#dying lovers

[cottonpuffmouse]

Beast 4 Beast

Summary: As his attempted death, the former boss of the Port Mafia wakes up in a familiar shipping container. Unable to leave, or to know where he is being shipped, Dazai is forced to reckon with his captor.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Dazai Attempt, Dazai Reference(You Know What I’m Saying), Attempted Murder, Manipulation, Weird Fucked Up Love, Stalking, Genuine Affection, Critical Levels of Dazai Apologism

(Divider cred)

He woke up in a terrible position. Without opening his eyes, which he knew would instantly tell his captors he was alive and awake, Dazai could feel just how terrible it was. He could smell metal, maybe even rust. He could taste something tangy on his tongue, which meant he’d been fed all manner of drugs when he was out. And he could hear dense metal grinding on dense metal, a specific sound he only heard by the ports.

For a moment, he was also tempted to say he was in his shipping container. That the last four or so years of his life had all truly been a bad dream. Traumatizing Atsushi, ruining his own life, Oda refusing to give him that recognition he so craved, all of it had only been an illusion of his own diseased mind.

Readying himself for torture, Dazai opened his eyes to the truth.

Which was that he was in his shipping container. Alone and completely secure.

He flung off his blanket, a cheap cotton one he was intimately familiar with, and began searching for explanations. His vision shook as he checked his desk - with its secret drawer still full of his hidden thoughts - and then his fan, which still was the same make and model.

This was his container.

“Think,” he demanded of himself even as his ears started to ring. But his brain would not heed his orders, instead it devoted itself to panicking, to shutting down his ability to do anything but run.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be dead. His brain repeated over and over that he was supposed to be dead. How could a dead man be running around his old room?

Dazai made for the pod doors and pressed on them slowly. But even when he was shoving with all his might, socked feet sliding against the smooth metal floor, he could not open the green metal lid of his coffin. Pressure built in his lungs as he looked around, searching for an opening he knew was not there.

‘What about the metal cutter saw?’ His brain asked, momentarily helpful before showing him every possible consequence of not finding the saw. He could see himself scratching at the metal until his fingernails chipped off as he opened the drawer he kept the industrial tool in. But there was no heavy weight resisting him as he opened the drawer and - of course - no saw. He slammed it closed as his hopes and mind started to burn up.

Dazai began feverishly opening everything he could. Food, water, and various out things tumbled out but not the saw.

Out of desperation, he opened the saw drawer again and there was something in there now: a single white envelope. He immediately rationed that it must be from his captors - he had captors, someone was not willing to let him die in such a painful and humiliating way, he was saved and safe. Dazai took a deep gulp of air - a raw and undignified one as his brain started to cool down. Then he sat with the envelope and opened it.

“Dear Osamu Dazai,

It was not easy to get my hands on you!!!!!!!!! Wow! You are one slippery bastard!!!

No, no that’s too mean - too facetious. Let me start over, keep your eyes on me (the letter) for now.

It didn’t take me 20 minutes of reading over your internal documents to realize you were going to kill youself. We’ll start there. Even though the idea is preposterous as it is stupid and misguided, I knew there was absolutely no point in trying to save you before you could kiss death’s lips.

You are so stupid in that way.

Did you read that correctly?

Yes you, whom I’ve trapped in your own container for your own good, are one of the stupidest men on this here Planet Earth.

That is why I had to trap you! There is no reasoning with a stupid and emotional animal like yourself - one who earnestly believes their death should be the thing to bring peace. Perhaps someone less familiar(read: obsessed) might see the coded training logs you kept for the White Reaper and think “A sign he was training to create a monster.” But I know, I know, you were trying to train a hero.

Your handwriting gets slightly sloppier: sharper lines to indicate increasing frustration. And you started leaving annotations in the margins in dark pencil marks. If anyone could guess where the margins even started. So I know you were feeling rushed. Because you were going to kill yourself and you needed Atsushi to be ready. Or perhaps broken enough - I couldn’t decipher everything, you still have secrets, you can breathe, Osamu.

There’s more. Of course. But I wanted to prove how easy you were to figure out. To prove I was, at the very least, a competent and worthy stalker for you. And in the glimpses of you I saw, when you got in and out of the mafia’s long black cars, I could see the bags under your eyes.

I had to buy one of those cameras that can see all the way to the moon.

You have very pretty eyes. The moon’s ugly up close.

I am taking you home with me. There’ll be no more Osamu Dazai in Japan for he is dead and his corpse is currently being buried. Chuuya Nakahara is taking off his hat at the sight of Osamu Dazai, dead and being lowered into the ground - believing a “great evil” has been put to rest.

But Osamu Dazai in the Great US of A is only beginning.

Now, now, don’t moan. You’ll come to like our dirty, filthy nature and enjoy our…well, you’ll find something to love, I’m sure. Even if it’s just me.

Right, back to the start of the letter, whoever you saw by the original’s side, it was me. I am the shadow that has been haunting your every move. And I must have done an amazing job to sneak behind you as often as I did. Perhaps you were letting me? Yes, we’ll both agree(you and this letter) that I (the letter’s author) was only allowed to stalk and obsess over you as much as I did. You really are such a generous man; it’s hard to believe more people don’t like you.

But I’ve teased you enough. And you must have been terrified to wake up where you did. So I will explain:

Right now, you(and I) are on a transatlantic journey to my home country, the United States. You are being kept in here partly as a prisoner, partly as my honored guest. You will remain in there until we arrive. Your basic needs are taken care of, you might even see my gentle feminine mind has remembered a bathroom for you, and you should want for nothing over the course of our journey.

In your left desk drawer there is a small whistle. If anything terribly urgent comes up, if you hurt yourself or need assistance, if you get dangerously bored - please whistle. A sailor will come to help you. Please use the whistle as soon as you’re awake and I will come and speak with you within the hour. Please do not save the whistle as the sailors have been trained to ignore you the very first time you do - for that whistle is for me.

The Prisoner in Your Heart,

Annaka Anderfels

Dazai nearly threw up. He felt it creep up his throat while reading the letter. Even though he now knew he was in not danger, what disgusted him was the flowery language, the intensely familiar way the author wrote to him, and the fact he’d managed to fall so low as to let this kidnapping happen to him.

Without hesitation, he found and blew the whistle.

When she did not immediately fling the doors open, he began tidying up the room he’d just destroyed. Dazai took great care to make everything look as undisturbed as possible. He’d just folded the sheets back and sat on his bed when a knock came.

“You may come in.” It came out in a hoarse, grinding way like he had stones for vocal cords. He regretted speaking at all instantly.

While he looked around for water, a feminine voice answered: “Oh, no can do, mister!” A slot no bigger than a jails slid open and he briefly saw her. “The door is welded shut.”

His heart leapt into his throat. “What?”

“I had the door welded shut! I knew you could have eventually figured out how to get to any lock so I just let heat and God’s given materials do the work for me. Much cheaper than bribing one of the sailors to watch over you!”

Dazai let the shiver of disgust roll over him. “You thought a lot about this, didn’t you?”

The sound of ship’s motor filled the air as the vessel carved through the ocean. Other shipping crates ground together as he waited for her to respond. But she was quiet. For a moment, he even thought she’d left when she did speak again.

Her tone was softer now and her voice more soothing to listen to. He crept towards the opening to hear her better as she said, “I know you must be upset, Osamu. I know you don’t like people messing up your plans. And I’m sure you’re mad to suddenly be caged by a crazy lady. But I couldn’t stand by and watch you kill yourself. I love you too much.”

“You must know a lot about me then,” He hissed sarcastically.

He heard her sigh. “You got me there. I don’t know much about you and the stuff I could confirm screams you are a force of nature, a darkness! I have trapped a little god in a shipping container.”

