#Verso fluff

[eunwhore]

Taking requests for Verso !

Hi ! As a lot of people in the moment I got into a crazy addiction for Clair Obscur (I cleared the game in less than a week) and more specifically Verso.

As of right now, there's not a lot a written content on this app so I volunteer to wrote for him and even for Gustave if you wish.

Don’t hesitate to send me a request for this lovely, handsome man ! It's worth noting that I will NOT write smut, other than that I'm comfortable with anything.

[ashenstardust]

hii!! I wanted to request another fluff oneshot, with monoco or verso (I don't mind who u do so u can decide, I'd be alright with poly too if u write it) where reader asks them to cut their hair in some way or like style it? ⸜( ´ ▿ ` )⸝ I ws thinking of the monoco and verso hangout where they do eachothers hair so yeah!! (≧▽≦) I hope u have a great day and If u don't want to/can't do this req jst ignore me 🙏 (also I'm sorry if this is like confusing in anyway,, (o^ ^o) ) p.s: i loved the last oneshot u wrote with actress!reader and verso!!

Sorry this took so long! I hope you like it :) .

Pairing: Verso x Monoco x Reader Summary: Verso and Monoco notice you're feeling stressed. They decide spending time with you is the perfect remedy. Word Count: 1232 Rating: G Warnings: Hair loss, flowers, cuddling

You were losing your hair. In great wind-blown waves you left pieces of yourself all across the continent. You barely dared to detangle it in the mornings, although you did for fear of your hair condition worsening, and watched it fall away strand by delicate strand.

It was stress, you assumed, that was causing the change. Facing down death every day, watching your friends die, listening to Gustave… Having to witness the destruction of so many lives as you uncovered all those who came before were dead and gone. It was too much for anyone to handle, and if the cost was your hair, so be it.

Or so you thought to yourself. Under the moonlight with the monolith looming ever closer it was more difficult to wrap your head around your circumstances even with the feeling of loose hair tickling between your fingers.

Maybe you were losing your hair because you were just plain ripping it out. A nervous tick, perhaps, to card your fingers through your hair and feel the drag of your nails against your scalp. With how few mirrors there were around the continent you could only hope you didn’t look like a poorly maintained doll.

You were letting those strands fall and get caught in the wind when Monoco came over to sit beside you. His mask drifted from your face to your hair blowing away and glinting slightly as they caught the moonlight.

“You won’t be very good at fighting Nevrons if you’re fighting a cold too,” he said. His voice held little inflection, so you weren’t sure if he was chastising you or teasing.

You shifted so you could look at him better. “Are you offering to keep me warm?” you asked, venturing to guess Monoco was trying to lighten your mood. The Gestral was often well meaning, but he was made of wood too.

“I think he wants me to help you out with that,” Verso’s voice startled you slightly as you weren’t expecting him to be coming up behind you. Monoco’s mask tilted to look behind you, and you craned your neck to see Verso was settling down on your other side.

You didn’t even have the time to ask him how he planned to do that. As soon as he settled in the grass, he grabbed you and pulled you near. You shifted with him, letting him pull you against his chest. Verso was warm and soft and as comforting as he had always been. The barest shift in the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed reminded you that you were still alive.

“What’s bothering you, ma cherie?” Verso asked, rumbling against your ear.

Instead of waiting for your mind to flood with everything that had ever happened to you, you blurted out the first thing that was on your mind. “I’m going bald,” you admitted, a little more dramatically than maybe you intended.

Monoco had been observing the two of you, but his mask tilted in worry at your words. “Is that something that can happen?” he asked, appalled.

Verso nodded behind you, his hands trailing up to push his fingers through his hair. You tried not to wince at the feeling, even as his fingers flowed through without catching on any tangles. “Is it the stress?” he asked lowly.

“Of course,” you sighed, settling further into his embrace. You tilted your head up to look at him. His fingers massaged against your scalp. “How do you keep all that hair on your head?” you asked.

Verso stiffened under you, a feeling you barely registered but for how familiar you were with him. It was like he was trying so hard to hold himself back from telling you the truth. And you could live with his lies, you told yourself, as you watched Monoco share a curious glance, because he gave you everything else you could want.

“Luck, I guess,” he said after a while.

“We could do your hair,” Monoco offered almost at the same time.

“Huh?” you asked, confused.

“Over the years we’ve done each other’s hair,” Monoco explained, “cut it or styled it. We could do that for you, too.”

You looked from Monoco to Verso and back. You trusted them to keep you alive. You supposed they had deft enough fingers. Doing hair hadn’t been on the list of skills you attributed to them. What did you have to lose, really?

“Okay,” you agreed with a shrug, “if you think it’ll help.”

Monoco seemed to light up in his excitement. He shifted so he was sitting next to Verso and they both had full access to your hair. You watched him, as he moved, pull out a peculiar looking book from the pack he kept on his back.

“What’s that?” you asked.

Monoco handed the leather-bound book to you. “Be careful with it,” he warned as you opened the cover. “It’s where I press the flowers I’ve cultivated outside the Station,” he explained when you flipped the page and saw the delicate colors held within.

You gasped at the beauty of it and turned the page gingerly. It was all so fleeting and fragile. Each bloom was perfectly almost perfectly uniform in its growth, the colors delineated on a microscopic scale as to be almost indistinguishable from the next. The whole journal was thick with the same repeating pattern of petals and stems all lovingly placed and maintained by the protective Gestral’s hand.

“They’re beautiful,” you breathed. The book had distracted you enough that you’d barely noticed the two had started in on your hair. Verso’s fingers slipped easily along your scalp while Monoco picked this bud and that from the open book to wind along the pattern Verso was crafting.

The well-preserved flowers were the same exuberant purple that accented the expeditioner’s uniforms. Soon enough there were far fewer contained in the journal than were cascading over your shoulder. They were weaved expertly through the twists and braids Verso had managed to pleat and tie from your scalp all the way down to your split ends.

At the end your hands hovered over the work of art they’d created on your head. You hardly wanted to ruin it, but you couldn’t really see what they’d done.

Then Verso pulled something from his pocket. A small metallic compact. It flipped open with a pop, and he handed it to you. On one side was dusting of the remains of a long over-used powder. The other held a pristine mirror. It was small, but with some maneuvering and determination you soon had a clear picture of what the two men had given you.

The entire thing was breath taking. There was an extravagance to it that you had never experienced before and feared, momentarily, you would never experience again. “It’s wonderful,” you breathed, trying to do three things at once. You couldn’t stop looking at your hair in the mirror, but you wanted to make sure Verso and Monoco understood just how grateful you were.

“Thank you,” you said, finally able to tear your eyes away long enough to throw your arms around them both and pull them near. The position was awkward enough because of how you had to twist, and you were able to enjoy the grunts of surprised pain that the two men made when you squished them together over your shoulders.

[pompompourrite]

VERSO NSFW HEADCANONS !!

pairing: painted!verso x gn!reader. (bonus part with f!reader because i can)

contents: nsfw/smut with fluff, minors/ageless acounts do not interact!

a/n: .......... should i make a verso x virgin!reader?

Verso is old, so I don't think he's a virgin and he's probably already had a few little adventures on the side.

This old man knows what he's doing.

He's a switch, definitely a soft dom. This man is way too soft you can't change my mind.

He doesn't care whether he dominates or is dominated, all he cares about is spending those intimate moments with you.

His favorite positions are missionary or cowgirl, any position that lets him admire your body, your face and those expressions that embellish it thanks to the pleasure he gives you.

Your pleasure is his pleasure, he likes to give more than he likes to receive, hearing you moan, moaning his name or seeing your eyes roll into the back of your head is enough to bring him closer to orgasm.

But when you compliment him, his body, his length, tell him how good he makes you feel or that you love him, he's a different man.

He'll ask you to repeat yourself over and over again.

I think we can all agree that this man has a praise kink.

So please praise him.

I know this tough guy likes pet names, so call him a good boy, darling, sweetheart... anything, and he'll putty in your arms.

About markings, Verso is very possessive, but he'll never bite or scratch you, only if you ask him to, because he doesn't want to hurt you.

But expect lots of hickeys.

On the other hand, he LOVES it when you mark him. Bite him, scratch him, it shows him what a good job he's doing.

But don't bite him too much, because he wants to hear the perfect sounds you make. Please stop biting him and bless his ears.

Even in the most intimate moments, this man loves cuddles and kisses, he can't get enough of the taste of your lips and the feel of your arms around him.

Consent is important, and he'll take great care to ask you if you're sure of what you want, if you really want to make love with him, no matter if it's your first or your tenth time.

Ask him anything and he'll obey. He'll change the rhythm as you wish, change the position... anything for you.

He loves the sight of your hands wrapped around his length.

Stroke him, praise him, cover his face, neck and chest with kisses if you want to hear the most delicious sounds escape his lips.

When you suck him off, and lift your head to look at him with your beautiful eyes... he's a blushing mess, his heart throbs in his chest and he does everything he can not to cum on the spot.

Cums inside only with your permission, otherwise he'll paint your body with his seed.

If you let him cum inside, count on him to admire the mess he's made.

AFTERCARE.

This is his favorite part. Hug him, play with his hair, give him little caresses and massages, tell him how great he's been because he deserves it.

She falls asleep in your arms, his face against your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

He sometimes pleases himself while thinking of you when he can't have the real thing, but he soon regrets it because it makes his desire to feel your body against his even worse.

bonus: painted verso x f!reader

I don't see many people talking about Verso's love for eating pussy.

I swear this man could spend hours between your thighs eating you like a starving man and never get tired of it.

Shaved or not, nothing will stop him from making your thighs tremble.

The only time he'll be a tad bit dominant, praising you, telling you how delicious you are and how you're the best thing he's ever tasted.

He'll lick your pussy clean, not wasting a single drop of your precious nectar.

If you have trouble keeping your legs apart: smother him with your thighs. Yes, he's into that.

If you're afraid of smothering him, he'll have no trouble keeping your legs apart for you, his fingertips digging into the fat of your thighs.

He's a pianist: of course his fingers will take you to seventh heaven in seconds.

He always has this smirk on his face when he sees the effect his expert fingers have on you, the way you shake and squirm beneath him.

I hope you like being overstimulated because oh boy...

He's ready to make you cum on his fingers again and again.

Of course he'll use both his fingers and his tongue at the same time, otherwise it's no fun.

Sit. On. His. Face. Don't be shy, put all your weight on him.

Yes, you can grab hold of his hair if it's too much for you.

[idkwhattoputnothingworkshelp]

Dessendre family imagine : father's day

It was yesterday, I'm late I know, but bear with me ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

Like, imagine before the accident, when the whole family was alive and functional. It's father's day, the three kid (let's go back in time a bit, when Verso was still a kid) want to gift something to their dad.

So Clea make a painting, already stunning for her age.

Alicia, looking up to her big sister, tried to do one too. Maybe not with paint yet, I'd say with coloured pencils. She'd probably be very little at this time. Maybe she would do it with Aline.

And Verso, he'd try to paint something but he just wouldn't be able to. He'd force himself, so the results wouldn't reflect the love he has for his father at all. I'd like to imagine he'd compose a music instead. A piano piece. Maybe get it recorded at a friend's place on a vinyl disc. And when the day to give their gift he'd hand it to Renoir, telling him that he fell on this music by chance, and that it reminded him of his father.

I'd like to imagine his music would convey all of the feelings he doesn't know how to express any other way. The only expression in which his masks don't hide the truth he holds in his heart.

[thelostprincessposts]

Gestral Festival [Painted Verso x Reader NSFW]

Pairing: Painted Verso x Fem Reader

Summary: the team attends a festival. You and Verso share a romantic evening. Some fluff, some comfort, and some smut

Rating: R

Warnings: NSFW. Vaginal intercourse. Oral sex. SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE GAME. Minors DNI.

It had been a slough of nonstop trekking and collecting chroma to prepare to fight Renoir, and this came after weeks of trekking and fighting to defeat the Paintress. Needless to say, the team was due for a break of some sort. Unwinding by the campfire was proving to not be enough, though you all cherished that time.

That's why it was a no-brainer when Monoco brought up wanting to attend the annual Gestral Festival. Each year the Gestral Village celebrated their heritage with duels and music along with games and general merriment. "I, for one, wouldn't mind squaring up against some of those competitors from the arena again," Sciel laughed.

"It's not the worst idea for us to check the marketplace for supplies before we venture back to Lumiere," Maelle thought out loud.

You could feel Verso's eyes shift to watch you as your group sat around the fire at the end of the evening. You told yourself it was nothing, but ever since Maelle brought you and the others back Verso has kept more of a watchful eye on you. He was never too far ahead of you during exploration and after a fight he always assured that you weren't hurt.

Monoco, however, was well aware that Verso's attention on you was not 'nothing' and offered, "Besides, Golgra owes me a few favors. I bet we could get some private rooms with real beds for this excursion," to sweeten the deal.

Lune groaned in delight at the thought of a real bed. Your heart leapt at the thought of some privacy, where perhaps you could finally have a moment alone with Verso. "I'm not going to say no to a real bed," you said as your eyes met Verso's.

His lingered on yours slightly longer before he tore them away to announce to Esquie: "it's settled then; we leave for the Gestral Village tomorrow."

