the bigger person.

Azriel waited for your cue. You shook your head and watched as his shadows receded.

“Thank you,” your father said. “Thank you, daughter.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you snapped. “I did it for me. From this day forth, I want nothing to do with you. I wish to be free. I am no longer your daughter.”

Hurt and anger flashed through your father’s eyes, but you didn’t care. This was your chance. You could finally rid yourself of this dreary existence. Feeling lighter than you had in years, you turned your attention back to the Prince of Hell. He smiled as you took a step forward.

“Not so fast,” Alaric hissed. “What about what I am owed? I paid for you. I own you.” You shot him a cutting glare as his fingers curled around your wrist.

Anger bubbled up within you as you bared your teeth at the horrid male. “I am not a piece of cattle to be traded for gold.” Alaric glared as you shoved him away.

His hateful beady eyes focused on you as he closed the gap between you. “And yet your father sold you like a fattened calf.” His grip on your arm tightened. “You should be flattered. I purchased you for a considerable amount of gold and I expect a return on my investment.” A blade shimmered in Alaric’s hand as he held it up to your throat. “Either from your father or your beloved demon.”

The Prince of Hell was rage and wrath personified. “You want payment, mortal?” Azriel asked, his eyes cold and hard and full of malice. “Very well, then. I will trade you my heart for yours.”

Alaric barely had time to react before Azriel was upon him. Shadows sheltered you from harm while the Prince of Hell slammed the foolish male to the ground. The floor shuddered from the impact as Azriel’s dark wings flared behind his powerful back. You watched in stunned silence as he plunged his scarred fingers into Alaric’s chest, tearing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency.

The scream that tore through Alaric’s throat was horrific. Cries of terror echoed through the cathedral once more and those who were able to flee did so with haste. But Azriel was deathly silent as he wrapped a fist around Alaric’s heart. Blood trickled through his wrists and pooled at his feet like crimson tears as he yanked the still beating heart out of the male’s chest.

The carnage and gore incited a chorus of desperate pleas. Some retched, some clawed at their eyes.

But you simply locked gazes with the Prince of Hell.

As the male beneath him took his last pathetic breath, Azriel tossed his heart on the marble altar. It was sacrilege at its finest. A dark offering. A blasphemous statement to the gods above of the lengths he would go to for you.

“A promise,” he declared, addressing the petrified crowd. Azriel glanced down at the dead male crumpled beneath his feet. “This is what will become of anyone who presumes to come between me and my bride.”

You watched with bated breath as he walked towards you. With bloodstained hands, Azriel caressed your cheek with surprising gentleness. His touch was warm and soft, just as it had always been in your dreams. You closed your eyes, relishing the feel of him.

“Are you hurt?” Azriel asked softly. His thumb stroked against your cheek, painting a streak of scarlet against your skin. Azriel frowned at the sight of blood and made a move to draw his hand back, but you only laced your fingers through his.

You looked up to find him studying you. Searching for fear. Waiting for you to scream in terror and run in the opposite direction. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him and sobbed. Azriel was stunned for a second, but he recovered quickly and scooped you up into his arms. He seemed to understand that in this moment, all you needed was to be held.

“I’m fine,” you said through your tears. “I’m fine now that you’re here.”

The Prince of Hell placed a tender kiss on your temple as his wings wrapped around you like a blanket. “Come, my heart,” he murmured in a soothing voice. “Let me take you home.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria @navyblue-eternity @margssstuff

#demon azriel is going to be a ride #which is great cause i would like to ride him #azriel #azriel fic #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel/reader

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satoruxx · 6 months

Text

NORTHERN LIGHTS.

✧ PAIRING: kaeya alberich x fem!reader | 4.5k words

✧ SUMMARY: smut, p -> v, praise, fingering, lots of pining, angst, angsty bc it’s kaeya tbh lol, kaeya lore but it’s vague, also military themes bc sometimes we forget kaeya is a captain and i love the knights of favonius, he’s highkey got commitment issues but i think he’s valid, man is whipped tho, he's just an overthinker and traumatized, also can you tell i’m a med student?