“Could you be more melodramatic?”

“Yes. Why? Do you want me to?”

A cool, violent smile flickered over his lips. Humorous. He could be funny too. “Yes, I want you to prove your love to me-”

“Anything!” She cried, dramatically throwing herself against the door. “I’ll do anything.”

“Get me a barnacle from the bottom of this boat.”

“...Is that seriously what you want? Will you let me talk to you a little more if I do?”

He was practically giggling now; Dazai was so delighted this trick was working. “Yes, but it needs to be from the very bottom. I’ll know everything.”

“...Okay, Osamu. I will return tomorrow with a barnacle from the bottom of this boat.”

She knocked on the opening slot to show him where it was and that he could open it himself. Then he could hear her climbing down the shipping crates to the deck below. Dazai rushed to get a glimpse of the soon to be corpse but saw no one.

In no way did he expect this woman to be able to accomplish such a feat. She would need scuba gear and would be lucky if she drowned instead of being sucked into the blade’s propellers. Perhaps she’d sacrifice one of the crew for him and regret it so deeply that she would kill him to make up for it. In either case, he was reassured death was still coming to take him away from this hellish, impossible world so he could not ruin it.

Once it was clear he was alone and unreachable by danger or otherwise, he started searching for a way to kill himself. The saw was gone, his rations were in loose floppy ziploc bags not nearly big enough to suffocate him, and he realized there was nowhere to hang a noose after destroying his sheets to make rope.

He sat down on the bed defeated. To add to the feeling, Dazai quickly found himself falling asleep. Though he wanted to stay awake and think of more ways he could finish his plans, sleep kidnapped him just as easily as Annaka had and he fell into a dreamless slumber.

He woke up to his opening being slid open and a knock at the door.

Through watery, tired eyes, he glanced over in time to see a rock come flying in. It bounced against the bottom before scittering to a stop.

Once he found the strength to accept there was no god - for a merciful one would have answered his prayers to kill him - Dazai got out of bed to play with whatever his new toy was.

He realized, as he got closer to it, that it was a barnacle.

“I cut my fingers trying to peel it off.” Hands were shoved into the slot for him to inspect. Even from a few feet away, he could see all the healing red slashes across her palms and fingers. “But I got one! See!”

He flung the barnacle back out as hard as he possibly could.

The same voice sighed deeply. “You see, when I was underwater last night, getting dragged along by the boat, I thought to myself, ‘He’s just going to throw it back out or use it to cut open his own throat’. So I suppose I must commend you for choosing the former. It’s very reassuring.”

Before he could start insulting her, she began stuffing a bundle of cloth through the slot. It bunched up and got stuck quickly, to the point she had to begin punching it in. Dazai had to show mercy and began tugging from his side. Finally it gave, exploding over him in soft, fluffy blueness.

Dazai let the sheets settle over his head and blind him to everything but the sound of her voice.

“I saw you tore your sheets. I can’t believe you thought you could out think me on the thought of your suicide. There’s nothing to hurt yourself with, nothing. Please don’t destroy anything else - we’re both lucky I thought you would do that and brought extra sheets for you.”

He, again, tried to destroy the stupid girl on the other side of the wall and was, again, interrupted by her. She prattled on, “Don’t forget you said you’d talk a little more with me if I got you the barnacle! You practically promised!”

Dazai tried to change his ability to one that killed people by thinking of their names but every time he thought ‘Annaka’ he was rewarded with more of her speech.

“Oh!” She cried, finally silent for more than a second. After twelve seconds exactly, a plate was pushed and balanced on his opening slot. “You must be starved! I gave you some snacks but I-D-K if you ate them.”

He decided it wasn’t worth praying this maniac's food tasted good and took the plate with silent acceptance. It looked fine. Orange pasta, too much butter, and a plastic spoon to eat with. His devil waited patiently, blissfully silently, for him to eat a few bites.

Dazai liked it.

It was fine. He ate the entire plate but would not actively seek seconds. The devil accepted the empty plate with a cry of glee.

“Oh gosh! No complaint or anything! You’re so darling, Dazai! I’m even tempted to leave you be for the night-“

He shoved the plate back out. A second later, a bang followed light twinkling noises as the pieces bounced away. The voice sighed. “Oh Osamu. No need to hurt the plate.”

This time he was silent. He would bore her to death and then he would starve. Dazai winced internally - that was not how he would prefer it.

“You’re quiet. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

He tried not to even breathe. Dazai tried to be so still as she tapped on the container like a fish tank. Like he was a pet to be bothered. This was hell, death by a thousand insults. Every one of her noises was a lashing on his mind. She made a wet kissy noise that triggered a sudden burst of flaming pride that he could not contain.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh thank goodness!” She cried, jumping for joy and shaking the containers ever so slightly. He stored the knowledge away. “I was so so worried. These first couple of days are the hardest.”

“Why do you keep talking?”

“To stop your brain from working. I think something in me is like…a Dazai EMP. A DMP, perhaps…..”

His chest squeezed like someone punched him.

“Is what I wish I could say! Hahaha!” She fell back against the container. “Now, what do you want to talk about?”

Dazai grabbed his pillow, pulling it to his mouth and taking deep controlled breaths.

Then he had an idea.

Working as quietly as possible as Annaka prattled on, he gathered some of the scraps from the day before and tied them together again. He roped them around the ends of his bed poles until they were taunted against the mattress. Then he slid a pillow under the tense sheet rope. His soul was sobbing in relief as he laid down and took his last deep breath before slipping his head under the pillow.

“Oh, Osamu,” The voice said, in the same way it had over the shattered plate. He briefly heard her running away, feet pounding on the metal before his pillow muffled all sound. It was like trying to breathe through a sheep.

Dazai was ashamed to say he struggled a bit. But he accepted it quickly. The darkness was easy and quiet. He hated how sticky this method felt, his own dying breaths onto top of him. He swallowed painfully, reaching for the rope to tighten it just in case. Instead, he nearly lost the tip of his fingers as a sharp snip was heard. The tension disappeared; the pillow was knocked from his face.

Breathing felt like restarting reality. He genuinely could not believe it. He grabbed the pillow and flung it to the side of the container in fury. There was absolutely no way to relieve the way he wanted to explode. He wanted to melt through the steel he was so hot with rage.

This was a highly personal form of torture.

Only the devil himself could have peered so deeply into Dazai’s heart and come up with this method of eternal punishment. Here he was trapped in his past, confined to the only place he had felt safe in his youth. Even the other him had spent several safe months in this shipping container. Now he was trapped by it, stuck in it’s safe womb and sealed there to live. That was his biggest issue. Dazai did not want to live. He needed to die for several reasons: the dead man switches he’d placed to help Atsushi, confined protection of Yokohama from that Russian Devil, and continued insurance and a golden haired sacrifice to ensure Oda’s health.

Now he was alive and safe. A pole clattered to the ground outside and his head whipped toward the slot. He was prepared to face Annaka with all the anger and dignity he could summon.

Yet crumbled at the sight of her tears.

“Are you okay? Are you? Are you okay?”

She stuck her hand in the slot like an idiot. It was a perfect chance to break her fingers-

“Please! Just say something-“

“I’m fine!” He grabbed her fingers, crushing them. Yet all the muscles were tight in his shoulder - there was no way to break her hand like this. Dazai squeezed all his frustration into it though until it slipped away, sweaty from it’s owner’s desperation.

Annaka’s eyes appeared again, red and filled with tears. “Good.”

She slammed the window closed on her side. Dazai hear the containers dull echoing thud as she stomped away. Exhausted from his own part in the production, Dazai laid on the bed. Staring up at the roof, he tried to ignore a quick living, beating heart.