You could feel yourself smiling and laughing with the other girls before Verso caught your eyes once again across the fire and you saw a ghost of a grin spread over his features.

_________________

Lune was insufferable most of the journey over, asking Monoco millions of questions about Gestral culture and history.

"Look, at the end of the day it's mainly about Gestrals wanting to fight for glory. They'll find any excuse for a duel. It's also a way to showcase the gestrals that are coming of age in the arena for the first time," Monoco shared. "That...and lots of dancing."

"I wish Lumiere had festivals like this," Maelle lamented as the team walked through the woods toward the village.

"It used to," Verso said. "Before the fracture, there were festivals dedicated to all sorts of celebrations. Not just the gommage..."

You tried to picture Verso in Lumiere, but found yourself alarmingly sorry for all the things he must have felt he missed out on. Monoco continued to rattle on with stories of festivals past as you and Verso lingered behind the group.

"Did you enjoy them? The festivals?" You asked as your shoulder came dangerously close to bumping his.

"I enjoyed everything about Lumiere. I'm only sad that you and the others lived in a Lumiere that is now a stranger; with fear and limitations," he replied thoughtfully. Your steps slowed a bit as you chewed over his words.

"If we beat Renoir, would you want to return back to Lumiere?" The question was somewhat loaded, as you'd never directly asked him about his desires. You would undoubtedly return to Lumiere, but would he?

"What I want is not important. I can't allow myself to think past what we must do. We only have today," he responded. If he only had today, then today was the day you were going to act on your feelings.

"Don't you think you deserve more than today?" You asked, head turning to meet his gaze. He looked away quickly and opened his mouth to reply when Sciel shouted from ahead, "I see the gates!"

You waved back in response before turning to Verso to say, "I do. Think you deserve more," before jogging to catch up with Sciel.

_____________

The Gestral Village was decorated with colorful banners and garlands full of wildflowers when you arrived that afternoon. The gestrals were delighted to have guests and adorned the team with necklaces made of brushes painted various colors to don for the evening.

The gestral children swarmed Esquie in the village square, asking him to dance with them. Monoco and Verso peeled off to secure overnight arrangements with Golgra, which left you and the girls to wander the market.

You were helping Maelle haggle with a weapons merchant when Monoco approached with Verso. "Alright, I have bad news and I have good news. Which do you want first?"

Verso was avoiding your eyes at all costs. In fact, he looked anywhere but at the team. "The good news...?" Lune asked skeptically.

"Golgra humbly offered us rooming at her palace."

You crossed your arms in anticipation of the next part. "And the bad news?" You asked.

"Golgra has plenty of visitors. We've only got 4 beds, meaning...two of you are going to need to share."

"I already said I'd find somewhere else to sleep, Monoco. The girls should have the beds," Verso said tightly. Your heart leapt thinking of the chance to share a room with Verso. This was your chance, before anyone else could offer.

"I'll share with you," you said a bit loudly and rushed. Sciel snorted quietly before turning to admire a dagger at the table.

Verso's eyes shot to yours as he crossed his arms. "Don't worry about it, I want you to be comfortable tonight."

"Well there's no way I'm comfortable with you sleeping outside or slumming it somewhere else. It's no trouble, really."

"Y/N, you don't have-"

"My gods, she already offered, Verso! Just say yes and move on!" Sciel interrupted exasperated. She had a shit-eating grin on her face as she twirled the dagger a little too close to Verso's personal space.

"Put that thing down and I'll say yes," Verso replied tightly. You started to feel nervous that he was only saying yes because he felt he had to, and then you started to feel nervous all over again at the prospect of making a move on Verso tonight. What you didn't know was that Verso's reply also came from his own nerves about spending the night with you.

Sciel stopped twirling the weapon, but never broke eye contact with Verso as her grin only widened and she placed the dagger back on the stand. Verso's eyes slightly narrowed at her, knowing Sciel was pushing this. Their staring contest only continued a hair longer until the sound of trumpets erupted to signal the start of the duels in the arena.

"Come on, I don't want to miss the first fight!" Maelle exclaimed as she started towards the arena. Lune started after her; she was always looking out for Maelle. Your group followed, Verso falling into step beside you.

You felt his hand ever so gently on the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd heading to the arena. "Thank you for offering to share tonight. I promise to be on my best behavior," Verso said jokingly.

Maybe it was the festival, maybe it was the proximity of his mouth to your ear producing goosebumps up your spine, but you turned to him with utter confidence to reply, "well, that makes one of us."

Your words stopped him dead in his tracks. He couldn't help but grin when he saw the twinkle in your eye before you turned to enter the arena.

Sciel waited for you at the gate, linking her arm through yours as you found a place in the crowd. "Thank you," you said lowly and she laughed.

"I feel we should be thanking you for finally putting him out of his misery. That man has done nothing but stare longingly at you when he thinks none of us are looking. You are going to make a move tonight, right?" She asked.

Your cheeks heated, but you didn't have a chance to answer before the crowd erupted in cheers for the competitors.

____________________

Dusk brought the sounds of gestral music and the aromas of street vendors selling local delicacies. Your team regrouped at the village center to watch the musicians at the main stage. Verso brought you all food that he deemed safe for humans and you all merrily ate while enjoying the atmosphere. "You all better get your fill because we're dancing after this," Sciel announced.

To which Lune said, "any chance Eqsuie has more wine? I'm going to need it if Sciel is pulling me out there." You chuckled in agreement, your attention turning to find Verso as it usually did in conversation, but he wasn't paying any heed to the group.

He stood with his arms crossed at the edge of the crowd gathered to watch the dancers. His eyes were transfixed on the musicians as if nothing were more important to him. Monoco shook his head before starting away to find Esquie, "I'll get you girls some spirits."

When you finished your food, you went to stand next to Verso and offered him a cup of wine, courtesy of Esquie. He gave you a small smile as he took it - his fingers lingered on yours as he took the cup. You stood there shoulder to shoulder for a long moment just taking in the scene ahead of you in a comfortable silence.

"Thanks for agreeing to this. Maelle looks truly happy out there," you noted as you both watched Maelle and Sciel laughing while they moved to the lively music.

"Yeah, well, sometimes it is nice to remember that there are good things happening here." He downed some of his wine as Lune approached; her cheeks were healthily flushed from the alcohol and she wore a slight grin on her face.

"Those good things can happen for you too," you said quietly, just loud enough for Verso to hear. His eyes darted to yours as Lune grabbed his arm.

"Come on, old man. You aren't exempt from dancing!" She exclaimed while pulling him away. You grinned at him, putting your own drink down to follow them out to the dance floor. The team spent a good while dancing until the sun fully set and even the gesterals started to peel away from the crowd.

You could feel Verso's gaze on you more than a few times watching your body move. Once or twice you felt his hand graze your back, a move reserved only for you. Each time your eyes met his it felt like you were the only two people out there, which made your heart flutter in anticipation.

You were about to leave the crowd for some water when you saw Verso start to follow you. The intensity in the way he watched you sent a shiver down your spine as you reached the clearing. "I just need some water," you said, but before you could turn away you felt his hand gently grab your wrist. You turned to look at him in earnest, his eyes searching your face for something. "What? What is it?"

"Did you mean what you said earlier? About me deserving things that I want?" He asked sheepishly. You could tell that he was nervous, but still invigorated from the dancing.

You reached your hand up to touch his face, grazing his beard with your fingertips. "Of course, Verso. We all deserve happiness."

He leaned his cheek into your palm slightly and closed his eyes with a sigh. "It's been a long time since I believed that. Since anyone has told me that."

Your heart sank at his confession, but you were determined to stay in the moment with him. "I'll say it to you. Every day if I have to. You can want things. You can have what you want. You deserve to want whatever you desire," you delicately spoke.

Verso's left hand reached up to cover yours on his cheek before grasping it with both his hands and bringing it between the two of you. Your soul was marked by his piercing eyes. If this was all you ever got from Verso, it would be enough.

"I want you," he proclaimed barely above a whisper. His forehead dropped to yours as he took a tentative step forward, all the while still cradling your hand between his. You watched the expression on his face - a mixture of relief like this is a secret he's been holding onto before moving to anguish. "But I can't promise you forever. I can't even promise me forever."

You knew what he meant: tomorrow you would travel to face Renoir. No one knew what tomorrow would bring.

"Then just promise me today. Promise me tonight and that would be enough." His thumbs gently soothed over the skin on your hand before he exhaled a breath you didn't know he was holding. His eyes bore into yours with a new intensity you had yet to experience.

"Let's go to our room," he said before holding your hand to lead you through the crowd. You'd follow him anywhere.

___________________

Verso's kisses started tentative - taking his time to fully enjoy the breadth of your mouth. You'd only been able to close the door before he caged your form against the door. Every kiss became more confident, his right arm snaking around your waist to pull his body flush against yours.

The feeling of his hand tracing the exposed skin on your lower back sent heat to your core. You inadvertently kissed him with more passion, which he returned in kind. His hand continued to explore the skin on your lower back before making its way under your shirt to graze your ribcage. You could feel his thumb ghost the side of your breast, soliciting a breathy moan from you between kisses.

"I feel embarrassed to say I've wanted you for so long," Verso confided as his lips moved to your neck. Your hands made their way into his hair.

"Definitely not as long as I've wanted you, " you replied. He disconnected from your neck to bring his forehead to yours while catching his breath

"Tell me what you want. I've already confessed my sins. I want to please you. I'll give you anything," Verso murmured, close to a plea. His hands kept stroking your sides and you could feel your pulse thundering in your ears.

"Please, I need you," you whispered. It was more than a want; you'd never possibly want anything as much as this man standing before you.

"Need?" He questioned with a smirk. His eyebrow arched. "Where do you need me? Show me," Verso demanded.

Your hands gripped his to stop the worship of your sides. You brought one to fully cup your breast over your shirt and brought the other to grip your ass. "I want to feel your tongue tasting me."

"That can be arranged." He gave no warning before crashing his lips into yours again and picking you up to carry you to the bed. Your legs wrapped around his body as he lowered you to the bed.

You moved to raise your shirt over your head while Verso did the same with his jacket and shirt. He wasted no time moving to kiss your nipples, already hard and sensitive, his tongue circling one while he rolled the other between his fingertips. You could feel yourself growing more wet, your hips bucking slightly to find some relief. Verso's name spilled from your tongue in a moan.

"Y/N...say it again," he breathed, looking up at you from your chest.

"Verso," you moaned again. His face crumpled as he reached to crash his lips into yours again. He positioned himself over you, his kisses growing more and more greedy. One of his arms held himself up while the other moved to cup your center over your pants. Your hips ground into his hand as the heat pooled in your stomach.

It was getting too hot with both of your pants still on. Your hands reached for his waistband as his quickly moved to unlace your pants as well. By the time they were both removed, Verso was looking up at you from your core. His arms tenderly held your legs open while his eyes held yours. "You are so beautiful," he said before lowering his tongue to taste your center.

Verso's tongue moved expertly against your bundle of nerves. He paid attention to each sound you made before adding his fingers inside you. "Fuck Verso, you're so good at this."

You looked down to see him grinning at you in pride. It didn't take much longer for that tension to build and your hips bucked uncontrollably over his face. He continued to suck and play with your clit until your orgasm passed. "I could never have enough of you," Verso said as he shifted from your legs to move his mouth back to your nipples.

As he moved his mouth up your body you could feel how hard he was against your leg. You hand reached for him out of reflex, closing around the head, which made him groan in delight. His lips broke contact with your nipple to crash into your mouth once more. Tongues and teeth clashed as he ground into your hand. "I want all of you," Verso panted against your lips. Your head nodded as you guided him to your entrance.

"I'm yours," you whispered. He entered you agonizingly slowly. His length filled you until he was fully seated inside you. Your walls pulsed around him, begging for movement. Verso's pace remained unhurried; he brought his forehead to yours, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumped in and out of you.

Your hips rose rose match his pace. Verso's breathing was heavy and you could tell he was holding back from the way his eyes would close tightly.

"Verso, I want all of you too. I can take whatever you give."

"It's been so long. I don’t want to finish too quickly."

"You're doing so well, Verso. You can take whatever pace you want. You feel so good inside me," you assured as your hands rubbed up and down the arms that caged you.

He shuddered at your words and let out a moan. "I like it when you do that," he groaned.

"Do what?"

"Tell me I'm doing well. I need it."

Your pussy tightened at his words. He had a praise kink. "Verso, you've been so fucking good to me. Keep going, just like that."

He moaned louder at your words before picking up the pace. You made sure to praise him as he continued, saying things like "so good" and "you fill me so well."

"I'm not going to last much longer."

You placed a hand on his chest to gently push him away and out of you. He followed your lead and pulled out of you, allowing you room to move to flip over.

You buried your head into the pillows and reared your hips up to offer him an angle from behind. "Fuck, Y/N..."

You felt him insert his length again. This time his pace was relentless. He pounded into you, hitting that sweet, deep spot every time. You could feel your walls tightening again. There was no praise in this position - just the sounds of both yours and Verso's moans unleashed and his hips slapping against you.

As your walls shuddered around him, you felt his hips buck erratically as he came with you. His pace slowed as you both rode out your climax before he pulled out and turned your face to kiss you. Your breath was still heaving when you broke away.