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: first i have to apologize bc this is SO late??? i got this request back for my 200 event, asking for kaeya with the song northern lights by kennie (which is such a good song). at first i was gonna make it a short little drabble, but the more i wrote, the more i wanted to make it a full fic, which is what ended up happening. kaeya's character has so much depth and i wanted to explore it hehe. northern lights is such a fitting song for him so i just had to go all in. but i'm so sorry that i got to your request so late, hopefully you still enjoy it lovely! (even tho it’s not the main focus in this fic, this is technically my first real smut fic so take it with a grain of salt; i don't think i write it that well LMAO)

it was rare to truly know your own weaknesses, but kaeya knew his a little too well. behind his carefree, unbothered exterior he cared a little too much. he cares a little too much when klee tugs on his fur cape and whines about a scolding she’s gotten from jean, and he ends up indulging her with whatever she’d like. he cares a little too much when rosaria spills just a tad more than usual during her drunken ramblings. he cares a little too much when he sees the discomfort in the face of certain fiery bartender as they speak, and he consistently lies awake and remembers days when that discomfort between them didn’t exist.

it’s a curse, he thinks, because he always ends up feeling too attached to people he knows he shouldn’t be attached to.

even now, his weakness is acting up as he barks orders to his soldiers. they scramble around him as they enter the city, carrying their wounded brethren to safety up at the cathedral. kaeya knows he shouldn’t blame himself but as their captain he feels like he should’ve seen this coming. new recruits wouldn’t be able to handle the hordes of monsters at daduapa gorge—he miscalculated.

“take them to the sisters at the cathedral. sister barbara and the others should be able to heal them,” kaeya commands, clasping one of the men’s shoulders and helping him up to the church. he’s ignoring the now dull throbbing in his side as blood stains his clothes—his soldiers were most important right now. like he said, he cared a little too much.

the nurses had set up a medical station at the cathedral, and in between all the commotion, kaeya’s finally able to hand over the groaning soldier to a nurse, who immediately gets to work.

he then takes a few steps back to assess the damage, grateful that all of his soldiers are getting the attention they needed. he’d hate himself if there were any losses today.

he doesn’t even realize that he’s now leaning against the wall, panting shallowly as blood continues to pour from his abdomen. oh well, he’d wait his turn—only after his soldiers were taken care of.

kaeya shuts his eyes, letting his body rest for a minute.

“you’re wounded.”

his eyes shoot open to see you standing in front of him. he assumes you’re not one of the nuns because your clothes are entirely different. you’re young, appearing to be around his age as you eye his torso critically.

“it appears so,” he answers.

“did someone take a look at you yet?”

“i’d prefer all my soldiers be taken care of first.”

your eyes flash with recognition. “so you’re captain kaeya?”

“indeed i am.” he lets his eyes roam over your concerned features.

you give him a small smile before continuing with a sigh. “i can safely tell you that all the wounded are being treated. i’m still an apprentice so i’m only here to deal with the non fatal injuries. like yours, captain.” you crouch down in front of him, fingers reaching towards his clothing with a silent question of permission. he lets his hand slacken as he gives you a nod and you attempt to peel back as many layers as you can to asses the damage before you’re motioning him towards a tent.

a few minutes later and kaeya is letting you strip his torso bare until you have a full view of his injury. your fingers brush over the wounded skin gently, and he wonders if you even touched him at all. “it’s long, but not too deep. a few stitches and you should be alright. if you’re okay with it, i’ll get started,” you tell him.

kaeya wants to tell you that he’s no stranger to the pain of injuries, but he finds something oddly refreshing about your comforting attitude, so he just says yes and lets you begin to work.

you thread through the skin with a delicate hand and despite the sting he honestly can’t even focus on it, choosing instead to analyze your features.

he realizes that you’re awfully pretty.

kaeya makes small talk with you as you work, partly to stay awake through the pain and mostly because he can’t stop his curiosity. he finds out your name, your hobbies, your goals. you may not have the most exciting life but kaeya thinks there’s something so alluring about you it makes him a little dizzy. he's not sure what it is, but he thinks about it the whole time you tend to his wound. realization hits when you finally finish, looking up at him with a smile, and kaeya realizes that your eyes hold the stars in them.

it’s hard to explain but when kaeya watches you work, nose scrunching in the dim lighting of the tent, he thinks you remind him of home.