For the moment, he could not admit to himself that was hers to control too.

[ediblehype]

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOD. THE WAY HE GETS HOME AND BARELY MAKES IT TEN SECONDS WITHOUT CALLING HER.

THE-THE “What took you so long?”

“I just walked in”

“You missed me?”

“Oddly enough I did”

I’m fucking losing it but whatever. I’m so normal about this.

THE “I DO”?!?!?!?!? FOR FUCKS SAKE MAN……..

[beam-meup-scotty]

spock , roughly two seconds before doing something so unhinged no one else has even thought of it : good thing i’m a vulcan and i would never do something irrational or illogical lmaoo

[saycheeseandsmile]

[symphonyofsilence]

What drives me even more insane about this scene is how you'd expect Gojo to imagine High school era! Geto in the crowd. Or at least not the cult leader, worst of all the curse users Geto Suguru. But no, it's the cult leader Geto. It's Geto as Gojo last remembered him. As Geto last was. Whatever choices Geto made, wherever his choices led him and them, however he was, whoever he was, traumas and messed up ideas and bad choices and ill reputations and scorns and all. Gojo wanted Geto Suguru there. Not any ideal version. Not any "what if" version. Not any "at some point in time before things went downhill" version. Not any "when your hands weren't stained with innocent blood" version. He knew very well what he wanted. And he wanted it all the same. He wanted Geto Suguru. However he was. He just wanted him to be there. He just wanted him to be.

And he didn't want him to help him, he didn't want him to fight with him even if they were strongest together and always fought together for a while. He just wanted him to be there in the crowd and cheer him on. He just wanted him to stand there and give him one of his sweet, heartwarming smiles that shaped his eyes into crescent moons. He just wanted him to be. Then even if Gojo had died in the end anyway, he would have been satisfied. It would have been worth it. Only if Geto was there.

[urfriendlywriter]

25 small but comforting gestures for your otp:

( feel free to use <3 )

squeezing their hand reassuringly

hugs from behind :(

taking a photo of your lover when they're beaming ♡

forehead kisses while hugging !!

rubbing their thumb over your knuckle

exchanging smiles from across the room

"my love" <33333 AHHHHH

them peppering kisses all over your face.

winking at them, or sending them flying kisses and seeing them fluster :))

sending them memes throughout the day-"this reminded me of you"

pulling their legs onto theirs whenever you sit close to them > <

draping a blanket over ur sleepy lover :(

"come here, and give me a kiss" :)

"i think i might be in love with you."

smiling into kisses ( or booping noses after a kiss )

sinking into your arms whenever they gad a long day

kissing your shoulder while they spoon you in cuddles <3

when they laugh at your messy hair in the morning >>

when they leave notes for you around the house

painting their nails while they fake-protest

tugging a flower onto the side of their head and oh god, are they pretty

complimenting the features they love the most about you :/

watching rain together while cuddling!

roasting each other for their embarrassing moments late at night!!

when your loves likes to drape their arms around yours while walking together :]

[tatekane]

These two have awesome twitter banter lol (btw Joel has mentioned he watched Bdubs and other hermits to improve his building skills so this is kinda cute lol)

must not forget the "height fight" they had on twitter

[writingjourney]

a message from the bulletin board | cardinal copia x gn!reader

summary: the ministry’s bulletin board, ordinarily used for missing items or party announcements, contains a particularly interesting request this week – a lonely hearts ad.

content: 9k words, gn!reader, slightly suggestive at times, first date/first kiss shenanigans, sad lonely awkward cardinal fluff, you know the drill

Masterlist – Ao3 link

You ignore the knot of people in front of the bulletin board.

As much as the whispers and giggles garner your attention, someone else attracts it even more. Cardinal Copia, red cassock, red biretta, arms filled with two boxes worth of files and papers, is trying to push the door to his office open with his hip under a swell of Italian curses. Certainly, his hip swing is impressive on most days, especially on stage, but today it seems more like a helpless, uncoordinated bumping that the door is fighting with every ounce of its wooden strength.

Evidently, he’s struggling.

“Good morning, Cardinal, do you need a hand?”

His eyebrows shoot up when he hears your voice and he stops dead in his tracks, slowly turning his head until he catches you standing right behind him. Despite your announcement, he visibly startles, nearly dropping the boxes in his arms.

“Oh, eh… yes, if you could open the door for me, Sibling?”

“Of course.”

With your hand on the knob, you watch as he hurries inside of his office, wheezing under the weight and dropping the boxes onto his desk with a dull thud that echoes loudly in his mostly bare working space. Apart from books upon books strewn across and around his desk as well as an old weathered couch, there hasn’t been any love put into decorating the space. You wait patiently for him to turn back around to you, a hint of red dusting his cheeks when he finally does.

“Thank you,” he squeezes out, trying very hard to swallow his heavy exhales. “I carried them here all the way from the archives. Long way, you know, even for my…” He holds up his arm, flexing it exaggeratedly. “My strong, powerful muscles.”

You giggle and he perks up in delight, eyes wide and shiny. “No problem, Cardinal, I can imagine they’re very heavy.” 

You smile at him and he smiles back, so sweetly, and you’re momentarily at an equal loss for words. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, down the prominent bridge of his nose. He brushes it away with a leather-gloved hand and you can’t help but stare as he wipes it clean on the heavy fabric of his vestments, shaking out his fingers once he’s done. You can’t look away as they flex and release, flex and release. They’re surprisingly long and so… nimble.

Copia’s violent cough startles you awake and you’re not sure if it’s his own nerves that make him clear his throat, if his overexerted lungs are protesting or if he caught you staring. Either way, you feel your own cheeks getting hot now, the moment of hesitant silence slowly transitioning into a gooey sort of awkwardness.

“So, ugh… I better get back to my own duties,” you say. “Lots to do, spring cleaning and all that.”

He nods. “Yes, yes, you are busy, of course. Such a busy little bee. Bzz bzz. Hehe.”

You awkwardly giggle back, trying hard to think of a clever joke. Maybe something that has to do with stinging? But before you can settle on one, the time for a witty come-back has stretched thin and so you just awkwardly wave at him, mutter a “see you later” and close the door.

With your back pressed to the wood, you let out a deep exhale, the butterflies – or bees – in your stomach making it very hard to breathe at a normal pace. Once you’ve recollected your wits, you notice that the hallway is still as busy as before, maybe even busier.

Like lions gathering around an animal carcass after days of starvation, what feels like half the abbey has been flocking to the big rectangular corkboard. You cannot possibly imagine what would warrant such intense interest. The most exciting messages on any given day are unusual sex requests, the invitation to a weirdly themed party or a call for applications to a particularly intricate sex ritual to honour the Dark One.

You push through the crowd to check what’s causing the repeated giggling and excited whispers amongst your peers when you spot a pristine piece of paper on the board. It’s thick, stark-white, shaped like a heart at the top and with pieces to rip off at the bottom that contain a phone number. You squint, move in even closer until you can make out the text – hand-written and in cursive.

I (m, 50) am looking for a partner to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t have any preferences but it would be coolio if we had similar interests, so we can have some fun together.

I like: watching movies, playing video games, going on walks, rigatoni, juice, small animals

I don’t like: coconut flavour, being barefoot, swimming, touching wet dishes, bullies, dentist appointments

If you think we are a good match I would like to take you on a romantic date. Please call or text me.  Bye bye!

