#my dear nightingale

[amid-fandoms]

i love how crowley only ever calls aziraphale ‘angel’ and refers to any other angel or demon by their name and nothing else. he is a pet name enjoyer and he absolutely knows it, then has the audacity to act shocked whenever anyone suggest that they’re a couple

[thetyger]

i don't mind being back at work today, but there really was something about how i spent the entire long weekend playing sunless sea with flowers of bermuda on repeat in the background that absolutely altered my brain chemistry

[nightingaletrash]

I am once again planning a da4 character because I have no self-control and dao gave me an idea:

Her name is Vasiliki 'Vasia' Zinovia, a Lord of Fortune descended in a disgraced line from Archon Hessarian.

Why is her line disgraced? Because they have no mages. Vasia herself is a warrior, and while she has the occasional vaguely prophetic dream (courtesy of her ancestor Eleni Zinovia), she has no magical ability whatsoever. Frankly, she doesn't really care either. When her father(?) was killed by the Venatori, his dying wish was for her to take care of the rest, and she takes that job very seriously. She puts 110% into others and leaves nothing for herself because that's her job as the big sister, the guardian and protector. The past is dead and gone and she's focused on the future first and foremost (Sera would love her).

If she gets recruited by the Shadow Inquisition, it's because she's following her instinct to protect and provide for others, not because she particularly wants to be some important world saving hero.

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned ୨୧ Chapter II

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Songs of Solomon 8:6-7.

As newly appointed Duchess-To-Be, you have much to learn. Etiquette, conduct and eventual motherhood are the pillars you are expected to live by. Because who cares about your choosing?

The Chapel, tended to by a mercurial Priest, is the perfect refuge.

…right?

Pairing: Geto x female reader

A/N: The is dedicated to the artist ( @captainsalsaa ) I mean look at our fallen Angel. His tears. His frustration. Dear GOD.

To the artist: I stared at your piece, then heard a specific song on my writing playlist then wrote the entire last scene in one sitting. To date, it’s my favorite scene in my author’s portfolio. I hope I did our fallen Angel justice. Thank you for creating this 🤍

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CHAPTER II: Hello, Father.

“Awake early, little dove.” 

Warm hands caress your shoulders. A welcome contrast to the chilly nautical dawn. The sun still has a ways to go, but songbirds have begun their wake up call. 

“As are you, Arella.” 

Your eyes float to your favorite maiden standing above you. No more than a handful of years older, but with a heart for you as if she raised you from birth. 

“It’s my duty to tend to you, is it not?” 

Soft laughter harmonizes with the nightingales. A quick kiss on your forehead before her warmth disappears off the balcony —  undoubtedly to go retrieve a treat of some kind. 

She’s not wrong. 

Technically it is her duty. 

But Arella is your blessing. 

Matting and kneading your surroundings to fit your needs. Eager to dampen the growing pains of settling in a new home. 

Constant hellos. 

Permanent smiles.

Not too wide, like a promiscuous woman. But not too tight, like a cold prude. 

Rooms to tour. Hands to shake. Garments to pin and tie and lace around your lungs as if your God-given ribcage was a frivolous extra not needed for life. Not needed to breathe. 

Breathe.

Your lids screw shut. Pulling in as much of the balmy, saltwater breeze gliding up the steep rock face along the overhang. 

Much like he did. 

The Chaplain. 

His hair cascading down his back in the same way poets monologue when inspired. His eyes a mural of what the Gods paint when they want to show off. 

The way earth acquiesces to his touch as if he is the Creator. The birds choose to perform for him every morning. And the ocean exists to bathe him. 

You cannot decide if the sorbet sunsets are created by the Chaplain. Or if the Gods fight over who gets the honor of painting him a new one each evening. 

“Sleep still escapes you, precious girl.” 

It does, but not for the reason she thinks. 

“You worry too much, Arella. I’ll adjust soon.” The tea she brought you is delicious.

The both of you cross back into your quarters. The stagnant, perfumed air suddenly suffocating.

“I would like to go to the chapel garden.” 

A quiet declaration that stills your handmaiden in her tracks. Then a small grin blossoms on her beautiful face. Fussing with your bedding. Wiping away evidence of your sleepless night. 

“For the flowers that bloom, little dove? Or for the God that tends to them?”

The blood in your veins runs subzero. 

“Arella! I am engaged to be marri—“

“Of course you are. But eyesight isn’t a sin.”

Another moment of feigned irritation before you burst into a fit of childish giggles. The both of you no better than school girls, covering your mouths, stifling your laughter. 

“I just wanted to see you smile.” Arella gestures to your extravagant dresser across the room. 

“In the second drawer you can find a casual garment. Come back with at least one hour to prepare for Mass.”

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

A hummingbird chaperones your walk to the church estate. Dulcet hums drown out the rattling heartbeat between your ears. 

This is harmless.

It is not a sin to take in Earth’s natural candy. To appreciate God’s gift to humanity.

In all of his majestic glory. 

Your eyes dart around as if your thoughts are a tangible scroll. Written in ink for the world to see.

Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no one around. 

Just you. Your fluttering companions (both heart and bird). The waking sun. God above and his plants swaying in the gentle gusts of wind. You’re safe in your mind. 

Until he decimates all logical and reasonable train of thought, that is. 

You should be angry. Infuriated. That no one adequately prepared you for seeing the demigod for the first time. Even now, you question whether he’s flesh and blood. 

Maybe an illusion? 

The Lord playing tricks from his throne? 

The mirage before you halts your paces. You can’t help but question your level consciousness. 

Because this must be a dream. 

“Oh, don’t be cruel.” 

Words slip out of your mouth, currently ajar. It’s not your place to chastise the One above, but come on. 

Your eyes taste the Chaplain for a second time and this course is even more decadent than the first. 

There he stands. 

A raven waterfall down his broad, muscular back. Half of it tied away from his face. Olive skin so rich the surrounding plants pale in comparison. Russet brown working pants hang loose around his tapered waist, but snug around his thighs. Various tools hooked in the belt loops. Heavy mahogany work boots match the worn leather gardening gloves fitted to his hands. 

His hands. 

Reaching for thorny vines plaguing his hydrangeas. Even at your distance you could detail each muscle fiber in his arm tense and release with every pull and toss.

Pull and toss.

Pull and toss. 

You would have gotten lost in his rhythmic trance, if it weren’t for the symbol branded in charcoal sprawling his back. The emblem peeks through his thick hair, every now and again. 

A spear? 

No.

A trident. With waves snaking up its stalk along his spine. 

His gravitational pull is overwhelming. Your feet move with more stealth than the King’s Guard.

“Working on the Day of Rest, Father?” Casual, measured. 

“Duchess,” Saliva pools in your mouth. His smile teases your ears before he graces you with it. 

“I have to start being more careful about my clothing.” A playful glint in his eyes. 

“Especially now that I’ve been blessed with a fellow greenskeeper.” 

He is a man of God.

And would never insinuate anything impure. 

But that doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around his words steeped in a baritone potent enough to rumble the ground beneath you.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve sent word that I was coming.” 