"Was that okay for you?" You asked him breathlessly. Verso's beautiful fingers reached to move the hair from your face.

"More than okay. Tonight has been perfect."

"Well, it's still tonight as long as we're awake.." You said with a wicked smile. Verso returned the expression in kind before stealing another kiss.

Tomorrow was unknown, but at least you'd always have tonight.

[reinarandraw]

Pentimento

Title: Pentimento (AO3 Here) (1/?) Fandom: Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 Pairing: Gustave / Verso Rating: M Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Found Family, Romance, Mental Health Issues, Grief/Mourning, Secret Identity

Summary: Life is slow in Lumiere, a small coastal city not far from the Continent. Gustave is content with his life here, working as a power plant lead technician despite his disability. He has his sister, who is making her career on the Continent. He has his foster sister Maelle, whom he dotes on. Life is good until someone moves into the empty room below his. Verso might be the answer to all his problems or the one that will destroy his life.

Hello there friends! Do you like gustave from Expedition 33? Do you like Verso? Do you think they should kiss? Do you like modern au? Do you like slowburn? Well I got a fanfic for you~

[sky-kiss]

RxA: Nostalgia

A/n: Been torturing poor Renoir a lot lately so. Have some Renoir/Aline fluff. A little treat for him. Lightly smutty.

~~~~~~~~~~

“We're too old for this.” 

Renoir is unsure if he voices this declaration for her benefit or his own. What he does know is everything aches. Not in the healthy way one might experience after rigorous exercise or in the aftermath of lovemaking, but bone-deep unpleasantness—his hip and knee throb.

Aline’s response is muffled, her face turned into his bicep to block out the light. He flexes his fingers, feeling the familiar pin-prick sensation as blood attempts to flow back into the otherwise numb appendage. “Are we? I'd never have guessed.” His wife presses up on one elbow to survey the room, makes a soft noise of displeasure, and eases back down to pillow her chin on his chest. “We used to be worse.” 

He chuckles, curving a hand over her hip to distribute her weight more comfortably. 

Yes, they’d been far worse—the mattress in the atelier had been their mutual compromise. Threadbare, sheetless, and well-worn, but a vast improvement over their prior sleeping arrangements. Renoir vaguely recalls spending the better part of a decade dozing off in an oversized chair following their trips in the Canvas, hellaciously uncomfortable as they attempted to fold around each other. 

He tugs at a piece of her hair until she lifts her head to look at him. “I recall your…Bohemian solution to the problem.” 

Aline chews her lower lip to fight her smile, shrugging in concession. The memory of her standing in the atelier, bathed in sunlight, looking triumphant and a little wild with half the bedding in the manor strewn about her feet, is a personal favorite. They’d slept in that mishmash of sheets and pillows for…god, how long? He only remembers Verso and Clea being particularly fond of the arrangement. 

Where has the time gone? Three children, the youngest now twelve…

Aline leans in and nips his cheek, soothing the mark with a kiss. “It’s too early for your melancholies, Renoir.” 

“Nostalgia,” he corrects. 

“Too early to argue semantics as well.” 

He smiles, nodding. Aline is correct, of course. These morose fits did nothing more than…

Renoir jerks, letting out a hiss of breath when his wife’s hand slips inside his slacks. She presses up on her elbow, staring down at him, a gleeful unrepentance dancing in her gray eyes as she curls her fingers around his length, squeezing. “You seem young enough, my love.”

He manages an airy laugh, shifting his weight. “Aline.” 

“Mm?” She’s ignoring him now, watching the lazy motions of her wrist and the shallow, instinctual way his hips rock into her touch. Aline makes a sweetly interested noise, slipping down the length of him with the natural grace of a dancer. She straddles his thighs, careful to keep her weight off his bad leg. “Hush now, you wanted nostalgia.”

“The door, Aline.”

She purses her lips, glancing up from unfastening his belt long enough to eye the atelier’s entrance. They’d left it unlocked the night prior—there’d been no damn need to lock it. She makes that humming noise again and continues blithely on. Not a concern, apparently. He prays no one comes looking for them. 

Aline feathers the tips of her fingers along the underside of his cock, smirking at his little jerk. His wife sighs, skating both her hands up his abdomen, rucking up his shirt as she goes. If it is an attempt to appear innocent—only stretching, Renoir, nothing more!— it falls woefully short when she dips her head to take him in her mouth. 

He grits his teeth to keep from groaning. Aline’s hands press to his hips in warning. She will take this at her own pace. He knows better than to intercede, forcing himself to still as she laps at his head, lazily stroking whatever she cannot comfortably take. 

It’s likely crass to admit how desperate he is to paint her like this—the confidence and surety of her form, her loveliness, the curtain of her hair spilling across his skin, the…

She lifts her eyes, pupils blown wide and dark, to meet his. “Care to participate, mon coeur?” 

He shakes his head, laughing, resting his hand on the back of her head. Slowly, carefully, he thrusts into her mouth. Aline groans in approval, the sound shooting through him, pooling like liquid at the base of his spine. 

Renoir grunts, surrendering to the slow-building pleasure, fisting a hand in her hair and falling into her rhythm until he eventually spills over her tongue. He’s left panting, slightly dazed, moaning at the image of his wife wiping his spend from her lower lip with her thumb. 

He tastes himself when she kisses him. Aline nips him once more, patting his cheek before she sits up. “Come along, Renoir. The children will be looking for us so…”

He catches her around the waist before she can get far. And wonder of wonders, she is perfectly willing to be caught. 

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Fourteen

Summary: A letter for you.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Bad words, slight violence, more daddy issues, fluff, mention of sickness, some angst and... did I say fluffl?

Author’s Note: Oof, I really thought about how would I say goodbye to this story. There's so much I want to say, but for now I hope the words I wrote here makes some difference in what we build as a small community of mutual interest in writing and appreciating what we had of Carrillo.

Quite a journey to get here, right? And I should thank everyone for each conversation, each comment and appreciation towards this. As a non-English speaker, bring all of this here had been a challenge, but one I accepted with love.

As always, I hope I could give a good end for this love story. See ya!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

******

I wish I had done it differently, yes, but I don't think you should forgive me anyway. You don't know me and, by extension, you have every right to doubt my nature. Honestly, I recognize that that letter changed my life, as it reaffirmed that even though I’m in front of bullets or knives or big violent men every day, I’m still my father's daughter, which makes me a coward.

The Sun was burning your scalp a little, so you scratched the top of your head now and again because the heat was bothering you. From afar, you saw the small commotion in front of the building: people going out and about, fuzzing over each other. He didn’t exactly tell you where he was staying (you didn’t ask either), but the badge could do some convincing, such as your name. At least you hoped so. 

You looked at both sides of the street before crossing and, when you did, you ended up bumping into a girl – you apologized, even if a little bewildered, and she said everything was fine with a smile that you hadn't seen in those surroundings for a long time. That caught you a little by surprise, so you watched her go with a dumb expression in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Permiso,” Excuse me, You said, approaching the doorman who was sitting in the empty lobby with his arms crossed.

He was cooperative and friendly, but said he wasn't sure if there would be anyone with that name there because the Americans were already leaving. Still, he called the hamal in apartment 15 (you saw him do it over his shoulder) and, shortly after, said that you were lucky and could come up.

Your father was already at the door when the elevator arrived and, for a moment, the two of you stood there for almost a minute just staring at each other without saying anything, as if you were meeting for the first time. He knew there was something you wanted to say that was unconventional, at least by the way he looked you up and down suspiciously, but he didn't give in to asking the question. With a gesture of his head, your father suggested (not offered, suggested) for you to come closer and you did so, just like when you were a child and had to ask permission to sit at the dinner table to eat. 

The apartment itself was already empty, except for a few pieces of furniture that were still scattered around and would probably be collected later. The floor creaked a little because it was made of parquet and the walls were obviously old – weird for someone with so much 'caliber', but you understood that maybe it was just a disguise for the neighbors.

“I still have a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere,” He said, even if not moving a muscle to reach for the said thing. 

“I’m good,” You shook your head, in time to see him agreeing silently. 

An awkward silence followed the decline. With that, you gave yourself another chance to look around and find something to comment on before going straight to the point. 

“When is your flight?” 

“In about three hours,” He shrugged. “I believe that the Embassy didn’t ask you to give me a ride like the first time.”

“You would know if they did,” You smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He saw that and responded the same way, even pulling a chair out of the small table in the living room to make himself comfortable for a confrontation. 

“What is it then? Did I forget to file some paperwork or something? Because if that's the case, I have to let you know that I-” 

“Were you the one who killed Juan Marcos?”

The question caught him off guard, but not in a harsh way – he probably felt more outrage for the fact that you interrupted him, something he never took quite well. For a moment, then, your father just stared back at you, then scoffed as if you were stupid. 

“Thinking about leaving flowers on his grave before you leave?” 

“I don't think your moral compass is adjusted enough for you to remember which ditch you used to dispose of his body,” You crossed your arms over your chest, not failing for a moment to spit out your thoughts. 

“Don't be moralistic.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been in this hell for so long, right? Catching criminals, doing the dirty work… that’s enough for you to give me some answers.” 

Again, a bit of quietness, but a contemplative one. He had that easy expression on his face, as if you two were discussing the weather, one that always put you on the edge of pure rage. You waited patiently, tho.

“... I did.”

“How.”

“You saw him, you know how.”

“Is this the kind of thing you would do for a daughter?” 

“It is, because I did,” He said calmly. “Is this some kind of intervention? This is what you want? Resolve all the frustrations you have with me now, hours before I, what’s that you said? Disappear from your life?” 

You looked at him with pursed lips, feet tapping on that stupid floor to prevent any more unwanted feelings. It felt like the Sun was burning your scalp again, so you unconsciously scratched that area again before rolling your shoulders and staring at him with a stone cold expression – one you certainly got from his side of the family. The question was there, burning in your lungs and throat, ready to leave your mouth and make him lose that sarcastic smile on his face. 

“... Would you do that for a son?”

The decline in his comfort was gradual, progressive, millimetric. The corners of his mouth lowered into a straight line, his jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened intensely. You flexed your fingers discreetly, trying to hide your defensive posture with the possibility of another aggressive approach on his part, but all he did was access you cautiously while looking for the justification for your question in the way you stood there, in front of him.

“What did you do?” He frowned, probably not sure of the end of that topic. 

“Me? Nothing,” You shrugged, head shaking. “Your son did.”

Your father rose from his seat with a harsh scrape of the chair but you kept still, glaring back at him. He could come closer, could do what he did in the office; it wouldn’t happen, though. You both knew, somehow, that someone was his weak point, the thing that couldn’t make him have good nights of sleeping for a reason you’ll never understand. 

That made you scoff a laugh before averting your gaze. 

“Now you know how it is.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? Revenge?” His voice was so harsh, so taken by reticence and rage, that it made him static in a certain type of fury. 

“I think my best revenge was knowing that you got what you wanted most and he was nothing like what you expected,” You took one step closer, then another, and you two stood there, eye to eye. “Can you imagine? Being your son and having decency?”

“You better-”

“I better what? What, dad? Shut my mouth? Stop talking about Jorge? Or should I wait until you give me the first blow?”

Nothing. He stood there like a bull, fuming and grinding his teeth – no hand raised, no closed fists. 

“You asked what I want with all this, with this drama… I never expected anything I discovered about your life to be ethical or clean. You do whatever you want,” You shrugged again, this time going full exaggerated with a fake coy expression. “What I want is for you to take that plane, go back to the States and spend the rest of your days thinking of how your beloved son couldn’t be any more different than you in anything, better than you in anything and a man you’ll never be even closer to be. All that while being raised by a whore.” 

The slap was a familiar feeling, like that specific side of your face had a shape to fit his open hand like a glove. Even the movement of your head, the mixing of your insides, it had a natural way to flow, to go this way or another. Still, you’d been caught by surprise, so next thing you knew, your gum was bleeding – you could taste blood on the tip of your tongue, see it on the tip of your fingers when you assessed the small damage. It had the sting, the sharp pain, but that didn’t get a rise out of you. 

“That’s what you told him? That I’m your bad father who didn't beat you enough to give you good manners?”

“... Why would I need good manners? I’m a whore, right? Good manners wouldn’t make me fuck Carrillo like I wanted to and you couldn’t do shit to stop it,” That came out with such a force. “In all my life, nothing made me more happy than to trespass your limits as much as I could, to make you show your true colors and still put that scary expression on your face.”