You smile at the note but quickly find back down to earth when someone rams their elbow into your side. No one has taken one of the numbers yet, so you assume the excitement is more about the fact that there is a lonely hearts ad on the bulletin board at all than any actual interest in the person. You have to admit, it is a bit odd. Most younger clergy members just use dating apps these days or social media. But the lonely heart in question is fifty, so they may not be familiar with modern methods, and it’s oddly endearing that anyone would go through the trouble of creating such an ad. At the same time, it breaks your heart that someone in the abbey is so lonely that they risk the ridicule of half of the clergy members just to have a chance at finding love.

“Well, there are a bunch of people who it could be,” you overhear someone say. “Maybe one of the older Brothers, a bunch of them are single. Could also be that new bishop who just arrived, I heard he’s a cinephile and walks around the gardens quite often.”

You ignore the whispers of speculation, making your way back through the crowd to return to your duties. It’s almost dinner time by now and you need to get two more loads of laundry done before then. But even as you sort through piles of habits, cassocks and veils… you can’t stop thinking about the ad. You sincerely hope the person receives a few serious and not just prank calls. The note did sound endearing and you definitely see similarities. At the same time you’re far too busy nursing your hopeless crush on the Cardinal to actually entertain the thought of dating someone else. 

You decide to check on the ad again tomorrow, see if anyone took a number, and if not, you could at least save it to your phone… just in case.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Two birds land on his window sill, rubbing their beaks together in a kiss before happily chirping at each other. They’re in love, literal love birds, building a nest on the little protrusion in the wall right below his window. He’s been watching them occasionally, unreasonably envious, as they bring in twig after twig, ready to start their family. From the same window, Copia can make out the spring-filled gardens with their colourful patches of pink and red tulips, bumblebees hurrying from blossom to blossom, drunk on pollen and greedy for more. He can overlook the bright green meadow leading down to the pond, speckled with lush, budding trees. At this time of the day, after everyone finished their daily duties, the grass has almost completely disappeared under a plethora of picnic blankets.

Spring fever, he assumes, has to be the reason why everyone seems to be in love. Couples dozing in each other’s arms in the shade of the trees, feeding their lovers berries or grapes, taking a stroll down to the pond with their joined hands dangling between them, kissing without pause in the archways of the cool stone walkways leading outside. Just now he spots two Sisters rubbing sunscreen on each other’s bare shoulders, one of them kissing the other's head before they fall back onto their blanket, giggling happily at each other.

He feels so incredibly lonely.

This has been going on for weeks now and he’s tired of feeling so shamefully worthless of affection. Instead of the arms of his lover, he sinks into his tattered old desk chair and drowns his sorrows in boring paperwork. Not that that’s going well, but for lack of alternatives, he’d rather do budget calculations than sit in his quarters all alone. Every evening, the spring breeze carries the sound of happy laughter through his windows, usually while he’s playing video games all by himself, but he can’t keep them closed if he doesn’t want to sweat to death. Besides… that same gentle breeze is the only thing caressing his skin as he tries to fall asleep at night and if he closes his eyes, the wind almost feels like fingertips ghosting over his arms.

As he leaves his office that night, he receives another heavy but sadly much expected blow. Almost a week now and still no one has taken one of the numbers from his lonely hearts ad. Of course it doesn’t mean no one saved it to his phone, he tells himself, people are shy or they just don’t want to date an anonymous person. It has nothing to do with him, they don’t even know it’s him. And yet… if his dating streak continues so poorly, he’s not sure if he can stay sane for much longer. There are only so many tears you can cry in bed at night before it starts to take a toll on you.

His heart is especially heavy as he makes his way to his lonely quarters. One more day and then he’s taking it down, he decides. No use in waiting any longer now that surely everyone in the abbey has seen his request and the last thing he wants are pity calls.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

“So, are you going to call the Cardinal?”

You look up from your breakfast plate. Your friend Lily is sitting opposite of you, chewing on a blueberry muffin, and you narrow your eyes at her. “The Cardinal?”

“The number in the lonely hearts ad,” she says. “It’s still there, I checked earlier.”

“It’s the Cardinal?”

She nods, popping another piece of muffin into her mouth. “Duh.”

You feel your cheeks heating up and set your fork down to hide the sudden tremor in your fingers. “Which Cardinal?”

She gives a soft groan of annoyance. “Babe, there is only one of the Cardinals who would ever hang up such a goofy thing. Now, will you call him?”

Copia. She knows about your… slight infatuation with him. And despite being kind and not teasing you too much, it was just a matter of time until the occasion popped up. If he is looking for a serious partner… maybe it’s too late for you soon. The ad has been up for days and while you’ve been toying with the idea of calling, you just haven’t found the courage yet.

You continue eating, trying to act casual, but it takes you three attempts to pick up a stray piece of cucumber from your plate. “How do you even know it’s his number?”

Lily takes a deep breath, setting the muffin down to ready herself. “Sooo, Michael wanted to call the number to check who it is, right? Well, turns out his girlfriend already knew it’s the Cardinal’s number and his girlfriend is Sister Jill who knows it from Sister Mary who is roommates with Sibling Jessie who works with the treasury and their colleague Brother Paul works as the Cardinal’s assistant two times a week and that’s how he has the Cardinal’s number for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now, will you?”

Eyes on your empty plate, you bite your lip until you can taste blood. It’s Copia’s number, the number of your crush of about six months now, and he’s looking for a partner, unspecified. That’s… big news, intimidating news, news that calls to an action you’re not sure you’re prepared for.

Glancing at Lily, you catch her smirking at you and promptly give her a scowl. “I don’t know. What if he already got better options?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Better than you? I doubt it.”

“You’re biased because you’re my friend.”

A shrug. “You should try. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“He could be disappointed.”

“He’s more disappointed if no one calls,” she counters.

“Yeah but–”

You stop yourself when you see Nora, Lily’s girlfriend, approaching the table. Her arms wrap around Lily from behind as she presses a loud, lingering kiss to her cheek, both of them giggling.

“You scared me,” Lily says, turning around for a proper kiss.

“Sorry, love, but I can’t leave breakfast without my sweet treat.”

You avert your gaze, involuntarily feeling like an intruder. They’ve been together for a few weeks now, sickeningly adorable. Lily had been pining after Nora for months, a little bit like you with the Cardinal, only that she eventually found the courage to ask her out. To see her bravery being rewarded like that makes you incredibly happy for both of them. But at the same time… you have rarely ever felt your loneliness so sharply, the heaviness of your unreciprocated crush such a weight on your shoulders.

You know that if you want this to be you and the Cardinal, then there’s only one real answer to her question: You have to reach out to him.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

He’s ready to toss this day into the trash bin already and he only just got up. 

Last night, after tossing and turning for hours, Copia fell asleep only to promptly land in a hysterically embarrassing dream that made him jolt up whimpering like a kicked dog and hiding his face in the pillow. Bringing himself close to suffocation, he finally realised that he had not actually stumbled right in front of you, spilling juice all over his robes, scrambling to get up only to slip in the puddle by his feet, falling onto his butt with a high-pitched cry. You had been standing there motionless, watching the spectacle unfold until you turned around to leave.

This is the reaction he would expect, should he ever actually find the courage to ask you out. However, this is highly doubtful, because upon walking to his office half an hour later, he catches you with a group of friends. He often sees you with them – attractive young Siblings, evident chemistry between all of you, and every week he suspects a different one to be in love with you. He recognizes the two Sisters he saw from his window earlier this week. One of them presses a loving kiss to the other’s cheek and he wishes he could just walk up to you and do the same.

His heart hurts. No matter how much kindness you extend to him, you’re a beautiful young soul who could never be romantically interested in an aging loner. Copia is not disliked per se, he gets along with pretty much everyone, but he struggles to build meaningful connections. Between working his butt off to satisfy the clergy and spending time on his mostly solitary hobbies, it’s hard to meet people. He had to actively put himself out there but neither online dating nor any of the singles’ events Terzo sent him on brought any results – only what the young Siblings call getting “ghosted” or “benched”.