“This palace belongs to you, Duchess. You are welcome here at any hour.” His hand captures a vine and tosses it into the pile without his eyes ever leaving yours. 

You are weak.

And greedy. 

The way your gaze drops to his arm. Desperately etching its contours into memory. Seconds, maybe minutes pass before you realize you were gawking. And the Chaplain just let you. 

Head cocked to the side. Soft smile ghosting his full lips. 

“Would you like to finish the tour of your new playground?” 

“Y-yes. Of course, please.” Stumbling over the uneven cobblestone in your voice, you turn away to begin the coordinated stroll. The Priest slides his arms into a linen button up. Lazily fastening two center buttons only. 

He informs you of the work that has already been done, what’s left. Where the soil is richest, where it is the most acidic. How the sun hits certain flowers at each hour of the day.

Brilliant. 

With complete command over God’s bouquet. The sun following him wherever he steps.

“Did you enjoy your swim today, Father?” Both you and the Priest come to a slow stop. One of his angular eyebrows raised.

“I’m dry, Duchess.” He responds with a low, hypnotic chuckle. 

Heat floods your cheeks. How could you be so presumptuous?

“What gave me away?” 

Your knees nearly betray you. The razor sharp grin on his face could cut glass. 

“You were born for the ocean. Or rather, the ocean was born for you.”

Your statement is greeted with blaring silence. 

Lava in his gaze. Singeing every part of your face it touches. His expression is like a foreign language. 

“I—I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Clearly I have much to learn about social graces.” A meek apology bubbles out of your lips. Desperate to fill the space between your bodies. 

The mercurial man shakes his head slightly. Thawed out from your statement, he reaches over and plucks a stray lilac petal resting on your crown.

“My father used to say the same.” He muses, looking away for the first time. 

“Your father! Is he—“

“He was called home some time ago.” This smile is soft. Reminiscent. Polite, but his mind clearly elsewhere. 

“Oh Father Geto, I’m so sorry.” 

A foot in your mouth is not enough punishment for your indecency. Why would you go prodding like this?

“Don’t be, I’ll see him again. Soon enough.”

“Not too soon, I hope.” The statement draws a stunned gaze from the Chaplain. Eyes dancing between yours. 

“Time to prepare for mass, little dove!” Arella’s melodic call tethers you back down from outer space. 

You flicker over to her with a ruby dusting over your nose and cheeks. Like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar before supper. 

“Happy Sunday, Father!” Arella calls out, cheshire grin on her face deepening your crude blush. 

“Indeed, Arella.” He returns the greeting while keeping his eyes on you. 

“Send my regards to the Duke.” His voice lowers, for your ears only. With a nearly imperceptible edge to his tone. 

“Happy Sunday, Duchess. We have a counseling session scheduled late afternoon, yes?” 

A statement of pure black and white fact. And yet it travels down your spine and settles between your legs. Wet heat dampening your thin negligee.

“Yes, Father. Happy Sunday.”

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Mass was miserable. 

Your corset laced tight enough to meld your two lungs and beating heart into one entity. To say the neckline strangled you is putting it mildly. Cold, uninviting pews dug into your skin at every turn. 

Wretched. 

But the worst of it wasn’t the thin, oxygen-deficient air. Or the shards of glass that slid down your throat with every swallow. Even the jaw pain from tensing your lips in a well-mannered smile for two hours straight was tolerable. 

The worst part of it was him. 

The Priest mesmerized an entire congregation to an ear-splitting hush. 

His first Sunday mass since appointment and nearly everyone in the country and every surrounding province stuffed into the chapel. 

So desperate for blessings from Father Geto. 

Could you blame them?

His voice danced in and out of the pews listlessly. 

Soothing fussy children. Adolescent girls and their mother’s alike — utterly smitten. Adolescent boys experienced their first “I want to be like him” with their fathers sitting right next to them. Husbands glanced feverishly at the women in their lives. 

He had to have noticed it. And yet, he floated above it all the entire service.

Above you. 

Refusing to gift you those eyes that put Vincent Van Gogh to shame. No matter how much you shifted in your seat and straightened your spine.

The Priest spoke to everyone in the room but you. 

Did you read him wrong? 

Did you misinterpret your budding friendship? 

Does it…should it even matter?

Your irritation is palpable. Innocent bystanders are caught in your friendly fire. Including Arella, who changed you out of that horrid costume. And sweet Noel, who ushered you into the seating area — just outside of the good Father’s office.

You make a mental note to send treats to the tender-hearted alter boy. And to apologize profusely to your handmaiden. 

“You are a million miles away, darling.” The sound of your betrothed tows you out of the storm clouds. 

You flicker over to the Duke. Emerald green eyes, high cheek bones — handsome in a way that is characteristic of everyone native to your new home.

“I’m right here, Ezra.” 

“Are you, sweetheart?” The back of his hand caresses your cheek. 

“Mmhm.” You offer your future husband a weak smile and kiss on his cheek. His eyes  faltering slightly, undoubtedly hopeful for lips instead. 

“Good afternoon, Duke and Duchess Ahriman.” 

Father Geto’s velvet greeting encases you both. If Ezra’s arm didn’t guide you to stand you would have been paralyzed in your seat. 

“Father Geto, a pleasure. Thank you for seeing us.” Ezra offers a genuine smile and handshake. Buying you a few extra seconds in your mind’s safe haven.

The Chaplain is tight lipped. Professional. He returns the handshake firmly. 

“Pleasure is mine.” 

Ezra shifts slightly on his feet. Straightening his spine and dropping his shoulders. Your eyes bounce between the Chaplain and your fiancé.

“I must say, Father. You are even more handsome up close. I speak for the men in this country, thank you for taking the vow of celibacy!” The words spill out of the Duke. Unknowingly thinning the air. 

The Priest chuckles quietly, dropping his eyes briefly before landing them on you. And it feels like you could double over.  Your core temperature skyrockets under his smoldering gaze. 

He, the archer. You, the bullseye. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Ezra laces his fingers in yours, taking the two seats directly in front of the oak desk. A leather bound notebook and pheasant feather pen are neatly arranged — with your names on the first page.

Blue flame rises from your toes to hairline. You might as well have been sitting naked. With how exposed, how vulnerable you feel already.

“What will we be covering first, Father? Something about how wives should obey their husbands, right?” Ezra is light-hearted. Meant to be said in jest.

But he finds himself being the only party in the room laughing. 

The Priest rolls the ink pen between his fingers. Allowing a deafening silence to coat the walls. His expression is neutral, but eyes ablaze. 

“If the man in question is worthy of submission.” He starts. A low, ominous rumble. 

“Uh, yes. Of course.” Ezra responds, shifting in his seat. 

But the Chaplain does not stop. Intent on making a point, he leans in. Pen whirling lightning fast between his long, deft fingers. Enough tailwind to launch across the room, if he desired.  

“If the man in question would give his life for his wife.” Volcanic eyes linger on you, then back to your fiancé. Ezra’s palm finds your thigh. You gnaw on your inner cheek to avoid flinching away. 