(kaeya has chased the stars for as long as he can remember. he remembers shouting with diluc in the grass behind the winery, the two of them reaching for celestia because the stars up there were so undeniably pretty.

"we're never gonna get them!" diluc would laugh, trying hard to balance kaeya on his little shoulders. "they're too far…"

and kaeya only grins down at him toothily, raising his fists to the sky. "no way! i'll catch them one day!"

and yet his whole childhood went by without being able to capture the stars. as he grew older he started to learn that it was impossible to steal what the sky so selfishly held on to.

but even as an adult, kaeya knows to appreciate the stars when he gets the privilege to see them in the sky.

especially after he finally seems to find them in the dim glow of a medical tent.)

he hates to admit how often his eyes seek you out after that one encounter. sometimes he’ll see you at the cat's tail, giggling with your friends as you slam tcg cards down on the table triumphantly. other times he’ll catch a glimpse of you at good hunter, chewing on a quick meal as you browse through a book. almost every time he gets caught staring you only smile and offer him a little wave that sends his brain into a frenzy.

(maybe in another life kaeya would allow himself the luxury. he’d let himself go through the motions for you. let himself stress every time you threw a glance his way. work up the courage to ask you out on saturday afternoon. finally get the chance to press his lips to yours. trace your skin with nimble fingers and have the privilege to call you his.

in another life maybe.

but for now he’ll just keep you his own little secret—a guilty pleasure he’ll indulge in because it’s hard to rid an addiction, especially if you don’t have the will to rid it in the first place.)

kaeya’s messed up this summer. he knows it in his soul that he’s made the wrong decision as he watches you babble about something as you lean against his bare chest, still basking in your own afterglow.

he knows that he should have resisted the temptation. as soon as he and the troops got back and he saw you sitting in a secluded corner at angel’s share he knew that his feelings for you hadn’t dissolved.

they say absence makes the heart grow fonder and kaeya only now knows this to be true because just the sight of you sends his mind into a frenzy. you could probably feel his gaze on you because you look up from the book you’re reading and make straight eye contact with him. for a second, he wants to turn away but then you smile at kaeya like you’ve never once forgotten him, and he’s putty. before he knows it, he’s buying you a drink and walking over to your little corner to make himself comfortable.

it’s a slow descent for him because in his head he knows he shouldn’t get too attached. he’ll leave again soon with the troops, and who knows maybe he’ll leave them behind one day too. his future has always looked so clouded to him, and he knows you belong in the sun. he’d like to leave you there in the light—avoid dragging you into his darkness.

so he tries to keep it simple, occasionally meeting you for a drink or catching up around the city. but then you’re showing him your favorite place to study near starfell lake and he’s showing you his favorite stars while laying on his back on starsnatch cliff. and he knows he can’t avoid it.

soon enough he’s giving into everything he said he wouldn’t, finally finding out what you taste like. finally knowing how his name sounds when it falls from your lips.

it's more addicting than he could've predicted, the feeling of your breath against his skin as you pant out his name. kaeya can't even bring himself to pull away from you to stop and think for a second. if he did then maybe he could slap some sense into himself and draw some distance because archons above he was digging himself deeper into this hole. but he can't, not when you're gripping his shoulders as he presses you against the wall of his bedroom, whining into his lips for all that he can give you.

and kaeya is nothing if not generous.

so he indulges both you and himself—the perfect mix of selfless and selfish as he guides you to his bed, nimble fingers loosening the ties of your clothing until you're bare in front of him. he can see the bashfulness settling into your cheeks and he almost feels like goading for just a minute, but he decides he'll be nice.