His ad is his last chance. And even that failed miserably.

As he ponders his options, your eyes suddenly meet his and he swears you’re smiling. Then you lift your hand in a cautious wave. For a second, he’s too scared to wave back because there are people around him, all of which could be your target. Your hand sinks after a moment as your smile slowly straightens and he suddenly knows that you do mean him. He lifts his hand far too excitedly in a reciprocative wave. Your smile returns, a shy one, but before he can even think about possibly approaching you, his knees suddenly give out.

No, they don’t give out, someone rams a trolly filled with supplies for Black Mass into him. Some of the tall candles roll off the top and clatter to the floor, breaking in half just like his dignity. 

“Oops, sorry, Cardinal,” the Sibling says, scrambling to help him up. “It’s so hard to steer this thing.”

“It’s fine,” he chokes out, the pain in his knees anything but fine. “It happens.”

“I’m truly so sorry.”

He smiles, a hand on their shoulder now that he’s on his feet again. “It is okay, eh? No worries.”

When his eyes try to find you again, you’re not there anymore and he can’t decide if he’s relieved or sad. He prays to Satan that you didn’t see him fall but there is no way you missed it. His dream, if slightly watered-down, did come true after all and perhaps now you won’t want to–

“Cardinal, are you alright?” 

Copia, still dizzy and skittish, spins around so hard he nearly stumbles again. He smooths out his now crumpled cassock, the dust he collected on the floor even more visible on today’s black vestments. In an attempt to retain his dignity, he straightens his spine and looks right into your beautiful eyes. You have a tendency to startle him like that and he wishes he could be more smooth about these encounters.

“Yes, yes, Sibling, thank you. It was… it was nothing, just a little stumble, eh?”

“Are you sure?” You inspect him from head to toe, your brow creased in concern. “It looked painful. Your knees…”

“Oh, my knees are fine!” he lies. “I kneel all the time, Sibling. You know this.” Your eyes widen and he continues to stammer. “I mean in prayer. I pray a lot. On my knees. I am a Cardinal, yes? It’s my job.”

 You nod heavily. “Yes, of course.”

“So, ugh… I better just fuck off.” He presses his lips together to keep more silly words from coming out. “I mean I’ll go back to work. ”

As he tries to leave, your hand shoots up, squeezing the muscles in his forearm. He’s not as much startled as enthralled by your touch, so unexpected that he has no time to feel insecure but so welcome that it almost feels natural to have your fingers on his arm. He swears there is a hint of nervousness in your eyes now and despite knowing it’s silly, his heart wants to interpret it as bashfulness.

“Cardinal, please. I… ugh…” 

You look beautiful from up close. Even if you weren’t stuttering he’d have a hard time listening to your words. It seems like you stopped breathing, your cheeks now a sweet shade of rosy, and you open your mouth to speak but no words come out. Eventually, you shake your head and run your fingers over the fabric of his sleeve. He thinks he’s about to pass out, his nerves rising until he can feel his heartbeat all the way up to his neck. Your hand is so gentle, so… affectionate.

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I don’t mean to keep you. I was just thinking that I really like the black cassock. It suits you.”

A compliment. His mind is racing. This is not what you really wanted to say, he can tell, but he grins anyway. You like his cassock? Well, you should wait until you see him in a suit. Maybe on a date. He should ask, he realises. This is the moment he’s been waiting for for months now. But as he continues to stare at you his tongue becomes too heavy to form the words, and then your hand is suddenly gone and takes his courage right with it.

“Thank you, Sibling,” he says instead. “I also really like your ugh… your outfit.”

Only when the words leave his mouth does he realise it’s the same everyday habit you’re wearing all the time. Somehow, the silly compliment still manages to conjure a smile onto your face and so he stops berating himself because he made you smile. The sight stuns him, butterflies erupting in his already nervous stomach.

“I’ll see you later, Cardinal,” you say then, your eyes leaving his to glance down the hallway where your friends are waiting, beckoning for you to hurry.

Copia nods and he looks down at your hand in silent fascination, staring at your fingers that are dangling by your thigh without any use as if he could magically make them touch his arm again. “Yes, yes. See you,” he mumbles. “Bye bye.”

When he looks back up, you’re already hurrying off. Copia stays frozen, his gaze trailing after you as though his eyes are glued to your form. Even when you’re out of sight it takes him a while to start moving, to start breathing again.

Around him, the hallway slowly empties as everyone starts to tend to their respective duties. Copia can’t help but feel the nagging disappointment about not asking you out. A chance like this won’t suddenly appear again and even if you refused him it would still be less humiliating than the untouched ad at the bulletin board. He should take it off right now, he figures.

Only when he enters the hallway leading to his office, something looks off about the postings. He notices the change from the corner of his eye at first as he walks past the large corkboard. More party flyers have appeared, someone took down the “diamond butt plug set missing” request that had been hanging there since an orgy in the Siblings’ wing went wrong last month. Instead, Copia notices a large poster promoting condom usage that partly covers the request underneath. Which is how he recognises it.

His ad. 

And one of the numbers is missing.

Copia nearly lets out a loud squeal as realisation dawns on him like the gentle spring sun rising over the hills every morning, bringing warmth and happiness after a cold, dark night. It seems like Cupid finally answered his prayers, like Aphrodite found sweet mercy for him.

Someone took his number. Someone wants to reach out to him.

For the rest of the day, he feels like he swallowed a swarm of bees, staring at his phone like it’s going to light up any second. Which it could. He could receive the message or call that changes his life any second now. Any second. Any… any second.

Nothing happens. Not in the next hour, not in the next two hours. All day, in fact, his phone stays quiet. His initial happiness deflates like a balloon. As he heads towards his quarters that evening, he observes how everyone piles into the dining hall, their happy laughter and cheerful spirits spoiling his usually solid appetite. He hates the sour feeling of envy in his stomach but he can’t help but suspect that everyone conspired against him.

Copia decides to skip dinner in order to cry into a big bowl of gelato. His nightmare might not have come true but his brain tortures him with pictures of your smiling face instead, with the phantom feeling of your warm hand lingering on his arm, and he can’t help but feel crushed anyway. He’d sell his soul to come home to you, to eat with you, sit with you, watch silly movies with you, fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up with your smile as the first thing he gets to see every day. It becomes increasingly clear to him that every day he misses out on being with you is a day tragically lost.

If only he was brave enough to change that.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

You’ve been pacing your bedroom for the better part of the evening now, back and forth and back and forth to the point where you’re seriously concerned about wearing down your carpet. The day passed uneventfully apart from your encounter with Copia in the hallway where you made a complete fool of yourself. You would have loved to skip all of the unnecessary fuss of texting back and forth but you barely spoke more than two words to him before you chickened out. Surely, if his interest in you was romantic, he could just ask you out instead of advertising himself on a public corkboard?

In any case, you’ve been typing out messages for over an hour now, deleting every single one of them only to throw your phone onto the bed multiple times before picking it back up to risk another attempt.

The reason you haven’t given up yet is that Lily knows you have his number now. Last night, when you thought everyone was asleep, you snuck out of your dorm feeling like James Bond with your torch and black clothing, tiptoeing down the empty corridors of the abbey. You didn’t want anyone spreading any premature rumors but a part of you was hesitant to take one of the numbers at all. Even if you called him, it wasn’t certain that he’d want to go on a date with you.

Still, you ripped off one of the thumb-sized pieces of paper and headed back – only to promptly run into Lily as she snuck out to meet Nora. You’re never going to forget her self-satisfied grin as she spotted you with the crumpled number between your fingers.