“If he would love her like Christ loves all of his creations unconditionally. Unselfishly. Irrationally.” 

“Yes, Father. I understand.” 

“Only then, should she submit.” His serrated tone could split chromium with ease. 

“Of course, of course.” Ezra wisely accepts defeat. 

He presses a short kiss on your cheek as an apology that you didn’t ask for, nor do you want. 

“Mmm.” A forced acknowledgment of the Duke’s affection through your pinched lips. Barely able to move under the Father’s microscopic gaze. 

“Now then,” Father Geto clears the boulders in his throat. 

“Tell me about your love.” 

The question stuns both you and the Duke. Looking to each other sheepishly because neither of you chose this.

War is young men dying and old men talking. And your life path is no different. Dictated by conversations between the powers that be. 

“We’ve only met a week ago, Father.” Your honesty drives both of his eyebrows upward. 

“A week ago?”

“But we are hoping you can teach us.” The Duke, overeager and excitable. 

“Teach you…?” Father Geto muses. You can’t quite interpret his tone, or minimal response. But your heart flutters all the same. 

He is thinking something. And what you would give to get a glance. To be let in. 

“Perhaps guide us?” Ezra gives an unintentionally painful squeeze on your thigh. You fail to muffle the tiny whimper. 

The Priest’s eyes laser down to where your fiancé’s hand lays. Chest rising and falling dangerously slow. 

“Right.”

Your eyes trail upwards as he stands. Closer to God than to you from this point of view.

“Duke, Duchess. You’ll have to accept my sincerest apologies.” 

His fingers dip the unused pen back into the ink cup. The edges of his leather bound notebook coming together. Seemingly without any notes, but an entire script from this session swirling in his mind. 

“My schedule is incorrect. I have another commitment. We will reschedule, yes?” Said with a finality that sends chills crawling down your spine. 

The two of you stand. Another handshake between the men. A restrained nod for you.

Just as quickly as you were let in, Father Geto shuts you out of his office and his mind. 

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Suguru presses his forehead against the shower tile. Warm water raining down his loose mane. Soothing his sore, overworked limbs. 

Today was maddening. 

He nearly destroyed his vestment the minute that God-forsaken counseling session ended. Seeking refuge, he took to the coast. 

And the sea provided anything but peace. 

She was angry with him, tonight. 

Curt. With unpredictable currents. Rip tides at nearly every turn. She tested his adaptation without mercy.

Just like that night.

“I’m going to stay on board, brother!”

Suguru flickered over to the silver-haired deckhand. An unfamiliar reservation opacifying his nearly translucent, iridescent eyes. 

Brother in name, technically. 

Their bloodlines were oil and water. He was a high born. Suguru was born unworthy of a beggar’s pity. 

But, bloodlines were inconsequential when their souls were instep as one. Both handed to humanity on the same night. During a thunderstorm already inscribed in history books.

‘The Tide of Eternal Requiem.’ 

It brought complete devastation. Crops destroyed. Families torn apart by tragic accidents inland and at sea. 

Then fate struck. 

Within the same hour, a voltaic boy, with a halo that put the clouds to shame and diamond eyes that could draw truth from murderers was born into the loving embrace of his parents. 

And Suguru was born with a crown so dark that the raging midnight appeared bright. 

With eyes as ominous as the sky above. 

Gunmetal grey, accented by an eerie violet swarm. Dormant volcanoes, threatening eruption. His birth mother abandoned him in an alley. Driven by fear that he was a bad omen from the Gods. 

“Ahhh, Satoru come on. Since when do you shy away from a few waves?”

Suguru teased. Already well into the process of shedding his work gear. 

“Zeus is the one rumored to be my father.” His counterpart flashed a knowing smile. 

“Poseidon doesn’t watch over me like he does you, Suguru.”

A tsunami couldn’t keep Suguru from his home. Much less a little rain. 

They were 3 miles away from the shoreline. Using his God-given ability, Suguru regularly acted as their scout. Performing his own reconnaissance then alerting the incoming ship of safe or turbulent terrain. 

“Almost ready to go, son?” 

His chosen father came up behind him. Suguru knew there were tears lining his meek eyes before turning to face him. 

“Dad.” Suguru sighed, fully disrobed now. Just his muscular frame and a compression suit. 

He met his father’s concerned gaze. Always like this during sea storms. Quiet prayers written all over his gentle features. 

Despite the worry, he never once attempted to convince his oceanic boy to stay on board. It would have been too cruel.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve traversed angrier swells.”

“Suguru, take care of yourself when I’m gone.” 

Elder, worn hands landed on his shoulders. Nearly too high for his reach. Suguru cocked his head to the side. 

This goodbye was different. 

“Stay on this path. For me. Albeit straight and narrow, there is a wonderful view. This is all for you, son.” 

Both men glanced to the Persian gulf. She thrashed against their vessel. Swaying their catch left and right with the intention of taking her creatures back. 

“Where is this coming from?” A genuine question from his younger self. Unable to read between the lines. 

“Can’t a man just speak from the heart?”

The melancholy smile didn’t meet the wrinkles of time decorating his eyes, but they shared a laugh anyway.  Suguru turned away but was promptly drawn back. 

“My beautiful boy.” 

The fisherman cradled his son’s face. Swimming in the eyes that Suguru once hated. The eyes that convinced his birth mother to abandon him. 

“Make it to shore, son.” Suguru rested his head against his father’s neck. Taking a slow, sweet drag of his scent.

Oak. 

He always smelled like oak. It was one of Suguru’s favorite things about him.

“If Poseidon calls—“

“I’ll tell him to fuck off.” Mischievous grin plastered on Suguru’s face. His father planted a kiss on his cheek, pushing him towards the end of the boat. As he always did.

Then the Gulf wrapped him in her hostile embrace. 

She was irate. 

Vicious tidal waves. Rapidly shifting currents. Even her creatures knew to settle below their usual depth. Suguru cursed the fact that he was born with useless, human lungs. Unable to withstand the pressure of the Midnight Zone. 

Within minutes his long, lean frame was riding her whims without a shred of control. Tossed around like a rag doll. At her complete mercy — or lack thereof. 

This was the first time he struggled to tame his element. A muffled groan bubbled around him. Serrated edges of long coral stalks dug into his back. Stark white foam whirled around him. 

Aerated waters. 

Suguru could barely maneuver against the waves pummeling his core. Searing heat traveling up his spine. His lungs demanded oxygen. 

The boat. 

The boat would never make it to shore. 

Desperate, furious strokes of his arms meant nothing against her unrelenting grasp. Effectively pinning Suguru to his underwater cross. 

A piece of chewed plank wood whizzed by his face. 

Followed by another. 

Then another. 

And Suguru watched his nightmare materialize before his eyes. Mustering his last oxygen reserve, he bellowed against his closed lips.

As if she hadn’t already ignored the cries of his fellow fisherman. 

Even still, he screamed so loud his ribcage should have vaporized. But ushering him to a watery grave at that time would have been too merciful. 