With this, you took a few steps back, adjusting your clothes and smiling, the inside of your mouth and your teeth probably red from the blood. 

“Take that plane, go back home. I know that you’ll lie in your bed tonight knowing that you’ll have the same future as that damned Juan Marcos, alone in a grave that no one’ll visit.” 

It was as if thousands of years and hurt had finally created the courage to leave your shoulders, as if all the suffering he put your mother through had transformed into a controlled and punctual fury in your heart. A return. An end. And you left there knowing that, with that, you closed a cycle that gave you a happiness more sincere than Escobar's dead body on that roof.

******

Two days before…

You weren’t with your work clothes, so the heat was more bearable with the tank top. The worn out jeans were still there, just as the old boots, and just as the gun and badge. Habits. Carrillo looked at you beside him in the car, arms crossed with the stance of that old self, full Colonel mood of his. 

“Are you sure the info is relatable? Safe?”

“I am. Do you want me to bring all of the Colombian Army to this when you all should be celebrating something out there?” You turned to him with a teasing smile, seeing the frown on his face getting even more deeper. “Horacio-”

“Some of them are still out there. You should at least let Trujillo do a-”

“You’re already here with me, Horacio, and this is already too much. There’s people who need you right now.”

Instead of answering, he let you hold his toned arms, then both sides of his neck to melt some of his stubbornness in avert your gaze. Not getting a reaction, you tilted your head to get a better look of his face, jaw tightening in insistence, which made you sigh and let him go. 

“You don’t know him,” He said. 

“I’m aware.”

“And we’ve been through enough to be suspicious.”

“I’m aware,” You insisted, brows raised. “To be honest, I don’t know if I wanna do this but… If it’s him, if… I need to be sure.” 

“Why?” 

For a moment you just stared at his confused expression, not knowing the right answer to that – not sure if you had one. Then you pursed your lips, shook your head and averted his eyes to look through the window, where you could see the small house from afar. 

“... When my father left, my mother kind of disappeared. Mentally. It was as if the lights were on but no one was home,” Your tone was recoiled, way too low for someone so confident about their decisions. “He said some things to her, said this country was hell but even some cheap pussy could give him what he wanted. I honestly didn’t even know why he needed so much to have a son.”

You could feel Carrillo watching you carefully while you used that false calmness to explain what you wanted to say clearly.

“This made me spend time with my paternal grandparents because she couldn't bear to see me. I was a very complicated, restless child, so when my grandfather started using the old methods he used with my father and uncles when I messed up, I understood why he wanted a boy.”

You felt a weight on your chest, one that almost made you cry.

“At least I think I understand. He wanted to take out the frustrations of what he went through on someone and I was a girl, so naturally I couldn't handle punishment or fits of rage. I would have marks like my mother had and that would make things more complicated for his conscience. A boy could be molded to be strong, resilient. I was always too emotional for him.” 

Like the perpetuation of the species to whom he could transfer descendants or something like that. Bullshit. 

“I understand. Well, at least I think I would be that kind of person if things weren't different.”

“I don't think it's the same thing,” You shook your head. “You're here, that's more than he's ever done.”

“Because I love you.”

“And if you had children, you would love them too.”

Carrillo didn’t say anything. The idea of ​​children only crossed his mind when he was younger, as soon as he married Juliana, and it seemed so distant that he forgot what it would be like to imagine a life with children. You didn't want that, that's for sure; Given the life you two had, it would even be selfish to bring a child into the world. And even if the car was so quiet, so… calm, Carrilo always had the feeling that someone was lurking, and he felt bad for thinking that, in another time, he would be the same type of father as your father was.

You could feel, little by little, how his hand sneaked closer to yours, the tip of his fingers carefully passing through your knuckles before going up to your wrist. It was so soft, the way he touched you to test the water, to not invade your space, that when his hand reached for your forearm, pulling you just enough to make you turn to him, nothing could stop you from hugging him as if your life depended on it, pressing against his body fiercely. 

He didn't say anything because he didn't know how to say anything, because it wasn't like hearing the news that your father was coming to Colombia. Horacio was never good with soothing words. He knew how to act, that's for sure; in that case, if it were possible, if that sliver of humanity were to come away from him once and for all, your father would become a ghost like everyone else.

Well, but you already knew that – he had told you that when he recovered you from another low blow from your father. Selfishly, Horacio would always do his best to create miles of distance between the things he truly loved and those who risked any trace of peace he had achieved. And maybe you didn't know this, but he had made this promise to himself.

I'm not going to lose anymore, Horacio pressed you tighter against him, staring at the wall with the coldness of his decision. I don’t accept that.

“Let’s do this.”

******

I imagine to this day that you would never like Horacio. You always seemed too ‘communist’, progressive enough, but you would laugh until your stomach hurt at how stubborn he was. Still, I don't want to convince you to like him; I just want to tell you that it wasn't him who told me to leave before I could see you that day. You were fine, you were beautiful (I still know you are) and you were holding a baby in your lap, which I later realized was that of one of the patients you saved during an emergency birth. I was only there for 30 minutes and I heard people say more good things about you than they could ever say about me in my entire life. That's when I knew I had to leave you alone.

I cried in his arms later; I would cry a lot more in the years that followed, but I reserved every minute of my future life, the life I never planned for myself, to gather all the memories of what I could tell you one day. No, I'm not dying, at least not from my health, because you know that everyone dies one day, but I've been writing to you because I want you to know that you don't deserve the family you have because you're too good for us.

I want to tell you about Horacio. I want to tell you what we did and how I miss some things in life. I want to tell you this because I know he could be a solid bridge between the two of us, the person who would interpret you for me and interpret me for you. My mother would never be able to do it because of resentment, our father because of disregard and we because of ignorance.

Horacio, however, was my surprise during the time I spent in Medellín. If I want you to know me, I want to be able to reveal my best side, what I truly achieved when I decided I would love him.

******

It was strange not having plans, but you got on the plane alone. Horacio couldn't go with you, not at that moment; there was love between you, yes, but there was also responsibility, and he would never leave his own country behind. You understood. During the time you spent in Bogotá (not in Medellín), the two of you did things together: went out to dinner, visited places, had sex… Things that couples did. When you got on the plane, it was with the uncertainty that things would one day be okay, and that you would be able to reconcile life in Los Angeles with what had happened to the two of you in Colombia.

This was our father's fault and I'm completely sure of that. I was disallowed from having any further contact with the case, which I understood as private revenge for what I did, as if he wanted to take away more of the happiness you could have had if you were to work with Peña and Horacio later. I always resented him for that, I still do. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing he had done and today I know it wasn't, but it was as if every minute of my life, he took away a little of my happiness.

The letters you exchanged were always long, which went quite against his personality. It was as if, finally, he said in words everything he thought, did and gave his opinion. On your part, there were important descriptions, such as how much your mother was fond of him and the cases you worked on at the DEA. He, on the other hand, mentioned the well-known day to day life with Peña, what they worked on and how he missed you, above all, which hurt your heart.

“God, you have to put an end to this. I want to see you happy again, my daughter, and I want to meet him.” 

In one of them, which was a call, he told you something that he kept so deeply within himself that he was certain that, one day, he would come back to you for good and that there would be no turning back.

“I want to marry you. I see no other choice and I have no other way out. I need to assure myself that I’ll no longer have to tolerate this ordeal without knowing that I’ll come home and find you.” 

“Don't be so dramatic... I know people who would find our obstacles small compared to what they go through. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“So wait. The next time we see each other, I'll have a ring to put on your finger.” 

You know, I always thought he was a brute, but Horacio never failed to keep his promises. In fact, he came back with a ring, and we actually got married, which was a simple thing that meant enough to both of us. We moved to El Paso. It was close to Peña, in fact, and sometimes we spent holidays together, which I never thought would happen. Maybe, thinking about it now, it's those moments that I miss most.

“Is that white hair?”

“Fuck off, we both know we’re getting old,” You elbowed Javier in the guts, puffing smoke in the Texan hot air. “By the way, you’re getting a belly down there. Don’t come at me.”

“What I gained, you lost. Have you been eating?” 

No was the proper answer. He knew it was, and that was why he asked. Still, you shrugged, taking another drag. 

“... Yes.”

“Hey-”

“I am, Javi, I promise. It's just been different.”  

“I hope so. One of you needs to remain standing.”

It was around the time our father passed away. Well, I can't say for sure if it was too close or too far, especially since he fulfilled his own mission of dying alone. I didn't have the opportunity to talk after he got sick; I didn't even know if he had someone. Today I'm almost the same age as he was when I was in Medellín and I can't see him in myself, while I don't know if I would live my life differently if he asked me for forgiveness. Below I leave exactly where he is buried and, if you want, you can visit him. If you're the praying type, decide if it makes sense to give him the privilege of prayer; God knows I'd like that too.

******

At that point of things, you made fun of Horacio for not actually marrying you like the tradition said, just giving you the ring he promised he would, but you understood that the world didn't survive on big events like that.

When he found out what the diagnosis was, you went straight to the computer and did your research. It wasn't that you didn't believe the doctors, but the first step to acceptance was denial, and you knew how to do that very well. At the time, you had just been promoted to an important position in Mexico. You found a good doctor there who could treat him, and the offer didn't get as much back-up as you thought it would – it was like he thought he was going to die.

It was a very different change than it had been when you went to Colombia years before. There was no urgency, no hustle, just the tranquility of a bureaucratic job with a good house, space for a yard and a good salary. 

“It's in the early stages, so it's a relatively simple treatment. The change in routine and habits will be more severe, so I would be more attentive to that.”

You decided to stop smoking along with him because of this and, deep down, Horacio was a little upset at having to stop this habit.

“I don't know, I just feel embarrassed,” He said one night, you two sitting on the porch because he wanted to take a look at the street. “I didn't imagine that my life would end without emotion.”

“You won't die like this, stop being an idiot.”

“How can you know?”

“Well, because I just know.”

Not every day was easy and, honestly, coming to Mexico was the acid test for many things in my life. Interestingly, I never thought about giving up Horacio, and if I was honest with myself, I also thought that one day I would die from a gunshot or something that would make newspaper headlines. He would never admit it, and neither would I, because it seemed inconceivable, but having that life made us feel grateful and, most of all, lucky.

It was also at this time that I decided to get back in touch with you. He made a promise that if he was cured of cancer, he would include forgiveness for his own past, so we started slowly. I met Juliana (and the three children she had), and I started visiting our father almost religiously every year. We went back to Texas to see Javi, and sometimes we went to Miami to visit Steve. Horacio had reservations about my country, but he could appreciate some things that I think you might like too.

Jorge, I know that our life could have been different and I, as an older sister, feel responsible for being able to give you some glimpses of life with a family up here that loves you, because I would like that too. Along with these letters, I also send tickets to the capital, for you and your husband, if you want to visit us. Horacio is a great tour guide and I, interestingly enough, learned to be a great hostess.

I apologize for having done all this so late. Well, apologies are never enough, but I feel that this phase of my life, the phase of gray hair and wrinkles on my face, terribly nicknamed 'better years', is the right time for the two of us to reconcile for someone who left us behind.

I miss what we didn't have. Even if you don't want to, which I understand, know that my life is only complete because I know that a part of me is also in you.

******

“Appealing to nostalgia?”

Horacio barely raised his head from where he was staring at a box full of old trinkets. Through the mess of the office, he went straight to the memories of Medellín, rooting around and reliving the years in the dust, and he seemed focused enough to barely pay attention to you.

You could say that the guests were already arriving, that he should take a shower soon to welcome them, but the scene seemed so peaceful that you were afraid to interrupt and decided to participate.

“You have that perfume again,” He murmured right when you touched a framed picture of him and Trujillo alongside other stuff. 

“Does that bother you?” You eyed him over your eyeglass lenses, to which he tsked and shook his head. 

“You’re also appealing to nostalgia.”

“Huh, I remember that was the first thing you noticed about me when we met.” 

Horacio then looked back at you and, seeing your mischievous smile, smiled back, leaning back on the chair to give you full attention. 