Begging your creative juices to start flowing, you stare at the empty message box. Perhaps you should be funny. You wonder if he knows the Piña Colada song. It is about a lonely hearts ad after all and he’s a musician. You type and type, delete and retype until you end on a rough draft to show Lily when she gets home. But no, upon rethinking, the joke is too silly even for you and there’s probably a better way to phrase this–

“Hey, have you called him yet?”

You jump, your heart rate doubling in shock. Lily appears in the open doorway and her voice startles you so fiercely that you clutch your phone to your chest. To your utter horror, the swishing sound of a sent message reaches your ear as your palm connects with the touchscreen, and when you glance down, the bubble with your typed out message sits at the top of your chat history.

“Oh no,” you whisper.

“What?”

“I sent my stupid silly joke message to him.”

Lily picks your phone from your hands, reading the solitary message from the display. “Well, at least now you’ll know if he shares your weird sense of humour?”

You grasp her shoulder and release a deep, throaty groan. Her words don’t calm you in the slightest, if anything, they only make it worse.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Driving Miss Daisy can’t distract him anymore.

Every two minutes Copia reaches for his phone to check for any missed texts or calls only to have the gapingly empty home screen staring back at him. He never figured out how to change the pre-set wallpaper. Perhaps he could try again when he has a cute couple picture of him and his future partner. The thought makes him smile. It’s one of many little things he would change – if they only called.

Despite putting it on vibrate, he doesn’t trust the device to inform him of any news. He even carried it to the toilet twice already, just in case something happens while he’s gone. His ice cream doesn’t satisfy him tonight, everything feels bland and devoid of flavour, but he refills his bowl anyway. One big spoon and a bit of spray cream… and as he walks back over to his bed, he realises that he should definitely check his phone again because this took way longer than two minutes.

Right as he pulls the device out his pocket, it vibrates violently in his hand. For a moment he is so shocked to see a message pop up that he throws it away. It lands on his bed, bouncing a few times, display still lit up with one new notification glaring at him from the centre of his screen.

He takes a deep breath. This is real. He got a message.

No, he can’t look at it, he’s going to lose his nerves. A few more deep inhales and slow exhales, then he can’t fight the suspension any longer. 

Hey, stranger :) You don’t like coconut, so you probably don’t like Piña Coladas, but maybe I’m still the love that you look for?  I would love to go on a date with you, if you are still looking for one. 

It takes him a second, then another one. The ice cream melts in his bowl as it sits forgotten on the floor next to his bed. Suddenly it clicks and he chuckles, in relief as well as amusement, thinking that he knows that song, that he gets the reference. That means this person is funny. They made a joke. He smiles to himself. A funny person wants to go on a date with him.

He types back, deleting, typing again. After five minutes, he comes up with a reply.

Hello, stranger! 👋🏼 I do not like Piña Coladas 🍹 but I have many better things to offer if you want to go on a picnic 🧺 with me tomorrow? I will bring food 🥪 and drinks 🧃 of course. Hopefully we do not get caught in the rain 💦😀

He thinks about how he could sign the message but then his nerves start to kick in. If he tells the person who he is, they may reconsider their choice to go out with him and that’s the last thing he wants. Even if the date doesn’t go well, he wants to try his best, so he shoots another message after the first: 

Oh. It will be a blind date, if that is okay with you?

The next minute is the longest of his life. An eternity passes. He thinks he might have stopped breathing with how tight his chest feels. That is, until his phone lights up and shows the same number again, wringing a deep sigh of relief from him.

That’s fine with me. Where do we meet?

The squeal he lets out vibrates in his chest and bounces off the walls.

He’s got a date. Finally.

✦ ✧ ✦ 

Copia hears his bad conscience somewhere in the back of his mind whispering that blocking the best spot in the gardens all day is selfish. Perhaps it is true, perhaps he feels a little selfish today. And yes, besides feeling selfish he also feels a little guilty. Is it fair to go on a date when he has such a horrible crush on someone else? No. No, it’s not fair. But he can’t let another chance at love run through his fingers like sand on the beach. He simply has to grasp this opportunity.

His red-checked blanket lays untouched underneath the tall chestnut tree, its big, hand-shaped leaves rustling in the soft breeze as he approaches. The head of a rat is stitched into all four corners  of the fabric – a gift from Sister for his latest birthday – and it’s been sitting here since nine o’clock when he took the liberty of… reserving… the spot. He picked the north-side of the tree so that the shade falls exactly where he’s going to be sitting with his date in approximately fifteen minutes. If they prefer the sun, he can just pull the blanket over a little, but he’d never forgive himself if they got sunburn because of him.

Copia took the day off, his first day off all year in fact, risking his next employee of the month award to spend all morning in town, running errands. With the end of May and strawberry season starting, he visited every grocery store within walking distance to find the ripest, juiciest ones they offered. He was lucky enough to obtain a small basket filled with the most delicious-looking red fruits and some additional fresh ingredients for his sandwiches. While he was quick-witted enough to ask about his date’s allergies yesterday, he completely forgot to ask them about their favorite snacks and so he’s decided to just bring anything he could think of that wouldn’t melt in the sun.

The basket he packed feels heavy in his hand for that exact reason and when he sets it down on the blanket, he can feel the strain in his arm. The past hour was spent obsessing over his outfit until he decided to just go for the white suit combo. Yes, white fabric near grass and juicy red fruits is not the most brilliant idea, but he wants to look his best and that means going the extra mile, even if he has to wear the tiny, itchy underwear underneath.

His heartbeat is going a mile a minute now. He can’t unpack yet, he doesn’t want the food to be out for too long, and so he sits and waits, his hands sweaty under his black and white leather gloves. The fact that the gardens around him slowly become crowded as the afternoon rolls around does nothing for his nerves. He can feel the curious glances, can hear the hushed whispers, and as the hour nears, he starts sweating even more despite the shade. If the unanswered ad had been embarrassing, being stood up so publicly would be even worse. 

And then the most horrifying thing ever happens.

Copia sees you walking along the path, wearing a weather-appropriate, slightly dressed-up outfit that makes his eyes involuntarily roam your whole form. But he can’t fully focus on your loveliness. At first, he’s panicking that you’re meeting your friends somewhere close by where you could see him with his date. He would be so embarrassed, so distracted, so uncomfortable. But you walk straight towards him and that’s even worse. If he has to tell you that he’s busy meeting someone else he might spontaneously combust, explode into tiny particles of humiliation. It would ruin everything, his date and his crush on you. What if his date shows up and sees you with him? What if–

Oh no, you don’t stop approaching, you don’t take a turn, you walk up straight to where he’s waiting – with a hint of hesitation, yes, but very directed steps. Copia jumps up immediately, his black hat nearly falling from his head.

“Oh, Sibling,” he stammers, lifting a trembling hand to adjust his fedora. “Hello, hi. Are you spending some time outside today as well?”

Your mouth opens and you wring your hands before hiding them behind your back. “Hello, Cardinal. I ugh… I’m supposed to meet someone here under the chestnut tree.”

Copia furrows his brow, slowly registering your words. “Meet someone. Under the chestnut tree.” 

“Yes.”

“Oh, Satan. It’s you?” He stops, stares, comprehends. He sounds incredulous, his voice a higher pitch than usual. “You’re my stranger?”

You nod, big eyes staring into his mismatched ones in silent expectation, hope and fear muddled together in the crease of your brow. He doesn’t know how to react, just rubs his thumb and index finger together as his mind races faster than speed limit.

“Is this… is this bad?” you finally ask, breaking the awkward silence.

“No!” Copia exclaims. “No, no, no. Please, please sit.”