you've always deserved a nice guy anyway.

he tries to push that thought away, instead distracting himself with the heat of your body, his fingers dancing along your skin eagerly. maybe, just this one night, he can let it be about you two. he can afford to forget about all the old promises he's made—all the responsibilities and duties he devoted himself to a lifetime ago.

kaeya ignores the flush of heat crawling up his neck as he hovers over you, caging your body underneath his as you squirm in anticipation. he understands—the tightness in his pants is enough for him to feel the same. but he's not worried about that, not when his fingers part your thighs eagerly, brushing over heated skin and finding slick wetness there as he dips into your cunt. he hears the sharp intake of breath, the quiet restrained moan, and he preens. kaeya revels in the sounds he pulls from your lips as his fingers curl against your slick heat, your head lolling back against his pillows.

there's a possessive streak of something that cuts through him then—something that tells him how he aches to be the only one who gets to hear those sounds.

it makes him slightly sick.

kaeya realizes then—he's been quite stupid when it comes to you. he's kept the maelstrom of feelings brewing in his soul trapped under all his bravado, arrogant and cowardly all at once. he needs to tell you, needs to be honest because this isn't something he can trick his way out of.

but all he wants to do is run. run so far away from you because he doesn't want you to to get caught up in his own ruin. you're far too good for him, too sweet and carefree to be tainted by his sin-laden hands. he needs to run.

but he does none of that, not when he's guiding his fingers to the apex of your thighs and exploring territory he knows he shouldn't claim. because then you look at him with an expression so blissful—so thankful, relieved that he's giving you a part of himself he never wanted to—and he can't even be angry about it.

kaeya presses his lips to the swell of your chest, feeling the rapid thumping of your heart under your skin, and he shuts his eyes as he breathes out your name. you answer with a resounding mewl, catching his eyes even through the dark strands of his hair.

he then chooses to focus on pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt because archons do you look heavenly when your eyes roll back like that.

but it scares him, the way you leave him open and exposed and aching even when he doesn't want to be.

in his head you're perfect, all bright and glowing under him as you chant his name like he's some kind of savior. but kaeya isn't a savior—if anything he's destruction in human form, sent by the heavens to wreak havoc on those around him. he'd destroyed enough already—he doesn't think he can do it to you too.

but archons the way you're looking at him now, from under fluttering lashes and dewy eyes that shine even brighter when they're trained on him—begging, pleading, and oh so trusting of him and every thing he wants to give you. he can't even help himself.

"i know, sweet girl," he sighs, voice strained as you buck your hips just perfect—a temptress, sent to lead him to his doom. and yet he can't stop his fingers from pushing back your hair from your sweaty skin, knowing that he should be careful because he doesn't want to destroy something as fragile as this.

"kaeya please," your breath comes out in short desperate pants, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders haphazardly.

"i know," he repeats, reaching down to heft your thigh over his waist as he slots his hips against your own, biting back a groan at the sensitive brush against his cock—throbbing, aching, needy.

"ah fuck," he's almost shy at the way his voice shakes as he lines his cock up, the heat and slickness of your cunt a teasing caress against his sensitive head. he drops his forehead against your shoulder, breathing heavily even before he's inside you because something about this makes him so incredibly nervous. a single desperate whine and the soft squeeze of your fingers into his biceps and he's stilling—breath catching, heart pounding.

for a moment, he doesn't even feel like himself. he's not anything, no one.

and then he slides in and kaeya knows that there will never be anything better—another experience that would feel this right in his life.

he pulls out a little, gaze lingering at the sweat beading at your forehead, and something in his chest stutters. "okay?" he traces your face for any hint of hesitation—of the nervousness that he feels in his gut, but all he finds is a stormy mix of desire and devotion.