Suguru blinks out of the harrowing memory. The steeping tea takes at least two layers of epithelium off his esophagus.

Fucking, hell. 

He can’t seem to escape pain today.

The swim was excruciating.

Mass was dreadful.

Watching that boy’s hand lay on your lap was grating. 

Suguru’s mind drifts back to you. Your thought washes over him like baptizing waters purifying that which is impure.

The gleam in your eyes when you asked about his morning plunge. Barely a week and your pulse on him is already this precise.

Do not covet, Suguru. 

He scoffs to himself. Shaking free of your tempting spiral. 

This ‘straight and narrow’ path is proving to be more challenging than he let on. 

“Would you be proud, Father?” 

A whisper of accusation at the end of his inquiry. Suguru would give his arms, his eyes…his life to hear his father’s voice on the other end of his questions, once again. 

“Did He tell you?” 

Roaring silence. Of course. He knows that. He expects it. 

But it angers him all the same. 

“Did He come to you in a dream??” Suguru echos louder. More frantic. Punched out in a way he can barely recognize. 

“Was the reaper at His left, my heart on the right?!” A weak sob slips through the crack in his baritone. 

Yet another pain. But this one is tart and blurring his vision. 

“Did you KNOW? D—did you know that day was your last?!” He hisses through a salty stream.  Storming out to the garden to escape the walls collapsing in on him. 

Suguru’s eyes laser to the remaining thorny vines along his bed of hydrangeas. Without a second thought he wraps them around his bare arms. Staining the plant and his freshly bathed skin with crystalline tears. Once its thorns sufficiently bury into his skin he rips it away from the soil with all his might. 

“Bastard. I’m your SON.”

Warm metallic drips down the hills and ridges of his arms. Collecting in the flower bed. 

Is he cursing his earthly father? 

His Heavenly One? 

Or the Deity that brought this grief on him in the first place?

It hurts. 

An unforgiving pain. 

Much like the thorns in those rapids. Much like the inconceivable burn from his lungs begging for expanse. The time limit, even for him, ran lethally low. 

Well exceeding his father’s time limit. 

Poseidon stole from him that day.  

A callous trade for Suguru’s continued existence. 

“Why didn’t you…I—I should’ve been there.” 

Guilt eviscerates Suguru’s remaining resolve. Tilting his head up, he lets the salty crystals rain down his cheeks freely. 

The full moon cradles his face with the same warmth, the same adoration his father’s hands used to. 

Suguru accepts its celestial kisses for a moment before burying his face into his bloodied palms. His damp locks curtain his flushed face. Protecting the world from his unruly sobs.

“I’m here.” Barely audible words escape through desperate grabs for air. 

“I made it to shore, Dad.”

E/N: Oh hello, don’t mind me just sobbing. Also, guest appearance by our glorious Blue Eyed Babygirl King™️ If you need me, I will be in witness protection before Gege finds this since it’s a crime to be a S*toru lover. 

taglist: @blkkizzat @rotteneyess

[kiratastic]

Part 16&17 of "No Nightingales?"

Oops it shouldn't be this late! 😂😂

Crowley idolised by nightingales, how adorable isn't it?

And already spotted an admirer 😂

With the most sacred number ever, 7 nightingales! Wahoo!!!

And the kiss had to be, my dears!

He got peckish!!! 😂😂

Is anyone still surprised?

We all want these two to kiss like this!!!!

Stay tuned! 😎

Only available on Tumblr and Instagram!

@goodomensafterdark

Here is Part 15

[lavandulawrites]

plzz.. yandere sunday x reader 🙏🙏🙏

A Crimson Dream

Yandere Sunday x reader

Sunday is truly an interesting character. I absolutely adore his eerie vibe.

Masterlist

Warnings: Imprisoned reader, manipulative Sunday, severed limb (not reader’s nor Sunday’s)

Word count: 892

The parlour was dimly lit except for some candles and the exquisite decorated fireplace. The book in your hand had long become boring. You casted a glance across the lavish room. By a perfectly polished mahogany desk, sat Sunday. His face bore a concerted expression. His brows furrowed in a delicate frown as his long fingers gripping a violet fountain pen to the point of almost breaking. He was truly beautiful.

You watched him silently as he wrote. He was a man of elegance, his every movement fluid and planned. “My dare dove, I am so very flattered that you have taken your time to observe me for 15 minutes, but do you not think you should continue reading?” his honeyed voice snapped you out of your little trance.

You swallowed. “I suppose so.”

His yellow eyes found yours. “I think it is time for a break for the both of us” he rose from his chair and made his way over to your seat with long and elegant steps. He placed his gloved hand in front of you and smiled so very sweetly.

His grip on your hand was tight as you walked towards the dining hall. He gave you small glances, while he maintained his graceful demeanour.

A servant opened up the grand doors upon your arrival, with a deep bow.

He leaded you to your designated seating and held out your chair. “I got the chef to prepare something extra exquisite today my dear” he smiled as he took his seat. You interest picked at his statement.

“I can’t wait” you smiled. He had told you the very day that he had you taken to his mansion that you were expected to follow his rules. Which contained of you talking to him with respect.

His pale lips pulled up into a smile. The wings behind his ears fluttered.

You turned your attention to the crystal wine glass filled with blood red wine. The wine reflected your expression. Your eyes had become slightly duller since you had been taken to Sunday’s residence.

The door to the kitchen suddenly opened, which startled you greatly. Sunday chuckled at your reaction. Where it not for his eerie eyes and the unreadable expression of his, the sound would be akin to a gift bestowed upon your pitiful ears from the gods.

A silver dish with a nightingale engraved cloche where sat in front of you. A identical one where placed in front of Sunday. The chef bowed with his hand on his back “I hope it is to your tastes.”

“Oh I am sure it is. Thank you” Sunday smiled. With a wave of his hand he dismissed all the servants, as well as the chef. His gloves where no where to be seen as he lifted the lid of his dish. A delicate arranged lamb dish. “It smells lovely” Sunday hummed as he inhaled the scent.

You extended your arm in order to lift the lid. With a slightly shaky hand, you lifted the lid. Why was your hand shaking?

No.

No this can’t be.

On a blank silver plate in a bed of the greenest lettuce, laid the head of your former boyfriend. His green eyes staring blankly at yours. His brown hair where styled in a perfect sliced back hair style, giving him the appearance of a aristocrat. Which was the opposite of the man you knew. In his mouth were a white rose tainted by blood.

You screamed and pushed your chair back. Your heart hammered in your chest. You could feel bile rising up in your throat.

“What is the matter, love?” Sunday patted his mouth with a clothed napkin. “Do you not like it? I had the chef prefer it especially for you” he tilted his head with a soft smile. His voice as soft as the feathers off his wings.

“How… how could you?” your voice shaky as you furiously tried to blink away tears. The grey haired man looked at you with a intense expression.

“Do you not understand? He was once a hindrance, a disturbance of the harmony” his lips twisted into a eerie smile. “But I rid the world of the disturbance in order to create peace and harmony. For you.”