“You drove me crazy, that's what.”

“I didn't know that was the effect it had on you. In fact, I was sure you hated me.”

“Because I couldn't want you and I wanted you.”

You left the frame in the box and walked over to him, walking around the table to sit on his lap, which he gladly accepted. For a few moments, you stood there, motionless, staring at his face, not knowing exactly what to say, just… admiring him, the grays on his hair and the lazy grin splattered there. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked then, always eager to get inside your head. 

“I always imagine that we wouldn't be here if we didn't live what we lived there,” You pondered, a hand massaging the side of his neck. “And it's weird because people have lost so much. Do you think we deserve it?”

“Is this part of your reconciliation process?”

“Yeah, I guess. I've been thinking about some things... I'm writing you a letter, even.”

“But I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know,” You pecked his lips softly. “Who knows, maybe I can express it with words instead of hiding it on paper.”

Horacio stared at you for a bit, his brow furrowed and the mechanisms moving in his head. You thought it was strange.

“What?”

“I want to read you something.”

You got up so he could look for what he was finding, and when he did, he took a notebook out of a box, accompanied by yellowed sheets of paper.

“I wrote these things while we were in Colombia.”

“And what exactly is it?”

“In the beginning, it was a diary of missions and operations that we carried out. The day you arrived, I ended up writing 'perfume' instead of 'precision', which made me realize that the feeling wouldn't leave my head. I didn't stop thinking about you after that, so I started… I don't know, writing down things about you, what you did, what irritated me and what I liked.”

There was no way to react, more out of shock than offense at him having kept it in for so long. You imagined a Carrillo from the past, a thousand times more stubborn and stubborn, taking the time to write about a woman he couldn't stand. Maybe sitting alone at night in the office, cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, mumbling swear words while saying he liked something about you, disbelieving his own feelings.

Then he took that photo that Steve had taken, which he stole and caused temporary chaos with your colleagues. You, younger, tired but with a spark of life, an eagerness to do the right things. 

You watched him as he looked at the photo and felt a warm feeling in your heart that seemed more frequent since you started having more moments together.

When he started reading what he wanted, you could barely move.

“I don't know what this woman did to me and I try hard every day not to ruin everything because I think about her so much. The perfume drives me crazy, the defiant eyes impress me and, oh my, lately I've noticed how incredibly mind-blowing those jeans make her. I have no one to express these feelings to, perhaps because I can't say in words what I imagine when I think of her.”

“Today she told me to go fuck myself. I had to suppress my satisfying smile when I saw that fire in her eyes when she spat those words in my face, because I purposely provoked her into being angry with me, thinking I wanted a reason to get her away from me. In the end, I know that that exact reaction was what I wanted, that she will never give up because she is too stubborn to do so. She goes to the end. She is true to what she believes. I'm sure I'm in love.”

“If nothing were as it were, I would ask her to dinner. I would see her eyes light up in the candlelight, I would make all the romantic moves and show a side of me that no one knows. I want to see her confused, I want to surprise her, and then I want to kiss her, make love to her, and feel every inch of that sweaty skin beneath my fingers while I see her sigh with the pleasure I'm going to offer. I want her, I want her so much, and I feel bad for every kind of thought I might have about her.”

“I call these verses, then. Versos de Placer, in my mother tongue, one that she knows how to say and that is even more beautiful when it comes out of her mouth. Verses that I will never be able to recite out loud, not to her, but I will be able to remember as the spark of a good memory of the complicated days we spent hating ourselves because the world we are in is destroying us. Always her, and never anyone who isn't her or who even looks like her.”

“Always her and her perfume and her accent and her presence. Always.” 

******

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@seaweeden

[nelllis]

I'm gonna give you a big forehead kissy; you're so sweet!

:D tysm, one of my favorite authors (not just of fanfics) ever teehee

And some quick links to some of grimmy88’s NELLIS fics that I have read so far (and absolutely fucking loved)

Pollice Verso, a nellis roman au! I recommend this fic because it is a personal-ish passion piece from grimmy who is a roman history professor; so you know that it is historically accurate *and* amazing. This story is in progress and a new chapter was posted super recently :D

Retread is a retelling and continuation of the canon game events starting from the passing. It was my first favorite nellis fic and holds a special place in my heart! I love the direction that grimmy has taken with what happens after rescue and the lovable original characters in it!

This is a collection of their nellis family au fics. There’s three which all follow the same story- it’s chronological, but you can also read them out of order! This is such a sweet and lovely fluff piece if you’re ever looking for a relief from the angst and want dad nick and dad ellis.

I still have more of their nellis fics to read and there might be one on there that you like that I haven’t read yet. But for real, check out their works, they are an amazing and humble author :)

[nekoannie-chan]

Más tiempo

Más tiempo

Título: Más tiempo.

Fandom: Marvel, Capitán América.

Pareja: Brock Rumlow X Lectora doble agente.

Palabras: 164 palabras.

Clasificación: B.

Sinopsis: Tienes un secreto que no quieres que los Vengadores sepan.

Advertencias: Secreto, fluff.

N/A:  Esta es mi entrada para BrokenHearts4Caplan Challenge con la frase:

" Desearía que tuviéramos más tiempo."

         Si te gusto por favor vota, comenta y rebloguea.

No doy ningún permiso para que mis fics sean publicados en otra plataforma o idioma (yo traduzco mi propio trabajo) o el uso de mis gráficos (mis separadores de texto también están incluidos), los cuales hice exclusivamente para mis fics, por favor respeta mi trabajo y no lo robes. Aquí en la plataforma hay personas que hacen separadores de texto para que cualquiera los pueda usar, los míos no son públicos, por favor busca los de dichas personas. La única excepción serían los regalos que he hecho ya que ahora pertenecen a alguien más. Si encuentras alguno de mis trabajos en una plataforma diferente y no es alguna de mis cuentas, por favor avísame. Los reblogs y comentarios están bien.

DISCLAIMER: Los personajes de Marvel no me pertenecen (desafortunadamente), exceptuando por los personajes originales y la historia.

Anótate en mi taglist aquí.

Otros lugares donde publico: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @black23 @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @azulatodoryuga

Te encontrabas en una misión encubierta con los Vengadores. Habías conseguido infiltrarte en la Torre de los Vengadores.

Finalmente una noche, la puerta crujió y Brock apareció, empapado por la lluvia, una sonrisa apareció en su rostro.

—Estás aquí —susurraste.

—Siempre estaré donde me necesites —respondió, acercándose para tomar tus mano.

Se empezaron a besar con desesperación, sabían que no tenían mucho tiempo.

—Desearía que tuviéramos más tiempo —dijo Brock de repente—. Más tiempo para estar juntos, sin tener que escondernos.

—Yo también lo quiero —respondiste, sentías como las lágrimas se comenzaban a acumular en tus ojos—. Pero sabes que no podemos... no todavía.

Se abrazaron fuertemente deseando que el tiempo se detuviera.

—Prométeme que, pase lo que pase, seguiremos encontrando la manera de vernos —le susurraste.

—Lo prometo —dijo, besando tu frente suavemente. 

Él se fue, unos minutos después Steve apareció.

—¿Con quién hablabas? —te preguntó.

—Estaba recitando algunos versos de Shakespeare —mentiste. No iban a permitir que los descubrieran.

[keysflopera]

Hey y'all! My name is Keyaira and I have a tumblr addiction! so now I'll release my silliness here to distract myself from college! :3

Firstly: This blog is obviously 18+ MDNI!!

Now to the fun part!

I would like to post x reader fics here, I've been reading LOTS of fanfics here so I'm getting a little inspired to do my own here!

I will also take requests so don't be afraid to put on a show with me! And be as descriptive as possible.

I would like to note a few things that I will NAWTTT be writing, while I do not like to kink shame I do have a right to decline a request.

Those things in question: P3dophilia (that's just fucking disgusting.), scat, character x OC, incest, stepcest, abusive relationships, non-con, really anything that's immoral and illegal.

Other than that, I'm open to a lot of things so please don't be afraid to send in a request and I'll see what I can do!

I'd like to also note that I like to keep y/n as simple as possible so it's enjoyable for all readers, however that doesn't mean you're not allowed to request for specific characteristics!

An example for be: character x black!Reader, as a black trans woman, I'm a sucker to see black reader or trans reader content! so those type of characteristics are definitely allowed and encouraged even!

I can write fluff, smut, angst, did i forget to mention SMUT, or even a combination of them, I ain't all that good with angst, but I'll still try my hardest to deliver for you guys <3

Now for pairings: I can do male/female, mlm, wlw, so don't limit to yourself to what you want guys!

The more detailed the request to more I have to work with! so please don't feel like you're asking too much because it'll never be enough for me :)

Or if you just want to chat that's nice too, I'd like to build connections on here as well!

I'd like to get into new fandoms and expand my flexibility on what I write! so please do recommend me new shows or movies to watch! I'll gladly take up the request.

Squid games

JJK

Mouthwashing

Marvel Rivals (Or just regular marvel)

Expedition 33 (Mainly for Verso or Lune )

GTA (I LOVE ME SOME GTA)

Demon Slayer

Overwatch

Thanks for taking the time to read all of my yapping :D I hope you guys give me some more fandoms to look into! my requests are always open or feel free to chat it up with me! - ❆ Keyaira

[ashenstardust]

Hii!! I see you write for clair obscur 👀 I'd like to request a fluff imagine with verso finding out reader used to be an actress on Lumiére? since he's a musician \(^ヮ^)/ Headcanons are fine too!! I hope you have a great day and If you don't want to/can't do this request that's fine! jst ignore this then,,(o^ ^o)

I want you to know I went insane about this.

Pairing: Verso x Reader Summary: When you have imposter syndrome so hard you cringefail out of being a microcelebrity until it comes to slap you in the face. Word Count: 2051 Rating: G Warnings: Fluff (?), not proofread

Wandering around the expedition grounds had left little time for socialization. You weren’t exactly a combatant, but your team was. They spent all day fighting and killing Nevrons only to collapse at camp once night fell, talking into the small hours of the morning, before passing out and waking up only a few hours later in the predawn grey.

You did much the same, although you didn’t expend as much energy seeing as how you barely ever fought and really only helped to move the camp from one place to the next as you traveled ever closer to the Paintress.

Gustave had been the one to justify your continued existence after the horrors on the beach. Even though the words were barely kinder than “pack mule.”

After everything else that happened you thought the group was just happy to have someone else who was still alive.

Then came Verso, kind but impatient and exacting in a way that had you shying away from any more social interaction than necessary. He understood there was no place for someone who had to rely on others to stay alive. You understood his pointed remarks and syrupy words were meant to make you take more risks – to sink or swim against the never-ending tide of Nevrons.

And maybe he wasn’t as callous as you felt he was. On clear nights in the cold air, he’d ask you to spar with him, offer to teach you some technique or another, or tell you how to find a weakness in an enemy. Sometimes you appreciated that he took the time to recognize you were human. Other times he was so intense, pushing you past the point of reason, and you would hide away in camp until the bruises and aches and heartbreak subsided.

At the end of every encounter you knew, reaffirmed for yourself, you would never be more than you were.

Then something horrible happened.

You were licking your wounds, relaxing in the shadows and watching the flickering fire as the expedition sat around the fire and talked, when a pair of legs came from across the camp, carrying Verso’s voice and trying to get the attention of Maelle.

You blanched, your stomach rolled, and you pressed your hands over your mouth as you moved to run or intervene. You weren’t sure which to follow through on yet.

Maelle didn’t even react, just told him to go away, and you watched as a slightly defeated pair of legs tried for Lune’s attention instead.

You had tears in your eyes as Lune shouted, and a torso – the top half of Verso – came crawling over on his hands. You wanted to scream. Who in their right mind thought any of this was appropriate?

But once the shock wore off, you saw the little group begin to laugh and share quips. Then you heard your name echoing from the conversation. They were talking about you. You groaned, inwardly, and hoped they wouldn’t call you over.

Maelle caught your eye and waved you over with unrestrained glee.

“-Absolutely brilliant. I go to every show!” You catch the last part of Sciel’s excited information as you approach.

They’re all looking at you. Your expedition partners with an awe you hadn’t seen since before you left Lumiere, and Verso with a look that made it clear he was reconsidering his opinion of you.

“You were part of the theater on Lumiere?” he asked in that unwitting way that always drew you in.

Maelle had been talking about one of the plays you’d done a few years ago, the first she’d even been to, and how special it had been for her and Gustave. Her voice quieted but you weren’t sure if it was because she’d stopped talking or because of the way Verso made you feel like you were the only two people in camp.

That was what it was like when he trained you, too. The whole world fell away until there was only your body and his and the movements of a battle dance that rang out like a song.

He made a noise, and you came back to yourself, offering him a nod in answer to his question. “I was apprenticed under Matthieu Bossuet before he had his Gommage. I left behind quite a few promising apprentices myself.”

“I really couldn’t believe you’d choose to be part of an expedition,” Lune interjected as soon as there was space for her to do so. “We were all upset, at first, that you’d leave Lumiere without your entertainment for something so hopeless as this.”