"uh huh," reassurance, stability—everything he isn't. his brows pinch, eyes shutting because he doesn't want you to know.

he's pulled out of the whirlwind that is his thoughts when he feels your fingers on his cheek, brushing over his skin gently. his eyes snap open, and even through the haze he can feel himself relaxing under your touch, because the way you're looking at him is so undeniably loving and it makes his stomach flip.

"you okay?" you whisper, looking up at him carefully, and kaeya feels as though you've put him between the halves of a microscope slide to analyze him.

"i'm fine," he breathes out, not a lie but not the whole truth either. "don't worry."

his words do little to quell you, but one roll of his hips has your eyes fluttering, a choked moan escaping your throat, and the sound makes his pride sing.

there's an image then—hazy and yet so obvious as his brain registers it. the implications behind it makes his stomach churn.

quiet smiles, hazy kisses, soft goodbyes—and then the inevitable distance as he crosses over the border separating your world from his. a lone figure standing in the streets of mondstadt, always waiting for him to come back. always disappointed.

you buck your hips upward, blissfully unaware of the torrent of conflicting emotions in his head. kaeya's brain short-circuits, and then he's pushing back, a steady rhythm against your gummy walls that takes the breath out of your lungs. you savor every thrust, punctuated by the sharp grunts he lets out against your throat.

your fingers rake over his back, desperate and needy and focused on one thing only—kaeya, kaeya, kaeya.

"that's it sweetheart," he doesn't have any more control—not on his mind, his body, his mouth. they've all escaped his grasp, too spurred on by you and everything you're willing to offer him.

"'s okay…ah fuck…it's okay," kaeya groans into the column of your throat, not sure whether he's telling you or himself. the clench of your walls sends him spiraling, hips picking up the pace as he pistons his cock in and out—trying to find out just how far he can go.

then he hits one spot, and his vigilant gaze catches the way your jaw slackens, eyes glazing over even as they roll back and a shaky moan escapes your throat—surprised, unexpecting. his ego jumps.

an experimental roll of his hips against the same spot and you make a sound so unhinged that he finds himself already addicted to it. and to tease is in his nature.

"yeah? right there?" he drawls, masking his anxiousness with his bravado once again.

"right there," you whimper, nodding meekly as you grip his shoulders. he huffs out a soft laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your eyelids like he's trying to kiss away the tears that have gathered there. you preen under his ministrations—it feels a little too domestic.

he understands. it scares him, but he understands. he wonders what the point of worrying is—wonders why he's letting his paranoid brain taint this moment that he'd been waiting for. the only solution left is to ignore it. because you're here, writhing underneath him in the throes of pleasure, vulnerable and trusting and just for him. he should give you what you deserve after all.

so kaeya pushes every other thought out of his head, only focused on you and making you feel good because that's what someone like you deserves—everything you desire laid at your feet.

he presses a chaste kiss to your mouth, paired with a languid roll of his hips as he quietly groans. "okay…." his voice comes out an octave lower, pushed down by the barely concealed need for you. "okay sweet girl. i've got you."

another searing kiss as he breathes through his nose, picking up the pace again as he slams his cock into the spot that makes you see stars. your moans get louder even as they remain muffled against his lips, and kaeya can't help but dig his fingers into the meat of your thigh, leaving behind finger shaped dents in the plushy skin.

a claim—possessive, desperate, selfish.

your kisses become sloppier as kaeya leads you closer to the edge, walls clenching around the length of him, tighter with every thrust he delivers. the chants of his name have become almost reverent, and kaeya thinks his name couldn't possibly sound more beautiful than in that moment. he wonders if he could be blessed to hear it for the remainder of his life, and the thought sends pure unadulterated need through him.

his hips stutter, red hot fire coursing through his chilled veins—building, climbing, overwhelming as every sense goes fuzzy with heat. his grunts become more irregular, in time with the reckless thrusts of his cock as your cunt tightens around him greedily.

his cock twitches as you suck him in eagerly, feeling every ridge and vein as he grunts and groans and tightens his hold on you—unyielding, unrelenting, selfish.