He rose from his chair and stalked his way over to your seat with determined, but fluid steps. “You are too innocent for this world, too kind. He was a distraction from my love” his golden eyes filled with nothing but obsession and insanity.

Tears rolled down the apple of your cheeks, creating wet rivers. He crunched in front of you and took your hand in his. “Do not cry my dear. Everything is okay now. I will protect you and give you happiness and love” his smile never leaving his expression. A cold hand wiped away your tears so tenderly it almost made you cry more. “Should someone ever try to take you away, I will burn this planet to the ground” his tone smooth “Would it not be beautiful with the sea running red of blood from all of our fiends?” His lips gently kissed your cheek. “Just you wait my dear, we will create a new beautiful world, which will exceed all the dreams one could possibly imagine.”

“Just stay here with me and no harm should come upon you”

[vyvilha]

a folk song from chapayevka village, chornobyl region

this type of song is called голосіння (holosinnya — "keening"), and they are usually sang by women over the dead body during the period between death and funeral. in this song, the woman is mourning both her dead son, and the land that they were forced to leave due to the chornobyl disaster.

translation under the cut

We went there

The houses are overgrown

Can't see anything over the weeds

Oh my God

Thirty years had passed

Now I can't even recognize

Neither my house, nor my village

Oh my God, oh my God

Oh my son, my nightingale

My son, my little dove

How far they brought us

And I will never come to you again

And will never see you again

Oh, my land, my golden one

My land, my dear one

Oh, how far they brought us

That I can't come to you

Our roads, our paths are overgrown

And our houses, and everything

I can't even recognize

Not the village, nor any of our backyards

We got lost, can't even find our houses

Oh my God, oh my God

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Nightingale 🕊

Dick Grayson x reader

《A/N》: first piece for Dickie bird!! Truthfully, I just whipped this up really quick for my dear friend @allysunny . There isn't much I can do, but I hope this helps a little bit <33

If it's too personal, let me know, and I'll take it down 🫶🏻

~Fi 🐝

《Content》: lots of comfort from Dick. reader is stressed bc of school work. Dickie being the best boyfriend 🩷

《Word count》: 1.5k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ──☁️── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ──☁️── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Not only the moon that hung high in the sky but the burning light of your laptop illuminated your face as your tired eyes ran over the words again. With a shaky sigh you closed the device and dragged a hand down your face before a frustrated groan left your throat.

Your forehead rested on your desk as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore the salty sting in your eyes and your closing throat.

"Stupid grading system, stupid classmates..." you forced through your tightened throat, hoping that your wrath and frustration would somehow reach your fellow students on a spiritual level and make them stub their toe or spill their hot drink.

Or accidently end up in crossfire from the many shootings taking place in Gotham. You weren't picky.

Your fingers threaded through your hair and tugged at the roots, trying to get the blizzard of feelings out of your chest.

Before you had any chance to stop it, a few hot tears of frustration trickled down your face, adding to the overwhelming state you were in.

The hard wooden surface of your desk started to hurt your head, pressing unpleasantly agaisnt your forehead. A dull and pulling ache ran up your neck as well, courtesy of the weird twisting position it was in. You couldn't find it in yourself to care, pulling at the strands of your hair.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Dick sighed out in relief once he slipped through the window of your shared livingroom. Patrol wasn't too rough tonight, but he could feel the soreness in his muscle setting in.

A fair consequence after being a bit of a show off with his gymnastic skills.

Your warm apartment was a welcome contrast to the biting cold Gotham nights he knew all too well. Dick wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with you and be enveloped by the love that never failed to warm his heart.

He took his mask off his face and ran his hand through his black locks, trying to distract himself from his buzzing skin. The Nightwing suit felt all too tight right now and he couldn’t wait to get it off.

His eyes fell on the bedroom door, slightly ajar, and he cocked a brow. You should be asleep. He let out a sharp breath. He'd told you to sleep. But deep down he knew you'd be up and about the second you heard the window close.

"Stubborn girl..." he grumbled, albeit with a soft and worried intention behind his words.

You could see the door being pushed open from the corner of your eye as a big block of black and blue stepped in.

"Honey..." he said softly followed by a sigh after seeing your hunched over and distraught form at your desk.

"Hi Dickie." You replied, absolutely defeated. The feelings of anger and frustration had faded and left was only the deep sadness of being treated so unfairly.

"Hey, pretty..." his brows scrunched together, not liking how sad and tired you sounded.

"What's wrong, hm? 'Told you to get some sleep." He spoke quietly, prying your hands away from tugging at your hair and replacing them with his, gently petting your locks.

His touch made it even harder to fight the tears you've been trying to hold in. All you wanted was for him to hold you and make everything go quiet, even if it was just for tonight.

You stayed silent for a moment, Dick kneeling next to you.

"Got an e-mail about that presentation.." you explained, ready to break into tears at the mere thought of it. He gently turned your head so you could see him.

"Give me five minutes to get out of this suit and I'm yours, alright? You can tell me all about." He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and you nodded your head.

His comforting touch left you in the blink of an eye as he whisked off to the bathroom. With a quick rummage through his drawer, he was already prying at his spandex prison.

Luckily, he had nimble fingers and was back at your side within the promised five minutes, much more comfortable and ready to be your shoulder to cry on.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Let's get tucked in, yeah?" His voice was gentle and soothing, drawing you in like it always did.

Dick took your hand and helped you into bed, knowing well that you didn't need his assistance physically but that you needed to be cared for right now.

You were cuddled up next to him, wrapped in his embrace and your cozy blanket while he stroked your cheek. He frowned slightly at the couple of salty streaks that had ready dried on your skin.

"Are you okay to tell me what happened?" He asked carefully, not wanting to overstep. You took in a shaky breath.

"D'you remember that project I told you about? You know, that hig presentation with lots of other people?" He hummed in response, listening attentively.

"Well... they fucked it up. None of them were prepared, they were sputtering like a rusty engine- one chick even finished her text while one member was already presenting." You complained, feeling the distaste for such unreliable people bubble up in your chest once again.

"And now..." there was a slight crack in your voice when you spoke, making Dick holding you just a little bit tighter," they're dragging me down with them. I was prepared, I did good, but I get a shit grade too now. It's not fair."

You choked on the last word, finally letting the tears spill. You were already so overwhelmed with work, with things you needed to do that you had no time for, you didn't need a grade you needed to fix just because studying was such a foreign concept to some people.

"It's not fair, Dickie..." you cried, head resting on his shoulder with his head on top of yours. His heart cracked a little. You were such a hard worker, always going above and beyond to achieve your goals. Only to be dragged down due to a chain reaction.

"I'm sorry, baby, you don't deserve that. I know how hard you worked on that. Those assholes didn't even try.." he huffed, wiping at your ever flowing tears.

"A-And now the teacher sent an e-mail which is basically just her saying how disappointed she is and that we're doing terrible." You sobbed, needing all that stress to go somewhere. Dick maneuvered you even closer to him, stroking your back at a comforting pace.

"If anything, they're doing terrible. You did great, honey, okay? You'll figure it out. And I'll be here to support you, you know that. I'm sure you can contact the teacher and work something out. But I just want you to know- look at me.." he said softly, tilting your head to look at him. It pained him to be see you so upset.