“Yes,” Sciel agreed, “Before…” she trailed off for a heartbeat, “you’d sing to us, or act out a little scene from one of your plays, and it made everything feel better, like we hadn’t left Lumiere at all.”

You were forced into a sort of stunned silence at that. You had no idea… Of course you’d seen them at your shows sometimes, with so few people left on Lumiere it was easy to recognize the same faces, but you hadn’t… What you had done on Lumiere had felt frivolous, and selfish. The self-loathing you had become accustomed to had fallen away when you’d signed your life over to the expedition.

Verso was looking at you with a different sort of intention than you’d ever seen from him before. The pity was easy to put aside, it was something you were used to seeing from him, but there was also admiration there and, perhaps, respect.

“Do they still preform Le Gardien Des Singes?” he asked.

You’re shocked he knew the name, though you knew you shouldn’t have been. He was from Lumiere and the play was old. “I did, once. Some of the pages have been lost and the ink from the first half is faded from use. No one really wants to restore old manuscripts when they could be writing original pieces.”

Verso smiled, covering a clear sadness with a sort of self-satisfied mirth. “I composed it with a writer friend of mine before the fracture,” he admitted wistfully. “I guess I’m just glad to hear some of it survived the move from the continent to the sea.” There was a moment of silence as you took that information in. Verso didn’t let you sit with it for very long. “When this is all over, I’ll come back with you and restore it myself.”

You smiled, despite the knowledge at the forefront of your everyday life that you would not be going back to Lumiere alive. “I’d love to perform it with you, when that happens.” And when you said it, it sounded like a promise.

It was late and you were ready to leave it at that, but Verso seemed invigorated, and you knew the rest of the expedition didn’t really sleep all that much either. Instead, you were forced to watch his body slide back together, the top half stitching together with the bottom in a disgusting squelch. Verso, now whole, was grinning widely and moving around the camp to find an appropriately flat section of grass and dirt.

His picto snapped and flourished and there sat an elegant piano. Veros took a seat on the bench with his back to the keys as he looked over where he’d left you and the rest of your group

“Do you remember any of it?” he prompted as you all walked over to him.

You saw the group’s eyes light up hopefully at the question. You felt Esquie’s shadow and Monoco had come to see what was happening too.

You opened your mouth to reply and felt yourself rendered mute by the sudden humiliation of the truth. Le Gardien Des Singes had been one of the last performances you’d done before the preparations for the expedition became a full-time job. It had been a passion project of yours and in putting it on you’d learned almost every aspect of the thing.

In what felt like long minutes you finally answered. “I remember a scene from the second act, I think. The one when the two guardians learn about the escape,” you admit. Once the words are out of your mouth you realize you hadn’t taken that much time to answer at all, and the thoughtful looks on their faces told you they’d thought you’d just been wracking your memory.

That wicked grin still curled on Verso’s lips, but it lost its edge at your words. He seemed genuinely pleased to hear that was the part you remembered. In truth it was a scene that you’d felt was the most emotionally impactful of the whole script which might’ve had you shying away if it weren’t for the anticipatory charge the air now held.

“Do you want to start-?”

You interrupted Verso, already knowing what he was going to say, “From the start of the argument, yeah.” It would be interesting playing both characters against each other especially since that hadn’t been your part on Lumiere either. But the thought of performing again, with someone else to do the music was making your heart race and a pleasant sort of adrenaline hummed under your skin.

Verso didn’t need any more prompting. He turned on the bench and placed his fingers above the opening keys.

The music came in as a crash of discordant noise. The two characters had already been enemies from what had happened at the start of the act. There was no prelude to the harm that was coming.

You threw your body into it. Giving each of the two guardians a distinct body language and flow of words. When you couldn’t remember the exact verbiage, you improvised based on where you knew the conversation was going.

It was going very smoothly, with a captive audience and a musician willing to improvise with you when your lines went on longer or shorter than he probably wrote them. And he was an excellent musician. His fingers were lightning across the piano and seemed to anticipate every move you were going to make even when the notes weren’t what you were fully familiar with.

Then came the part where the two guardians launched themselves at each other.

You were bending backwards, your own hands reaching for your throat, when the musical sting interrupted your flow completely. You stuttered a bit in your actions and shot Verso a look like, “get your shit together.”

You played out the next round of dialogue without anything amiss, although you felt the upbeat notes were a little out of practice considering what was going to happen next.

Then you were leaning back as the other character, fist coming at your face. Lune and Esquie gasped appropriately.

And there was that out-of-place musical sting again.

Everything stopped.

You whipped around to face Verso. “What’re you doing?” you both accused each other at the same time.

It was harsh enough to make you pause and take in the situation. Verso heard his words echo with yours and started laughing.

“I think I’m missing something,” you admit, relaxing your body language from where you’d been strung against your own movements.

Verso’s laughter died down a bit, but there was still clear amusement in his voice. “It’s a comedy,” he informed you.

“What?” The words came out like a bark as you bit back your own amusement imagining what he must’ve been picturing in his mind. To you, and to the people of Lunmiere, that scene was the beginning of the descent for the characters that led up to the catastrophe at the end of the act which led into the resolution at the end of the performance.

“It probably doesn’t work since its just the two of us, but the whole point is that they’re arguing about the sanctuary that isn’t missing anything at all,” he explained.

“So, they’re all there?” you asked, picturing your cast all on stage, watching these two characters trying to kill each other over nothing.

“They’re all there,” Verso agreed, suddenly his usual calm and held together self.

Esquie quite expertly took the crowd away from the piano with a fluttering interpretive dance which seemed easy to join.

“And it still ends the same?” you asked, stepping nearer to the bench.

Verso smiled and nodded, “yeah, it still ends the same.”

[pompompourrite]

VERSO X DEPRESSED READER HEADCANONS !!

pairing: painted!verso x gn!reader.

contents: fluff, verso tries to help readers when their spirits are low, mentions of depression and stress, just verso being a cutie patootie.

a/n: my depression has dealt me a big blow recently and i've mainly written this to make myself feel better. english is not my first language, so i'm sorry if it's badly written. i hope you'll enjoy it anyway! requests are open ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭

He's very good at guessing what's going on in people's heads, he pays a lot of attention to his team-mates, so when there's the slightest change in you, your expression, your attitude or just the way you walk, he knows something's wrong, and believe me when I say that all his attention will be on you all day long.

He won't ask you directly what's bothering you, not when danger could come from anywhere, and he doesn't want to take the risk of everyone knowing that you're not in your right frame of mind, he doesn't know how you might react to receiving everyone's attention all at once.

Also because he wants to be the only person who can comfort you.

He'll wait until the evening, when everyone's doing their little group activities to relax, while you sit on your own. He won't waste any time coming and sitting next to you.

In general, he always asks permission to sit down. But not this time, not when he knows something's bothering you.

Let's be clear: he'll never force you to talk, but he'll stay close to you all the same, to let you know that he's there, that you're not alone, and that you can come to him if you ever change your mind and pour out everything that's on your mind. In the meantime, he doesn't mind sitting silently for hours on end, if it means he can look after you.

Either that, or he'll tell you all about the funniest adventures he's had with Monoco, or even one of the rare moments when he'll let Monoco tell little secrets and anecdotes he's ashamed of, just to cheer you up.

He'd ask Esquie to shower you with hugs. (seriously I think Esquie's hugs could cure anything)

If you're the type of person who doesn't really appreciate physical contact, he'd probably be happy with a pat on the shoulder or back. On the other hand, if physical contact doesn't bother you, he'll put an arm around your shoulder to pull you back against him and gently rub your shoulder.

If you're in love or in a relationship, he won't hesitate to sit behind you and give you a hug, holding you close to him to make you feel safe.

In any case, friends or lovers, as I said, he won't force you to talk, he'll just ask you what's going on. If you remain silent, he'll respect your choice.

But if you talk, he'll listen carefully, he won't cut you off, except when he hears you talking down to yourself. It hurts him to hear you talk so badly about yourself, he feels obliged to stop you and tell you how wrong you are.

Do you feel useless in the team? He'll list every single thing you've done to help the expedition. Do you have a problem with your appearance? He'll drown you in compliments. Do you feel like a bad person? He could spend hours telling you what a wonderful person you are.

No matter what makes you sad, he'll never run out of arguments.

If you ever burst into tears in front of him, he'll take you in his arms and offer you to cry against his chest while he rubs your back to soothe you.

Bonus point if you're lovers: he'll kiss the top of your head and/or your forehead.

If you end up crying yourself to sleep and falling asleep in his arms, he won't dare move for fear of waking you up, and there's a good chance he'll end up falling asleep with you in the same place where you sat together.

If not, he'll suggest you sleep next to him for the night, or in his arms. The choice is yours, he's happy with either. He just wants to keep an eye on you and make sure you sleep well, even if it means he won't be able to sleep all night.

He won't tell anyone about what happened or what you said to him, even if you give him permission. What happens between you stays between you. Unless one of the other members unintentionally says something that makes you feel bad, he'll tell them so they'll be more careful.

He knows that moods don't change overnight, so he'll stay close to you for the next few days to see how you're feeling.

[idkwhattoputnothingworkshelp]

In Maelle's dream...

(or should I write Alicia's?)

Did a photo study and then painted Verso, Renoir and Gustave based on it. (Tried, it's far from perfect.)

See, I can write/paint fluff too, not only angst. 😔Trust me T_T

[phyrestartr]

Disparaissons Tous les Deux | Verso Dessendre x M!Reader (pt.6)

C/W: existential crises, grief, explicit thoughts of suicide, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, passive suicidal ideation, trauma, blood, violence, typical exp33 doom and despair, did I mention grief

tags: fluff, angst, bittersweet fluff, drama, emotional conflict, philosophies on life and death, painted!verso x reader, irl!verso x reader, pre-established relationships, takes place in the real world and the canvas

Read on AO3! Prologue | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6

6. Armistice

INT. MANOR - Present, The Canvas

Verso held you for a long, long while. He indulged in every second of it; every moment he got to bask in your scent, feel your body against his, hear your lovely voice in your cries, he felt a little more whole. He was a little more real with you.

It wouldn't be horrible to spend eternity on the floor with you tucked safely in his arms, but you were a man who despised staying still; restlessness would claim you soon enough.

“I don't—” you paused, and recollected yourself. “I don't understand this.” 

Wonder swam in Verso's mind. “What do you mean?” 

“You sound like him, but…it's different.” You shifted a bit, sending an anxious jolt through Verso and calming him just as swiftly when you settled again, a little more lax than before. “More…morose, maybe. Confident, as well. Like every note is the only answer.” 

Oh. Heat rushed up Verso's chest, settling in his face.

“‘Every note,’” he repeated. “You mean the way you hear people as a Musician? They way you…hear me?” 

You nodded best you could with your head tucked between his jaw and shoulder. “Yeah. But I've never run into this before.” You snuffled and sighed. More warmth spread with your breath caressing his skin. 

“I suppose I am, ah, enigmatic.” Verso smiled when you hummed a bit of laughter. “Perhaps I've just…changed.” Tell him the truth, you fool.

You slowly pulled back, making just enough space to take in his features. Verso's breath caught again. He’d never tire of seeing your face.

“Verso,” you said, “what am I missing?”

The fake took a slow, deep breath. That nagging little voice snickered, an air of ‘told you so’ hidden in its mirth.

“Do you want the truth?” He asked you.

You nodded. “Please.”

“Okay. Verso is—” He'd argued it so many times, he should've been able to say it with no stutter or stammer. It was so, so different when he said it to you, however. 

Say it.

“Verso is dead.” 

“I know.” 

His brows rose.

You looked down, staring at his chest. “He's gone. I know. I know . But this isn't a dream,” you whispered. “This is real, somehow. But I don't—I can't wrap my mind around it. I can't make it make sense because it doesn't make sense.”

“I can try to explain,” the fake offered, throat tight.

You gave him a slight nod in kind. 

“Alright.” He paused, holding his breath; where the hell was he supposed to begin? “I, uh…firstly, do you remember anything before…this?” 

“I recall visiting the manor,” you said, “I went to speak to Clea. I wanted to check up on her and Alicia.” You cleared your throat. “Clea let me see the Canvas.”

Verso's heart sank.

“What then?” He asked. 

You grimaced, and held your head. “I touched it, and—there was a boy. And, merde, he was so fucking hurt, but—wait, there was a woman, too. She—I think—no, it was. It was Aline.” You froze, some sort of clandestine horror crossing your features. “She was breaking.”

You'd run into the Verso and the Paintress herself on your way into the Canvas. Certainly not an ill omen. Definitely a representation of good things to come.

“Did anything else happen?” Verso pressed, his voice gaining more of an edge. “When you came into the Canvas, did you—”