You do, kneeling down on the blanket a little hesitantly. Copia joins you, still not fully trusting his senses. This feels like a hallucination. His disbelief has to be the only reason he hasn’t passed out yet. Is he really on a date with you right now?

After another moment of silence, Copia notices you eyeing the basket and snaps back into reality. His plans, his very detailed plans for how this date is supposed to go, flood his mind and he remembers the first step now. Swallowing his shock, he sits up a little straighter.

“Ah, eh… yes, I got you something.” He reaches behind the basket and procures three deep red roses he stole from Primo’s rose garden on the way here. Their intense smell hits his nose as he whips them past his face and hands them over. “These are for you. I hope you like roses. I know it is a bit cliché but also a classic, no?”

“I love them,” you assure him, holding them up to your nose with a smile. “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

He smiles. “Good, good. Yes. So… I thought about what we could do and–”

“Cardinal,” you interrupt then. 

“Oh, no. No, call me Copia. Please.” He gives you a shaky smile. “We’re on a date, no?”

“Copia,” you try but feeling his name on your tongue doesn’t make you feel any better. Ever since getting here your bad conscience made it hard to fully settle into this date and with his visible distress upon discovering it’s you, you feel like now is the time to address it. “Before… before we do this, I have a confession to make…” 

He hums and wriggles his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Well, I would love to see you in confession soon…”

You blush furiously. “Oh, no. No, that’s not what I meant.”

A flash of concern and you can practically see all of his insecurities mirrored in his eyes. You’re both tiptoeing around the same question, you assume, but it’s on you to take the plunge.

“What… what do you mean then?” he asks.

“About this date…” His lightheartedness completely disappears. You feel bad for ruining the mood but it’s too late now and you need to get it out, you owe him that much. “Copia… It wasn’t a blind date on my part. I… I knew it was you.”

“You knew it was me?” he asks and again his features change, eyes wide now. He really had no idea that people knew the ad was his and suddenly he feels like a fool.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been honest from the start.” You stare at his gloved hand but you’re too scared to take it. “I hope you can forgive me for keeping this from you.”

“You knew it was me and you still… you still wrote to me? You still came?”

You furrow your brow. “I didn’t tell you because then I would have had to admit that it’s me and I was scared that maybe you wouldn’t want to go anymore.”

“Me? Not… not…” He shakes his head so fast that his fedora once again threatens to fly off. “Oh, tesoro, I would have… I would have been on the moon with joy, as they say. Yes, yes, I would have.”

You don’t correct him. Instead, an insecure smile settles on your face. “You know you don’t have to say that, Copia, it’s okay if you were hoping for someone else… That’s the risk of going on a blind date, right?”

He yanks your hand out of your lap, wrapping it up in both of his gloved ones. “Tesoro, can I be very honest with you?”

You nod. “Of course you can. Always.”

“I was hoping it was you.”

Your breath catches and steals your next words. The same incredulity that hit him earlier now settles in your chest and you can’t find it in you to question him.

Copia immediately fills the silence. “I never… I never thought…” You watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, a nervous swallow, before he wets his lips. “Tesoro, you were always very good to me. I always saw your kindness, you understand this, yes? Don’t get me wrong, I just… I never thought you were interested in me like this. In such a silly old man.”

You have to giggle through your nerves. “I love that you’re a silly old man.”

He smiles shyly. “You are very sweet, tesoro.”

“I’ve actually had this crush for a few months now,” you admit, encouraged by his positive reaction. “And I want you to know that when I saw your ad I thought about calling even before I knew it was you.”

His smile grows impossibly bigger at that. “Did you?”

A nod. Copia squeezes your hand, then brings it to his face for a kiss. You feel his wet lips on your skin and they’re so soft, so gentle. When he sets your hand back down you see a trace of black lipstick on its back and instantly feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“Should we start then?” he asks. “I brought a lot of things, let me show you.”

The basket opens to reveal a plethora of food and drink options. Copia sets down a foil-wrapped plate with sandwiches that look a little wonky so you assume he made them himself, then some juice boxes, apple and orange, a box of fresh, delicious-looking strawberries, two bottles of water, reusable plastic cups and plates. At last, he hands you one of many different muffins he must have stolen from the kitchens.

“For my dolcezza,” he says with a smile.

More heat spreads in your cheeks as you take the little treat from him with a thanks. You’re both visibly losing your nervousness now, your postures less cramped, stretching out your limbs on the blanket with your bodies angled towards each other.

“Maybe we should… talk a bit about us?” Copia proposes. “To get to know each other, sì? I would like to learn about you.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds good. Do you want to start?”

He thinks on a good starter question, the pressure clouding his thoughts for a moment but then his silence grows thick and he has to say something. “So, ugh… do you like Star Wars?”

This is not one of the questions on his list of conversation starters. For some reason, every single meaningful thought suddenly leaves him. Luckily, this simple, safe question seems to put you at ease and you relax even more.

“I do,” you say. “I watched all the movies.”

“Oh, good! And what is your favorite?”

You pluck a piece from your muffin, popping it into your mouth. “Hmm… The Empire Strikes Back, I think.”

“Hehehe, sì, sì, I am your daddy.” His eyes widen. “Not that I’m… I don’t mean… you know, the scene with Luke… ugh. So, anyway, yes, that is my favorite as well.”

You giggle and he lights up, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. You reach for one of the sandwiches then. Copia helps, holding the plate up for you.

“So, these are all inspired by Italian foods. I have ugh… caprese. Mozzarella and tomato?”

You reach for the one he showed you. “That sounds great, thank you.”

Copia can’t help but stare as he awaits your reaction. You hum in delight and immediately take another bite of the soft bread. Satisfied, Copia allows himself to grab one as well now. Conversation slows down as you eat but you continue to talk about your interests between bites, finding more and more similarities as the minutes pass. 

Your little spot is beautiful, cool enough to sit comfortably but warm enough to feel the reviving effects of spring. The leaves above you rustle every now and then, birds and bees flying past, the odd ant crawling over your blanket in search of some crumbs. Neither one of you is bothered as you sip on your juice boxes in tandem and intuitively increase your proximity.

With your bodies gravitating towards each other like that, you end up sitting very close after a while. Copia reclines against the tree trunk, pulling his hat down to grant him more shade, a little bit like a cowboy leaning against the walls of a saloon. His white suit is an odd contrast to his relaxed pose, not the most comfortable outfit to lounge in. Without thinking too much about it, he pulls you close to him and angles you so you can rest your head in his lap. 

You’re only tense for a short moment. Copia gets rid of his gloves and you can feel his bare fingers running over your scalp. The steady pattern he draws calms you and you sigh, closing your eyes for a few minutes as a warm feeling of safety spreads out in you.

Copia can’t help but stare. Despite the initial hiccup, you’re so comfortable around each other that he feels like he’s known you forever. This is a dream come true for him, all his fantasies, his wishes, his longings, they all seem to come together in the lovely face dozing in his lap. You’re the most stunning sight he ever had the pleasure to behold. Every line, every hair, every mole, blemish or scar combines into the most beautifully painted canvas – and to him, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.

“Do you want a strawberry, tesorino?” he asks then.

You open your sparkly eyes and they reflect a speck of sunlight breaking through the canopy. Blinking a few times, you shift in his lap to avoid being blinded. He tenses as your cheek narrowly misses his groin, but then you nod and he distracts himself by reaching for the box of strawberries. 

With careful fingers, he grabs one of the shiny heart-shaped fruits, making sure to touch the stem to avoid any stains, and then guides it to your mouth. He can’t help but stare as he sees your lips part for him, the tip of your tongue peeking out to welcome the sweetness. You sink your teeth into the red flesh, so eager, and spatters of juice stain your lips. They appear even more saturated as you lick them clean, wetting them with your tongue, and he so desperately wants to kiss you.