He much preferred your pretty lips pulled up into a bright smiled instead of the wobbly pout with tear stained cheeks it was in now.

"I want you to know... that everything will be okay. You will be okay. I promise you." His voice was clear but quiet and soft as he gently bumped his nose against yours.

"You will be okay." He whispered, holding you tightly as you got the last of your sobs out and your breathing evened. They were sweet murmurs against your temple as he had you pressed against his chest, stroking your hair.

Dick held you as the moon shone through the window, he held you until it was covered by clouds and you were plunged into a grey darkness. He held you and wiped and kissed your tears away even as faint peak of colors emerged from the horizon. You were exhausted with puffy eyes as you laid in his embrace, the burden on your chest lightened for now.

You glanced up and saw how dark the bags under his eyes were, but despite that, he was still smiling down on you with a look so sweet and loving you could feel your teeth ache.

"How 'bout we make ourselves a cozy day tomorrow, hm? I'll read you Pride and Prejudice, we can have some cake, cuddle all day.." he trailed off, have of it in a slur as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"I'd love that." You sighed with a sleepy smile, tangling your fingers together.

"You can sing for me, too.." Dick yawned, scooching further down the bed and tucking himself under the blanket, with you tightly held to his chest, of course. You giggled softly, craning your neck to press a kiss to his cheek.

"My lovely, little Nightingale..." he murmured, a dopey smile on his lips.

"I love you, Dickie bird." You said softly, bringing your lips to his in a sweet kiss before sleep took you away.

"I love you more, honey." He mumbled against your lips, content as ever, with his beloved Nightingale snug in his embrace.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ──☁️── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You're gonna be okay, I promise <3

More of my works --> 💫

《DC taglist》: @certifiedredhoodlover @allysunny @hellonheels-x @gaozorous-rex-blog

[strwbmei]

Adjutant Nightingale is such a sweetheart. I need to *** her until she **** all over my *** and ***** * **** *** **** the bed.

nsfw utc (chief!reader)

So like. Nightingale right?? I imagine it all started with a simple celebration. One too many drinks for the both of you that led to a steamy one night stand; a blissful mistake for Nightingale that she vowed to never repeat again. She won't deny that she's had feelings for you for a while now, but if she ever decides to act on them, it'd be through proper courtship. It's what you deserve, Nightingale thinks.

You don't remember anything, so the two of you decide to continue being co-workers and nothing more. At least, for a while. It didn't take long before you started yearning for her touch. Nightingale has no qualms with denying herself of her desires, but when you ask her with eyes hazed with lust, how can she say no?

You've gone from "just co-workers" to something more. Yet, you can't help but notice that it's always her who does all the work. Of course, you've offered to return the favor many times before, but Nightingale insists that she much prefers giving over receiving. While she isn't lying, that's only because she's never tried it the other way around.

So when you finally convince her to let you eat her out, it's obvious how hard she's trying to stop herself from squirming or closing her thighs. You can't help but find this side of Nightingale absolutely adorable. Who knew that the woman who could fuck you for hours on end could be this sensitive?

The poor girl doesn't even know where to put her hands when she feels herself nearing orgasm. One is gripping the sheets for dear life while the other is covering her mouth. (Honestly, you can still hear her very clearly from how loud she's being, but you don't have the heart to tell her. Plus, it's cute.)

When you feel her legs shake as she cums all over your tongue, you know that you'll have to do this more often <3

[vasiliquemort]

As the poet dies with unfinished song, Nightingale's groan shall fill night all along As his gift is tart - as honey of wild, As words can't be spoken, and the silence - his bile

I shall come when stars are dark, when the moon is blind, In the dark hour of hound, under your gaze entwined I shall stand and say "come, oh come, heart of mine, Allow me to see your dear face once again - in my mire.."

[fellshish]

Helloooo I just finished season 2 and I need SOME KIND OF CLOSURE DAMNIT do you have any favorite fics that might help with this???

Of course my dear, i got you <3 these all provide post good omens s2 happy endings:

We can’t keep meeting like this (65k, E): a rollercoaster of a fic really, some very memorable oyster-related scenes

No rest for the wicked (24k, M): funny emotional shenanigans with crowley-muriel friendship and an aziracrow happy ending

Dead nightingales still sing (6k, T): aziraphale returns to the earth after a year in heaven. Poetic sentences i want tattood on my body

Covenant of salt (18k, E): angry post s2 sex but very thoughtfully written

A bit of a gray area (7k, E): humour! Pining! Bangers of lines!

I’m the treasure baby, i’m the prize (9k, E): crowley is ‘working’ at mrs sandwich post s2. She gets him <3

Drinking buddies & diaries (31k, not rated): currently reading and enjoying. Crowley reads aziraphale’s diaries…

Jesus etc (7k, G): going to rec one of my own three s2 fix-its, this one is about aziraphale and crowley trying to distract jesus to postpone the second coming, the most lighthearted one lol

I invite anyone to rec more season 2 fix-its, their own or others’

[aslashphoenix]

So, it’s time that we discuss GO2 ending and why I think Metatron has ASSURED the success of the INEFFABLE PLAN a.k.a, the second coming. (Or has he?)

So first things first: the obvious.

After 6.000 years together on earth, we have established, with any trace of doubt that Crowley and Aziraphale LOVE EACH OTHER. 

We’ve also learned that Demons have morals (by Crowley refusing to destroy everything Job holds dear). And that Angels can be TEMPTED (by Aziraphale accepting the food and lying not only to the archangels but to the SUPREME archangel, that those were Job’s new kids). 

So, that brings us to the declaration. 

Crowley it’s trying so hard to make Aziraphale see that he loves him, completely and unapologetically. That they are more than Heaven and Hell, they are an US.

During that speech, we see Aziraphale very conflicted. He jumps from happy to confused, to sad and angry. He even forcefully pleads Crowley to accept going to heaven with him, using every word that he knows works, in hopes to change his mind (He was desperate when he blared that “I NEED YOU”). 

But Crowley doesn't yield, he's still trying to make Aziraphale realize he's wrong for choosing Heaven over them. Which brings me to this dialogue: 

C: “Listen, do you hear that”  A: “I don't hear anything”  C: “That's the point, no nightingales”. “You idiot, we could have been US”

At that exact moment, Aziraphale looks away from temptation, because let's be clear, Crowley IS TEMPTING HIM. But when Crowley sees that words won't reach him, he launches into a desperate kiss, pouring all his heart. 

When they brake apart, Aziraphale looks distressed, almost on the brink of tears. He is fighting too many emotions within himself and you can see a split moment when he almost says yes to Crowley, but instead, he resisted temptation by saying “I forgive you”

But why you ask? Why is Aziraphale trying so hard to resist Crowley's temptation? Simple: Metatron. 

Metatron used his celestial powers of conviction on Aziraphale by using the coffee as a ploy for his manipulations, but not by spiking it. Metatron went to earth with one simple plan in mind: Make Aziraphale convince Crowley to convert into an Angel or break them apart.  