“This is the Canvas?” You asked. Verso cursed himself. “Merde. Putain de merde. That makes sense. That makes fucking sense.” 

“Yes, this is—this is the Canvas.” He held you by the shoulders. “But, please, try to remember if anything happened when you got here.” 

“Yeah, of course. I…I touched the boy's hand, and something happened.”

Oh.

“And Aline, she—Aline was so, so broken and in pain and I—” your voice hitched and cracked. Verso tragically fell for you more. “I didn't know what to do. I understand why she ran away from her pain, but—but she can't keep doing this.” 

Despite his better judgement, Verso pulled you close again, securing his arms around you to shield you like the dome shielding Lumière; he felt weaker than that, though, like his own invisible fractures grew with the agony you serendipitously shared. His fatigue was catching up with him again. 

“I know,” Verso breathed into your hair. “I know. She can't keep doing this.” He shuddered, too, when you embraced him in return. “She'll die.” 

You nodded. “Clea told me.” You snuffled and pulled back a bit, resting your forehead against Verso's. “This is fucking miserable.” 

He laughed, exasperated. “It is, isn't it?”

You nodded against his forehead. Verso made a show of grimacing. You grinded your forehead against his, then, and he laughed a bit more genuinely.

“I'm sorry to keep asking, but…did anything more happen?” He said when you pulled away and rubbed his forehead for him to soothe the discomfort. “When you ran into my mother?” 

“She held my face,” you recounted, voice shaking, “and she—she, uh. She said she ‘always knew,’ and, um, that ‘he’ needs me?” 

Although posed as a question, you both understood what that meant. 

“I'm sorry,” Verso said, “that you've been dragged into this mess.” 

“It's not too different from how it was.” You smoothed the creases of Verso’s brow with your thumb. “I was willing to fight for you in the past, too. That's not different, either.” 

“You know I'm not your Verso, (Name),” he said. “It is different. I'm different.”

“I must be too, then, if we're both here,” you suggested, and Verso frowned. 

“No.” He pulled your hand away by the wrist. “You're real. You're still out there, living, breathing, staring at a damn painting. You can't be here, you're not special—you'll die like the rest.”

Suddenly, it was too obvious that the painted world of Verso Dessendre had forged Julie in your image the moment effervescent vitriol lit you from within. Verso swore he could feel pins pricking his skin where he touched you, like your vexation yearned to destroy him by way of a million, searing cuts; yet where Julie had branded him a traitor and turned against him, you beheld him as one of your own, still. 

“(Name),” he started, scrambling to fix the dam before the lava flowed free; too quickly, however, he realized he couldn't find the pieces. 

“Do you not want me to fucking care? Is that it?” You snapped. “Just because of technicalities and questions about which of us is fucking real? Son of a bitch—I still know you, you still know me. Our songs, they still work together, they still make sense.”

Verso frowned. “They're not my memories. It's not me that knows you. It's not me who's gotten the fucking privilege to love you; it's not me who got to call you ma moitié .”

“V—”

“Don't call me that.”

You paused. Verso held his breath. He didn't drop his intense stare; you'd understand, he'd make you understand. It was the best and only option for both of you. 

“Verso,” you tried again. The doppleganger allowed it. “I'm not staring at this fucking Canvas.”

Verso regretted giving you that chance. 

He laughed, bitter, annoyed. “Right. And neither are Aline or Renoir.”

“Would you care to shut the fuck up while I speak, hm? Tsch, stupid man.”

“You've been around Clea too much. She's rubbing off on you.” 

“Putain, tais-tois,” you hissed. Verso fought back a rude smirk. “I touched the damn thing, met that—the boy, met Aline, and then—I can recall Clea pulling me away.” 

“No. It's not possible to—”

“And when I dream,” you continued, “I see new things—new experiences. I talked to Verso at his grave, I…I made breakfast for Alicia.” Verso's grip tightened. You twisted your wrist free from his grasp to instead hold his hand. “We had an argument, but we smoothed it over. We sat together and—yeah.” 

Verso couldn't make sense of it. “Existing within and outside of the Canvas simultaneously isn't possible.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Seems it is, mon arc un ciel .” 

“Rainbow? Really?”

“You can't complain about every nickname.”

“Think of a better one,” he said, smiling to his own dismay. “And if what you're saying is true about co-existing…well, it can't be good for you.” 

“I guess we'll just have to see.” You looked down at your joined hands. Verso did, too.

His brows furrowed. Your hands—how come he hadn't noticed earlier?

“May I—?” 

“Now we have manners?” You asked, one eyebrow arched. “What is it about my hands?” 

Verso cleared his throat. “They look…stained.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he took both hands and turned them palms-up. Your right was stained black, like ink. Your left glowed faintly with white pigments, the opacity growing fuller near your fingertips, and weakening as it spread down your hand. Both permeated with the power of paint—both flickered with the promise of freedom. 

His gaze snapped to yours. Yours snapped to his. Tension whirled in the gap between you as you searched his face for clues. 

“You said you’re willing to fight for me,” Verso recalled. Dread weighed in his chest, punching down deeper with every syllable spoken; what was he doing? What was he doing?

“I did,” you said crisply. You tried to pull your hands away. Verso didn’t let you go. “Pray tell why you’re so fucking agreeable all of a sudden.” 

Ah. Shit. Of course you’d be sharp enough to put the obvious together. Maybe…maybe he could just skirt the issue, if he was careful. 

“These stains,” Verso started, trying to sound genuine and calm, “do you know what they—”

He paused when your attention waned, finding something behind him. Your expression brightened, and your hands relaxed. 

“Alicia,” you breathed. 

Verso glanced over his shoulder; his beautiful littlest sister stood there, tepid and timid, trying to peer around her brother to find you, as if to make sure you were okay. Her hands fidgeted in the air, unsure of how to reach for you, or if she should. Maybe she meant to communicate something.

“Alicia,” Verso marvelled. “You’re here.” 

With haste, you stood, slipping out of Verso’s grasp and towards the young phantom. Verso felt a little bit in awe when she embraced you so easily, so contentedly. 

“Ali, I'm so sorry, I— ow.” You recoiled as Alicia jammed a finger against your chest once, twice. “ Merde— I know. I know! I'm sorry, I didn't even see the damn thing and its stupid hammer and— ow! Stop— stop poking me.” 

“You took him to Reacher?” Verso asked as he stood as well. 

Alicia nodded. Her brother wandered closer, arms crossed, thinking. 

“Is that surprising?” You wondered. “The tall miss seems fine with visitors.” 

Alicia poked at your chest again.��Fine with you, Verso took it to mean.

“Ah,” you said. “Interesting.” You looked at Verso. “Seems I'm just better than you.”

Verso rolled his eyes. “Congratulations, you've won over the big, floating heart of the axon.” 

“Jealous?”

“So,” Verso interrupted, changing course, “if I need to find you, that's where you'll be?” 

“Hah. Now you want to find me?” You challenged. “I thought you said I shouldn’t be here.” 

Alicia looked at her brother. He squirmed, just a bit. 

“Well, it doesn't look like you're leaving anytime soon, does it?” He murmured. Verso hoped Alicia didn't hate him for trying to coerce you into the unthinkable, however meager and pointless his attempt was.

Your eyes narrowed, then softened when you looked Alicia’s way. “Thoughts?” 

The young lady shrugged, nonchalant. Verso decided to take it as permission. 

“Then I'll come by. We'll not linger around Reacher nor disrupt the peace up there. I wouldn't want my visiting privileges revoked,” Verso said. “We can head elsewhere to talk.” 

The young woman nodded. Your posture relaxed upon her agreement. 

“Alright, then.” You ran a hand through your hair and sighed. “Guess we’ll…rendezvous at Reacher. Until then, Stranger.”

Before Verso could speak, the world stuttered, and Alicia had spirited you away.

INT. MANOR - Present, The Canvas

Three days later, Verso found you in the manor again. 

He'd been passing through, trying to get from the Stonewave Cliffs to Monoco's Station, when he heard a delicate, hesitant melody humming from the home's wooden heart. Stolen memories remembered that song. Sometimes, Verso hummed it to himself, even before he remembered you existed. 

“Couldn't stay away?” Verso asked, flashing you a smile when you looked his way. “And here I thought I'd be the one to come to you.” 

“Yeah, well.” You shrugged. “I have a lot on my mind, I guess. To be fair, I didn't think you'd be back here so soon, either.” 

“Ah.” Verso nodded as he sauntered closer. He traced the smooth top of the instrument as he wandered closer. “I'm sorry.” 

“I can't rest without thinking,” you said. “Everything just spurns more questions, now.” 

Verso's smile waned. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“Is this what it's like for you?” You asked, standing with him. “Just…constantly lost, constantly wondering what’s real and what's not?” 

Verso nodded. “Always.” He watched you close the key cover. “I've been alive a long time here, in the Canvas. I suppose it's made me…a bit jaded. A bit of a downer, too.”

“A bit of an ass, I'd say.” 

“Can you blame me?” 

“A bit.” You crossed your arms and shifted your weight. “But I'm an ass, too; I sympathize.” 

Verso chuckled lightly. “At least we're on the same page.” 

“At least we're on the same page,” you echoed. 

You took a deep breath and looked around, as though searching for something to talk about. 

“I, uh. Is the greenhouse still here?” You wondered, almost bregrudgingly.

Verso nodded. “It is.” 

“Oh?” Your brows rose, your attention turned back to him. “Did everything in there die?”

“No, no, Maman wouldn't let that happen. Neither would I.” 

“Hm.” You pursed your lips before looking up, as if peering through the floor at the verdant Eden you remembered. “Mind if we pay a visit?”

Verso smiled. 

He led you to the top floor, not that you needed any guidance; you had become so familiar with that manor, with all its flaws and secrets. Having a guide was meaningless, but Verso indulged in the simple pleasure of escorting you there, regardless. 

You illuminated upon entering the lofty conservatory, your tense movements becoming carefree, the stern expression absolving with the purity of filtered light. 

Verso always felt the same. It was difficult not to when walking beneath the wide stretch of dusky glass shielding the conservatory's guests like a second sky. It sheltered an unending room of emerald and viridian, protecting sprouts and mature leaves alike from the deadly glare of the outside world, while still letting in enough to encourage all to thrive and test their mettle against the elements. 

“Is it how you remember?” Verso asked softly.

“Yeah,” you said as you wandered. “Absolutely. Maybe even better.” You ran your fingers along the carved embellishments of the centre fountain. Verso noticed black flakes fluttering off of your fingertips, dissolving into nothingness. 

“I’m glad,” he said. 

Verso admired you in silence, then. Faintly, he recalled the other version of him sauntering through the encased wilderness by your side, his hands clasped behind his back or a palm resting against the small of yours. Sometimes, Aline would be there, too, and you'd all chat around the small garden table over a pot of tea.

Verso of the Canvas envied those memories. He had gems of his own, ones at the Boulangerie, ones with Julie and his family before everything fell apart, but the rush of emotion from those transcribed experiences were inimitable. He had to wonder if the real Verso cherished it all enough. Maybe things would have been different if he had.

Maybe things would have been exactly the same. Verso ran a hand through his hair. Not that it matters. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. 

Verso willed away such gloomy thoughts and wandered. He found you sitting at the same table as in his memories, taking up the same spot while you reminisced with ghosts. 

The copy let himself indulge; he took a seat beside you, and pretended his feelings weren’t flying out of control.

“I have some questions,” you said. 

“I may have some answers,” Verso offered. 

“I’d be concerned if you didn’t.” You reached for the teacup nearest to you. Your fingers flinched when you found it was warm, and filled with coffee, ironically. Verso peered over, too, and smiled at the cute little image of a cat left in the latte’s foam. 

“The manor, it has a mind of its own,” Verso explained, answering your first question. “A bit creepy, but comforting at the same time.”

The small frown on your face flipped, cresting upwards somewhat. The house had that effect on Verso, too. It always seemed to know how to make its visitors feel more at ease. 

“Well, merci.” You patted the iron table. “It’s appreciated, old friend.”

A warm breeze danced through the conservatory. Both you and Verso glanced at one another, and smiled. 

“It likes you,” he said. 

“I like it,” you said. “Is it a ‘he’ or a ‘she’ or something in between, do you figure?” 

“I think it’s everything all at once.”

You sipped the drink. “Inspiring answer.”

“I have a few more.” Verso stared at the foam on your top lip before you licked it away. “If you’re still interested.”

“Ah, right.” You leaned back, holding the cup in both hands. You shifted a bit to better face Verso. “It’s about Alicia.”

Tension coiled in Verso’s shoulders. “About Alicia?”

“Yeah.” An unsure look flicked over him before you continued, “I’m not…she doesn’t really go into it much, what happened to her, why she isn’t—why she’s still scarred, why she’s lost all her colour.” You shook your head a bit and stared down at the half-mutilated cat. “It’s the same as my Alicia, and my Alicia got her scars from the fire.”

“Yeah,” Verso breathed, filling in the silence while he remembered. “There was a fire in the manor, like the one you remember. Only, it took my sister instead of me.”

“Why?” You asked. Bitterness contorted your voice. “This world is—it’s fucking painted. The fire didn’t need to happen.” 

“My mother grieves,” Verso whispered. “That grief has led her to do unthinkable things—unbelievably painful things.” He shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Once this is all over, once she is out of this Canvas, she’ll have to face the reality that her fantasy, her ‘preferred life,’ included killing her youngest daughter.”

“Good.”

Verso scowled when he turned your way. He found rage emblazoned on your features, too.

“Aline’s a fool,” you said. “I love her dearly, I do, but she is not acting as a mother should. The only way to even begin to rectify this is to face the facts—she killed her youngest, re-made her middlest, abandoned her eldest.” You shook your head and glared at nothing. “If she doesn’t face that fucked up truth, she’ll never come to regret it.”

Verso shifted. “Quite a cruel way to look at it.” 