“They’re so sweet already,” you say, taking the rest of the fruit from his hand.

“Yes, I agree.”

You giggle. “Copia, you haven’t even tried one yet.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean the strawberries.”

You huff out a flustered breath, fighting the still evident smile on your face, and hold the half-eaten strawberry up to his mouth. “Try.”

He lets you feed him with burning cheeks, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As his teeth meet the flesh, a few droplets of juice fall astray but he doesn’t even care if they ruin his suit anymore. He can’t stop looking at you, thinking about your soft hand so close to his mouth. He wants to kiss it again, desperately, and so he traps it with his when you try to pull away. With his lips pressed to your palm, he closes his eyes, kissing all the way down to your wrist where he lingers.

You gasp softly, lips parting as Copia continues to drag his lips over the delicate skin. Your reaction brings a smirk to his face, another moment that he’s going to think about for days to come.

“I tried, dolcezza,” he says. “And I think you’re still sweeter.”

You blush so prettily at that. Flustering you is easier than he expected and he takes notes of every little thing that draws a reaction from you. You spend another hour like this, eating fruit, drinking juice, chatting about all sorts of things while you exchange soft touches and words of your blossoming affection. At some point, the gentle breeze that carries on throughout the afternoon becomes stronger, and more and more people head back inside to escape a possible weather change.

Neither one of you wants to leave but as you start to shiver more violently, Copia’s worry about you catching a cold wins over his desire to prolong your date. He proposes to head inside as well, running his hands over the goosebumps on your bare arms to warm you up.

When you reluctantly agree, he starts to pile your dishes and the leftover food into the basket. You move to help but he stops you with a tut. “I will pack this up, eh? Don’t worry about it.”

“I could help you, you know.”

“Ah, no no. I invited you, yes? It is my pleasure.”

It only takes him a few minutes to pack everything up. You grab your flowers in the meantime and he watches from the corner of his eye as you sniff them with a growing smile on your face, swaying slightly from left to right. As Copia shakes out the blanket, folding it messily in the middle, you hesitate by the edge of your little picnic spot.

“So, do you want to walk back together?” you ask.

Copia smiles, glad that you don’t want to leave him quite yet. “I would like that a lot, tesoro. Should I carry the roses for you?”

You hand them over and he places them on the lid of the basket before he carefully picks it up. When he’s by your side again, you stop him with a hand on his forearm, the same gentle squeeze you gave him the last time. Only this time you don’t leave. Instead you lean in and press a soft kiss to his reddened cheek, your lips lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary. Copia opens his mouth but he can’t think of anything to say. Instead he uses his unoccupied hand to fish for yours.

Hand in hand, palm against palm, you walk past the leftover groups of Siblings that make use of the last few moments of sun. Neither of you spares anyone else even a glance. Whenever your eyes aren’t focused on the path ahead, they meet each other, giddy, love-sick smiles gracing your lips.

As you finally pass the first archway and enter the cool stone corridors of the abbey, Copia suddenly stops. Your arms slowly extend as you take a few more steps but before your hand can slip from his, he pulls you back. Maybe he used a little bit too much force or maybe he just caught you by surprise, but you practically stumble into his arms. A gasp falls from your lips. You make no attempt at breaking away and so Copia gently guides you against the frame of the archway, setting down the basket in the process so he can place his other hand on your hip.

Big eyes look up into his. He leans in slowly. The rim of his hat catches the stone and it finally slips from his head, dropping somewhere. Copia doesn’t care because he can already feel your sweet strawberry breath on his lips and nothing could stop him from getting a taste. Your hands impatiently grab at his lapels, then, pulling him even closer, and he gasps at the force of your need. With your eyes falling closed, lips slightly parted and your chin tilted up, Copia feels like he’s in a dream.

“Please,” you whisper.

He has to fight a moan, the word resonating somewhere deep inside his belly. Still, he draws out  the moment for as long as he can, stalling as the tension crackles in the tiny space that separates you. He starts by nuzzling your nose while he pushes his hand upwards until he can grasp your jaw. As he angles your head just right, he feels your lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He fights off a giggle as they continue to tickle his skin and you shift slightly against him, growing impatient.

“Co–”

His mouth swallows your next syllable. You hum against him as his lips capture yours with gentle adoration. The grip on your waist tightens at the same time as his thumb presses into your cheek. Want, need, trickles into your belly and Copia feels the same way, moving his mouth against yours with slightly more pressure. The kiss is still slow, still tame, but it’s unmistakable how much stowed up desire for the other you both hold inside.

For a while you continue like this, your body trapped between Copia and the cool stone and the world around you a mere shadow. You open your mouth for air and that’s when you can feel his tongue cautiously pushing against yours. The sensation makes you feel even more fuzzy, the need for oxygen forgotten as you tangle your tongue with his. The taste is sweet, residues of fruit and juice, and underneath it all you feel Copia. Copia.

You only break away when you’re both struggling to keep up the pace. He’s a mess, his lipstick gone, black smears covering his chin and cheeks where his eye make-up rubbed off. You lift your hand to wipe some of your mingled spit off of his chin and the blissful expression on his face makes you smile. You love to see his face ruined like this, you decide. And Copia, seeing the lipstick-smears all over your kiss-swollen mouth, unknowingly thinks the same.

“We should do this again sometime,” you say. “The date but also… this. Actually, I think we should do it again right now.”

Copia chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “How about we never stop doing it?”

You nod your approval, wrapping your arms around him to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s soft, if a little bit sweaty, messy from the loss of his hat. “I would like that a lot, Copia.”

“I mean it, tesoro,” he whispers with a hint of insecurity. “I don’t want to stop spending time with you. Ever. We already wasted enough of it.”

A big smile breaks out on your face. Copia can’t help but return it, squeezing you a little tighter to his body, and you giggle happily as he kisses your nose.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “Let’s not waste another moment.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this silly little story – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – My Ao3

[whysogay]

beware of kissing

[inthiswhisper]

this show is gonna make me lose my mind again.

[girlinlavender]

sometimes a situationship is two girls who don’t like each other and are in love

[cottonpuffmouse]

“A heart with a hole gaping wide

Tell me where can I find

Where my love didn't fall?

There's just no way, no way

An endless loop

it spins around again

If my question’s an answer

I'll throw it back again

Tongue tied goodbye,

Donut Hole

Midnight ensemble like this.”

[ediblehype]

I can do reverse harems when the harem is allowed to mock/belittle/beat the protag when he’s an idiot.

Like-of course Akashic Records had a crossover with Konosuba: Glenn and Kazuma get roasted CONSTANTLY.

It wasn’t for everyone but personally I liked watching Aqua blow Kazuma’s hard earned money on booze and whining about how she couldn’t spend more. I liked that Sistine forces Glenn’s loser ass before the school board.

Like you CAN be so in love with a man that you’ll do anything for him, share him with others, die for him!!! But he’s not gonna get away with that stupid shit without getting bullied.

[mechanismmadness]

coping with being demiaroace and single by listening to mechs albums because like,, you see all those people who were in love? yeah they're all dead!! you don't wanna be dead right?? and it does make me feel a tiny bit better

[icedmetaltea]

Pro tip: do some research on the area before adventuring in the extremely dangerous hell forest next time

@laymedowntorest I have only you to blame for enabling me-

Taking a majority of my art off tumblr for now. Fuck AI

(no text below cut)

[ingravinoveritas]

New interview with David about GO 2 that is entirely too homosexual for my heart to handle, but this in particular:

...Staring at Michael's what, David??

(Also his slutty-ass slinky hipped Crowley walk only came back when he was staring at Michael? Umm...)