When Metatron arrived, Aziraphale was clearly uncomfortable with his presence and made quite clear that he had no intention of hearing him out, “I don’t believe there’s anything left to be said. I’ve made my position quite clear.” but then, everything changed with this conversation:

A: “You brought me a coffee?” M: ”Are you going to take it?” A: ”Shal I…?” M: “Drink it? Of course. I’ve ingested things in my time, you know.“ A: “It’s …Oh, it’s very nice”.  M: “Yes, I should jolly well hope so”

This for me, it’s the utmost form of manipulation from Metatron. The coffee represents an olive branch, offered as a ruse for Aziraphale to completely trust him and let his guard down, by implying that he is not so righteous himself and also enjoys the guilty pleasures that humankind has to offer (let's remember that Angels do not require eating for sustenance, so when Aziraphale does it, it's simply for the pleasure of it. Something viewed as a lack of strong morals for an Angel). Metatron even reinforced this by smiling at him, knowingly.

But he is clearly FAKING THIS, because the second Aziraphale can't see him, he looks at Crowley with utmost disgust. (I firmly believe that was Metatron who Crowley spoke to, about his suggestions on God's plan for the universe. Marking him a person non grata, and by default a Fallen Angel).(Also golden star to Metatron for not just getting Aziraphale out of his safe space (the bookshop), but also for getting him away from the person that could smell his bullshit speech from miles away: Crowley)

The next bit of the conversation is filled with pleasantries towards Aziraphale, saying that he is the only Angel fitted for the position.“ You are a leader, you are honest and don’t just tell people what they what to hear” And while you might think that those are good things, they are actually the qualities that Metatron HATES about Aziraphale. 

Metatron played Aziraphale expertly, making him VERY EXITED for the prospect of going back. Because If he can change how things are done in Heaven, that means that Heaven was not the problem but the people running it (and by default, making him a good Angel by lying just to save Job’s children). He could even make space for someone like Crowley, who is neither good nor bad. In other words, Aziraphale intends to PAINT HEAVEN IN DIFFERENT SHADES OF GREY, so he and Crowley could be TOGETHER on the “right side”.  

That’s why you can see how pained Aziraphale looked after Crowley left the bookshop and almost backtracked his decision. He didn't because his desire to fix things and create a just and truly good system is greater than Crowley's temptation.

(Aziraphale is saying: The system is unfair and I can change it. FOR YOU, FOR US. Whereas Crowley: The system works as intended. This is not a Bug, but a Feature. We should stay out of it, in OUR SIDE, TOGETHER).

But why would Metatron, a supreme celestial being care about any of this? Because he FEARS THEM.

It was very early established that Demons and Angels are enemies and should not, under any circumstance dwell or interact with each other, because they are hereditary enemies. But what if that's not the real reason? What if Angels and Demons should not work together because they would become extremely powerful? 

Through the ages, Crowley has been making miracles for Aziraphale and vice versa, but the first time that they perform a miracle TOGETHER, the Lazarus scale went bananas, saying that that magnitude of power could only be compared to a supreme archangel. And all that happened while they were trying to perform the tiniest of miracles. Imagine what they can achieve by truly joining forces.

TOGETHER as HEAVEN AND HELL, they have the power to tip the balance and frustrate what Metatron think is the ineffable plan. 

So, with the second coming afoot, it’s only logical to eliminate that threat. Whether by transforming Crowley into an angel and getting reed off his Hell powers, or by removing Aziraphale from earth and by default, Crowley.

Metatron made a gamble and he thought he won, but he lost.

If we know anything about these characters it's that they could always rely on each other “I can always rely on you and you could always rely on me” The love and care that they share for each other it’s a crack on Metatron’s manipulations, that  will grow and shatter his plan. (At first, Aziraphale will truly believe that he is making a difference and that he can change Heaven like Metatron implied, but soon he will learn the truth: Heaven and Hell won't change unless forced to). 

These two ARE THE INEFFABLE PLAN that God designed: 

Bringing BALANCE INTO THE UNIVERSE by destroying Heaven and Hell, not their residents, but the institutions themselves. No more Heaven, no more Hell, just celestial beings going as far as they can with what they think is right. 

[purpleberiii]

"My dear soulmate"

☆Prompt: In which the Adjutant refuses to acknowledge the soul mate mark shared by you and her. After the mark was removed, Adjutant realised that she needed you but it was too late.

☆Warnings: Angst, Slight comfort at the end with another sinner, reader being a sinner.

It wasn't planned nor was it expected. The hardworking, strict Adjutant bearing a mark similar to that of a dangerous sinner. One whom she depised with all her heart; though sometimes her heart tells her things she doesn't like to hear.

If she could have a chance to pick another soulmate she would but god not you. Anyone but you. Why did she despise you this much? WS it because you are a sinner? Or is it because she cannot be seen with such a person?

Either way, Nightingale made it her duty to turn you down everytime you attempted to talk to her. Poor you just wanted to connect to your soulmate but she had different plans.

Your personality was kind, gentle and caring; things that a sinner wasn't expected to have. Such personality could only be owned by angels and not demons like you.

Everyone inside the Bureau knew about the mark and despite the fear Nightingale had that they would judge her, they didn't. She heard numerous times from different persons that a soulmate is the most wonderful thing, to which she'd only scoffed and walk away.

Every morning when the Adjutant comes to your cell, you'd sit by peacefully with a smile on your face, trying to start up a conversation, offering compliments everytime you saw her. On Valentines, you even went out of your way to buy tons of chocolates and flowers, even a big Teddy bear.

She of course, threw it all away, and unbeknownst to her, you witnessed the way she kicked open the bin and poured every chocolate and flowers, but she didn't throw away the Teddy. Though she acted heartless, in the back of her mind thought it was cute but her neglecting out weighed her acceptance.

She found herself doing things that she didn't even realise, she never thought she'd acted that way. Even the Chief at some point told her that she's disappointed with the way she acted and to have her beloved Cheif being disappointed, it was like a nightmare.

She blamed you. Though she didn't have a valid reason, she did. And through her hate, she sent you on an expedition, one that she was well aware of that it was dangerous to an extent that even the Chief was prohibited from going. Part of her wanted to cancel your mission but the other part still sent you.

When you came back all bloodied and barely making it to the doors of the Bureau, Nightingale watched it horror as an oxygen mask was hurriedly placed and you were quickly rushed to the hospital. In a state of shock, she sat motionless in her office of an hour until the Chief came in, an angry expression written on her face.

"You knew it was dangerous! Why did you send her?!"

"..." No words came out of her mouth.

"I'm very disappointed in you! Be it whether you're the leader of the Nineth Agency or my Adjutant, my sinners' health comes first and I won't tolerate anyone who jeopardises that. You're suspended for a month Nightingale and until you can get your mind set straight, I suggest you don't contact me or y/n."

Those words hit the Adjutant like a knife and in a slow and steady motion she packed up her things and left. Whispers could be heard from everyone as she passed by.