your eyes stay locked on his even as your orgasm rips through you, and kaeya sees celestia in them—brighter than ever before. your muscles spasm, clenching almost painfully as you tremble and writhe underneath him, and he follows you to the doorstep of nirvana with a throaty groan. his hips stutter, twitching and throbbing as he pants out a broken chorus of your name and every praise that doesn't do you justice.

then he drops his forehead against yours, watching your eyelids flutter—celestial stars dim. a soft brush of your lips against his.

your muscles go lax, every guard dropped just for him—trust he realizes, trust he doesn't deserve. he doesn't know how to tell you that.

because even after everything—when you're curled up against his chest, skin warm and dewy against his own, he does not think about how he adores the feeling of your hair brushing against his arm, nor does he focus on the soft tickle of your breathing washing over him. instead he thinks about how he's ruined it all, how he's dragged you into him, and how he needs to let you go before he destroys you completely.

at the end of the summer, kaeya tells you he can’t.

“what are you talking about?” you ask him, a light chuckle escaping your lips as you barely focus on his words. your nose is buried in some medical text, and kaeya thinks that the universe is punishing him now by making him repeat himself.

“us. we shouldn’t have…” he sighs, shoulders dropping. “i mean, we should stop…seeing each other.”

he can practically feel the way his words pull your attention and when he looks up he sees the way your grip on the book has slackened. there’s panic settling in your eyes, mixed with a bit of confusion. a conflicted emotion runs across your face and kaeya’s fingers itch to touch you. “w-why?”

it’s a simple question and he should have no problem answering it, but he struggles to get the words out, his throat constricting uncomfortably. “it was fine in the summer, when i was back here with the troops. but now i’ll have to leave and-“

“so what?” you question, turning in your seat to face him completely. his eyes drop to the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt, and he feels his heart squeezing.

“so-“ he gulps, head spinning as he tries to explain himself. he doesn’t even have a proper answer—he just knows that this is his only option. because there’s no way in hell he deserves this kind of comfort, this kind of happiness. “so i cant-“

“can’t what, kaeya?” you stress, voice going slightly higher and he only then sees the real fear in your expression.

he pauses, mulling over his words and the bitter taste they’re leaving in his mouth. he can feel the sting of your pleading stare, and he swallows hard. “can’t stay,” he finally answers, and he’s shocked at how miserable he sounds.

you look at him like he’s insane, and honestly he feels like he might be. you’re confused and rightfully so, because there are so many remnants of him left in your space, so clearly evident the impact he’s left on you.

“can’t or won’t?”

kaeya’s eyes snap up to yours, because the tremor in your voice sends a jolt of fear down to his stomach, churning and roiling until it makes him sick.

he regrets looking, because he can feel himself breaking then and there.

you’re looking at him with these shining eyes and he swears that he’s glimpses them again—the brightest stars he’s ever had the privilege of seeing. for a second he thinks the light of those stars might disappear because that’s what always happens. but they remain, glowing against the backdrop of your irises and he’s captivated all over again.

his plans to leave you in tears fly out the window then and there.

he’s reaching for your cheeks in less than a second, holding them delicately as he lets his thumbs brush over your teary lashes. there’s a reasonable bit of confusion in your face at his sudden change, but when he leans down to kiss you, you don’t protest, melting into him even though he’s so undeniably cold. kaeya doesn’t even realize he’s saying he loves you, choosing to murmur it against your lips because it’s not meant for anyone else to hear—just the two of you.

he remains there, in the quiet darkness of your room for the rest of the night, because he doesn’t want to leave your side even after he told himself he would.

and yes, he dreads tomorrow. he dreads tomorrow because he knows that he will have to choose between the comfortable home he’s found in you or the dark abyss that has swallowed his past.

he’s scared that the more he allows himself to fall into you, and the more he finds that your eyes are the ones that hold the stars of celestia, then the easier his choice will become.

he’s been chasing the stars for so long after all. now that he finally has them, why in teyvat would he let them go?

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