“Is it?” You asked through bitter laughter. “Is this not cruel already? This fake world, this fake life?” You scoffed. “She’s a grown woman.”

“Age doesn’t always make us wiser,” Verso said. “Age doesn’t make it easier to lose a child, either.”

Verso watched the tendons tense and strain in your neck. Your lips twitched and quivered, and you held your silence.

Verso leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, thinking while he watched you fidget and move incrementally in your seat to try and tame whatever went on in your mind. You were a man who’d faced enough loss already—a mother, a sister, a lover, just as the visage of your partner had. Verso figured you were both on the brink of collapsing under the weight of any further loss.

The scrape of ceramic against the glass table called his attention to the cup you slid his way from the other side of the table. The rich scent of dark coffee lured him in. 

“An Americano?” You said, brute-forcing your way through the gloom and doom permeating the air. “Good taste.” 

With an amused look thrown your way, Verso crumbled to the whims of the manor and its savant. He took the offered drink and sipped it. 

“Good?” You asked.

“Excellent,” he reported. What made it better was the pleased smile on your face. “So? Was there anything else you wanted to ask me? Anything about Alicia?” 

You took a deep breath. “Yes and no. But I think it's more crucial to ask about these stains, first.” 

That had Verso's attention. The way you flexed and examined your hand—the right one, the one enveloped in spreading blackness—caught his eye, too. 

“Right.” He turned his seat to face you properly and set his drink down. “May I?” He asked, extending his hands.

You eyed him warily, but put your coffee down as well before giving him yours in return. It was a small thing, a meager acceptance and show of trust, but Verso relished in it. If he wasn't careful, his imagination would get the best of him and urge him to do regrettable things. 

“Now, I don't know this for sure,” Verso began as he smoothed his thumbs over your knuckles, “but I'm inclined to believe your skills as a Painter have been, ah, activated, let's say, with the help of the Canvas.”

“That's quite a leap,” you grumbled. “I'm not a Painter.”

“Well, clearly you’re mistaken,” Verso said with a smile. “I think the boy you met—that piece of Verso’s soul— I think he gave you…permission, of sorts.” 

“That boy was—that was Verso?” You murmured to yourself. The painted copy nodded, and you seemed to accept it without much more thought. “So, alright, fine, let's say he gave me permission to muck about and paint in his Canvas. What then? What does that mean?” 

“It means you can change things.” Verso squeezed your hands. “You could possibly put an end to this.” 

“I need specifics, Verso.” 

“There is something in this world called the Gommage— the erasure. Consider it the same as scraping paint off the canvas with a palette knife, or an eraser removing conté.” 

“You think I can erase things from the Canvas?” You looked at him like he was mad. “I think you might have the wrong man.”

“That's where we disagree.” He squeezed your hands reassuringly. “You are a brilliant man who can do whatever he sets his mind to. You already have the spirit of a Painter—you just need practice.” 

“Practice,” you repeated. “You make it sound so simple.” 

“It doesn't have to be difficult.”

“Then how do I make this simple?” 

“Like I said: practice.” Verso grinned when you shot him an annoyed, yet fond, look. “Come on, don't be like that! I promise you'll be able to figure it out.” 

“Why don't you just do the erasure-ing and the creating, you cheeky little bastard?” You asked. “You've got real Painter blood, non?” 

“Oh, you know me. I haven't Painted in years. Rather, your Verso hasn't Painted since he was a child.” Verso looked up as a breeze shook the trees outside and sent dancing lights and shadows across the greenhouse floor. “Besides, I'm not made from his soul.” 

“I'm sure you embody some true part of him,” you refuted. Oddly, it didn't hurt to hear it. “But…hm. Alright. I'll give it some practice. Try to, anyway. Maybe I'll be able to help from within the Canvas after all.” 

Verso beamed. “One way or another, you will.” 

EXT. REACHER - Present, The Canvas

You returned to Reacher with a heavy sigh in your lungs; Verso expected much of you and your so-called abilities, but his belief and trust had nothing to stand on. You were not a Dessendre Painter. You were hardly even a painter at all. 

“But I've nothing better to do besides try,” you mumbled as you hiked back up to your titanic friend and little, painted sister. Alicia had carved you a path, one that would stay clear of any Nevrons and other threats. Although embarrassing, the gesture was much appreciated. 

Cresting the top, you sighed loudly. “Alicia! I come bearing strange news. Seems Verso thinks I—”

You froze. 

Renoir stood beside Alicia as she painted, his impressive silhouette darkening the atmosphere (or did he simply darken your mood?).

His easy stare found yours, and he adjusted his stance, turning to face you more. 

“(Name),” he said kindly, almost as a father should, “I'm not here to fight; I only wish to talk.”

“I see.” You looked to Alicia for reassurance, but she wasn't of your world for that moment—she was too busy painting and minding her own business to get caught up in the squabbling of men. Fair enough. “Alright.” 

Renoir offered a smile, a real one. Your heart eased a bit, and you pushed yourself to approach, taking up his invitation. 

“What exactly do you wish to talk about, monsieur?” You asked, summoning all the suave coolness you could muster. “Last we met, I believe you tried to end me.”

Renoir sighed deeply. “I must apologize, son; the world is quite uncertain as it is. Ever since the Fracture…” The older man turned to the towering pillar in the distance, the one emblazoned with the number fifty-one. A profound sigh escaped him. “It has been…difficult.” 

You crossed your arms as you stood beside him, peering between Alicia's work and the monolith in the distance. 

“I understand.” You shifted your weight side to side. “You mentioned the ‘Fracture.’ What is that, exactly?”

“You understand this world is not the only one, yes?” He asked.

“I do, yes.” 

“As expected.” You thought you heard fondness in his tone. “A man, a shadow of my own, entered the Canvas, seeking to erase it.” Renoir's grip tightened on his cane. “He failed, and our world suffers for it; the Continent is in ruin, and lives have been destroyed.” 

You clenched your teeth. The floating, earthen shards haloing the distant peak no longer spoke to you of the whimsy and wonder of fantastical happenings; they were floating tombstones. 

“I'm sorry, Renoir,” you said. “I can't imagine.” 

He patted your shoulder with a heavy hand. “I know you understand the pain, my son.”

“In a sense, I suppose I might.” Your brows furrowed. “Did you think I came to destroy everything, too?” 

“I did, yes.” Renoir rested both hands on his cane again. “That shadow wants my Aline to leave this Canvas.”

“And you don't?”

“She's my wife, too. I love her, too.” Renoir's gaze fell to Alicia. “I'll do what I must to protect my family, to save them.”

Your heart twisted, caught between the barbs of discomfort and the ache of understanding. That painted Renoir was so…present, so mindful, upon first glance. You had to wonder why.

“Your son doesn't seem to think this is a good thing,” you said. “This Canvas, this faux family.” 

“My son is misguided,” Renoir all but mourned. “He has forsaken us for those who wish to eradicate this family, destroy this world of ours. His choice is selfish.” 

Ah. That sounded more like the Renoir you knew. 

“Yet his choice is his to make at the end of the day, Renoir,” you said.

“I know this,” he sighed. “Verso will make his own decisions. I can only hope to guide him to the correct ones.” Renoir spared you a glance. “Perhaps you, too, could guide him. He may listen to you.” 

You flashed a weak smile and looked at the ground. “He's too caught up with his own conflict. Besides, it seems he's hard-set in not asking me on an outing and rekindling our pre-existing romance. I'm sure he's convinced it's all fake.” You sighed. “It’s tragic.”

Renoir chuckled. Alicia paused to look back at him, her brows raised, head tilted. 

Renoir spoke, “That boy is fond of lying, (Name). Whether it's to himself or to others, he lies to soften the blows of that which may hurt him.”

You cracked a real smile. “He's always done that, hasn’t he?” 

“He has,” Renoir agreed, voice distant and wistful, recalling things you were not privy to. “Indeed, he has.” --- Prologue | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6

[missfreija]

title: /// (mi rifiuto di dare un titolo lol)

fandom: vampire chronicles

pairing: armand/marius

romance, fluff, venice era

Il pennello intinto di nero scorreva veloce nello spazio della tela, stretto tra le dita sottili di Marius che, in piedi tra le pieghe del suo abito ampio, dipingeva la fine dell'umanità per mano del Dio cristiano. Le sue labbra si increspavano in un guizzo di nervosismo, mentre gli occhi, ombreggiati dai capelli biondi, gli conferivano un’ espressione assorta. Tra le mura del palazzo echeggiò un lontano rimbombo di passi. “Maestro, non dovrebbe affaticarsi troppo, è da più di una settimana che non stacca le mani da quel lavoro.” Gli occhi pensosi erano mutati in pozze colme di beatitudine non appena il giovane umano dai capelli ambrati ebbe varcato la soglia. “Dovresti sapere che non ti è permesso entrare in questa stanza senza il mio consenso, Amedeo" mormoró il vampiro, accennando un lieve sorriso indulgente. Amedeo si avvicinò alla composizione con curiosità, mentre Marius si accingeva a riprendere la sua meravigliosa opera, dopo aver ripulito frettolosamente le macchie di pittura disseminate sul pallido braccio. “Che concetto si cela alla base della vostra nuova creazione?” domandò il giovane. “È scaturito da un mio sogno.” Precisò. “Devi sapere, Amedeo, che ciò che per gli umani pare molto tempo, dal calar del sole al sorger della luna, per una qualsiasi divinità equivale a meno di un secondo. Così, il sole si abbassa sulla terra sfumando di rosa aranciato il cielo e le nuvole per poi scomparire, lasciando il palcoscenico alla luna ed accendendo le costellazioni davanti agli occhi di Dio. Rifulgono i bianchi marmi dei templi nella notte, colonne scanalate dai capitelli fioriti d'acanto sostengono fregi rappresentanti imprese eroiche e miti del passato. Bassorilievi muti fissano le tenebre della terra sovrastate dalle splendenti stelle accompagnate dal chiaro volto di Proserpina. E un soffio da oriente, vento ormai debole, adagia una corona intrecciata di fiori, in via di appassire, sulla gradinata di fronte all'alta ed imponente statua del Cristo. Io mi trovavo in questo scenario e piangevo, come morte, persone ancora in vita, guardando l'oro delle nuove città bagnarsi del sangue causato dalle guerre e i cadaveri dei morti venir risucchiati nel regno degli inferi, ove si nasconde il più profondo male dell'uomo, nutrimento demoniaco o forma del demonio stesso. Mi trovavo, in questa illusoria macchinazione febbrile, proprio nel cuore della strage, dove gli arcangeli sterminavano le creazioni dell’umanità. Desideravo scomparire, chiudere gli occhi e tornare a dipingere: illuminare il cielo nella raffigurazione per cancellare la notte che tentava invano di rammentarmi tele e dipinti passati, mai dimenticati nel mio cuore.” Il signore del palazzo veneziano sorrise amaramente, posò il pennello e premette una mano sulla schiena di Amedeo, attonito, in un invito a precederlo. Si avviarono lungo un buio porticato che si affacciava sul cortile. Gocce di pittura nera rigavano i volti di cento angeli nel cielo al tramonto.

Marius entrò nella stanza e i suoi occhi non ebbero bisogno di attendere qualche istante per abituarsi alla nuova atmosfera dalla scarsa luminosità. Il tenue bagliore sprigionato dalle poche candele sul tavolo era più che sufficiente per illuminare il suo mondo circostante. Pian piano andò notando la radiosa ed armoniosa figura che rimaneva semi sdraiata sull'ampio letto dai cuscini di prezioso velluto. Era abbastanza longilinea e sorrideva verso il vampiro, il ritratto della paziente attesa. La pelle chiara rifletteva la luce soffusa delle candele che sprigionavano profumi delicati di spezie e di sandalo, le gambe distese sui soffici cuscini erano leggermente piegate per dare una postura eretta al bacino. Marius mosse un passo verso l'oggetto del suo desiderio. Un sottile velo di seta, che copriva le spalle del giovane ucraino, era scivolato lentamente di lato nascondendo in parte i capezzoli che risaltavano più scuri nella sua trasparenza. Un braccio in tensione, il sinistro, reggeva il busto affondando la mano tra i cuscini mentre l'altro si scaricava rilassato su di un fianco mostrando l'avambraccio. Il giovane portava al dito un onice di piccole dimensioni. Lo sguardo limpido di Amedeo pareva ebbro di gioia, le sue palpebre inondate di una misteriosa polvere dorata che scuriva il contorno dell' occhio dando un' apparenza di intensa profondità. Le mani statuarie sul suo bacino fecero perdere l'equilibrio a quella postura precaria; il suo corpo si distese sui cuscini e la pelle fremette a quel contatto, bramando una connessione più penetrante e appagante. Il capo era reclinato sulla spalla sinistra, gli occhi ora semichiusi e ombreggiati dalle ciglia scure. ''Siete finalmente tornato, Maestro'' mormorò il cherubino. Quell'amore rendeva completa e significativa tutta la sua esistenza di giovane ragazzo umano, e Marius in qualche modo lo sapeva. Posó baci morbidi come petali sulle gote e sui capelli di Amedeo, con immensa gentilezza mentre il giovane si metteva a sedere e reclinava il capo in avanti per accogliere quel gesto, lottando contro le lacrime che minacciavano di rigargli le guance e contro l'emozione che gli serrava la gola. Le sue mani cercarono il petto ricoperto dalla tunica di Marius. Era troppo forte il desiderio di far scorrere le labbra sulla pelle marmorea del suo signore, in una scia di baci adoranti. Le labbra rosee si socchiusero in un respiro più profondo degli altri; il giovane alzò la testa con un movimento quasi felino, trascinante, e incontrò lo sguardo di Marius. Le iridi brune simili a granato parevano celare arcani antichi ed impenetrabili. Il potere insito in quello sguardo lo sopraffece. Armand serrò gli occhi al socchiudersi delle labbra fredde sulle proprie, baciando con trasporto il suo signore. Sotto il peso del corpo del vampiro, l'umano alzò involontariamente una gamba e la seta strusciò contro il suo fianco. La mano destra di Amedeo corse a sistemare una ciocca dei capelli chiari del maestro dietro l'orecchio; erano setosi e parevano vivi, sciogliendosi fino alle spalle in una morbida cascata color miele. Le sue labbra lasciarono intravedere visibili per un attimo i bianchi denti in un sorriso, la lingua rossa per un istante passò ad inumidire il labbro superiore, ma fu fermata, come animale intrappolato, tra canini aguzzi. Marius scoprì le parti nascoste di quel corpo che aveva imparato a conoscere; con adorazione, passò le dita tra i capelli profumati che giacevano sparsi sulla superficie morbida delle lenzuola. ''Esprimi i tuoi desideri, Amedeo''

Marius parlò con inflessione melodiosa, quasi vibrante, e con una punta di decisione nel tono, ma parve infinitamente dolce alle orecchie rapite di Amedeo. Gli attimi di felicità che aveva condiviso con lo scomparso Andrei gli restarono nei ricordi.