In that same night, she had a strange voice talk to her in her sleep. Though the voice was gentle, an unhinged tone it portrayed. "You defied the rules of fate for you had neglected the one true mate given to yourself. You will be free from her, but you shall never find another one who will treat you the same."

In a daze of fear she woke up, sweating and trembling. The atmosphere felt heavy and she huddled up in her covers and weeped.

While you were in the hospital, laying unconscious on the bed with machines hooked around you, a strange voice spoke you to as well. "My child, you have been neglected by your one true mate. Fate had not planned that for you but, you shall be free of your mark and of the pain and agony you felt with your previous mate. You will now be free to choose whomever you wish to be with." A hand stroked your head and you were awakened by the touch. It felt like an angel had touched you.

You woke up to find Hamel by your bed side, a gentle yet concerned look on her face. "You're finally awake. How are you feeling?" You stared at Hamel in a daze and felt a burning sensation. As you looked, you saw your mark being faded away slowly and Nightingale's face flashed once more in your mind. Thus the relationship between you and Hamel began.

When Nightingale returned to work, she immediately looked for you. She spotted you in the hallway, making your way back to your cell. She made it in time to grab your hand and throw her body into your arms, sobbing loudly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please forgive me! Please..."

You just pushed her off you and she slid down the floor, tears pouring out of her eyes like a waterfall. When her eyes met the sight of your hugging Hamel, she knew she was done for. She didn't see the mark on you but her marked was still present.

It was her punishment from Fate. As the mark will still be present, she will be without a mate for all of her life and if she falls in love, the person shall never return her love.

"My dear soulmate. I'm sorry..."

[emeritus-fuckers]

Any kind of Secondo fluff? Comfort maybe?

i fucking had to - rat

"The plushie" Papa Emeritus II x Reader [drabble]

"Amore, my sweet, my nightingale, what in the actual Hell is this?"

You looked up from your phone (you were, rather shamelessly, watching edits of your sugar daddy of a boyfriend) with a small hum before chuckling at what he was holding in his hand, visibly displeased (maybe even disgusted) at the object.

"That, Secondo, happens to be a plushie."

His gaze turned from slightly confused to straight up unamused. If you pushed enough of his buttons, maybe you'd even get one of his infamous glares. Although truthfully, he was a lot less scary when he wasn't wearing his paint.

"I am aware of that, my dear."

"Then why ask?"

"What is that plushie supposed to be, exactly?"

"It's you."

"It's hideous."

"Blame the model."

If you were anyone else, he'd probably scoff and throw in an insult. However, since it was you, he limited himself to just the scoff. And a few cursewords he mumbled in Italian, looking at the plushie version of himself. It was horrible, as ugly as the Copia ones. Or perhaps even uglier.

He ended up putting the plushie down on your bed, right where he found it... before swatting it away, letting it fall to the floor with a disgusted look.

"I do not want this thing in our bed, amore."

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement. You could already tell what you were about to witness for the next few days - a grown man having a one-sided conflict with a plushie replica of his.

You just had to tell Terzo about this.

~

Written by Nosferatu.

[ineffablehubbys]

Okay but imagine this is how good omens s3 ends:

Ext, Southdown cottage, Aziraphale and Crowley sat together on a bench beneath and apple tree, drinking wine, Crowleys arm over Aziraphales shoulders.

Crowley: angel…

Aziraphale: yes my dear

Crowley: you hear that?

Aziraphale gives Crowley a happy, knowing look (you know the one) and rests his head on Crowleys shoulder.

Camera slowly pans up into the apple tree where a nightingale is singing. Fades into ‘a nightingale sang in Berkeley square’ as camera pans out to show the Southdown cottage/ garden and the credits start playing.

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Vampire's Kiss | Chapter Four

Pairing | Vampire!Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 5,6k

Warnings | +18, MC and Jungkook joke a lot, fluff and some sensuality (smut in the next chapter 🤧) but also angst, provocation and threat at work, one of MC's bosses doesn't seem like a very good person 💀 (JK where are you?)

⤷ Summary | Humans have finally unveiled and accepted the centuries-old existence of vampires, in a modern world people share their lives with these peculiar and mysterious creatures, but it is not all roses.

Will two souls belonging to such different species be able to be together?

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! 🥹❤️

I'm finally back with a new chapter of VK, if you've read my previous posts then you'll know that I'm really writing a lot of stories at the moment that I can't wait for you to read, so I hope you enjoy this chapter in the meantime ❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie @peterstarkchrishiddleston @reallygenerouskoala @btsuga-d @angelicsmilesworld @jimincrystal @velvet-stardust2002 @ke1k029 @kylafox09 @pantara @takemeaway5402 @jkslaugh97

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It has officially been two weeks since your acquaintance with Jungkook began and things are going well. You just need to find a way to communicate to your family that ... well, their firstborn is seriously considering marriage to a vampire. Not that they have the right to decide for you or anything, and you also know that your mother would support you in anything, but the real big hurdles to overcome answer to the names of Dad and Mirae.

They will not be happy with such news, your sister might even try to assassinate him at the first possible opportunity, you shudder at the very thought of such a thing, you hope that Jungkook's beauty will divert her from committing such actions.

You are just thinking of calling your mother when the phone starts ringing nonstop, you check the name on the display and a smile arises spontaneously.

<<To what do I owe the honor of this call, Mr. Jeon?>>.

You hear laughter on the other end of the line, <<Uhm...I don't know, maybe I have good news for my sweet little human?>>.

You blush at the last words, but decide to tease him a little, <<Mr. Jeon finally decided to date yours truly?>>.

It is not unusual for company managers to work overtime, but Jungkook is working far too much of it. You haven't seen him since that evening at the beach spent exchanging first kisses and promises, since which time his schedule has become so busy as to be intolerable, at least for you.

You hear a whine on the other end of the phone, much like the whine of a puppy.

<<I don't like this distance either.... Seokjin is busy with wedding preparations and has left everything to us, Jimin is getting more and more distracted and it's up to me to sort out the messes he makes, sorry, it's hellish days>> it's not hard for you to imagine why Jimin is so uncaring, with parents like his there's a lot to lose your mind.

<<All right, all right... it's just that I miss you>> you mumble shyly covering your face, even though you are in the copy room and there is no one there to watch you.

<<Don't say that... this is where the good stuff comes in, Jimin has made Jin aware of the situation your company is in, a meeting has been arranged and it is likely that we will meet there>>.

You widen your eyes, trying to suppress the shriek that almost escapes your mouth. Jimin really did his part! When you see him again, you will jump on his neck to crush him in a strong hug.

And then... Jungkook will see where you work. You will meet as colleagues and ... e... oh, dear. You imagine him in a suit and tie, it must be such a sexy sight to-.

<<I know what you're imagining>> he hums like a nightingale, making your heart flutter.

<<What? I'm not imagining anything at all>> you immediately get defensive, unable to control the tremor in your tone.

<<So you didn't just imagine me in a suit and tie, did you?>> but what the fuck-, <<And you didn't imagine our eyes meeting with longing, me taking you by the hand ... to lead you into the copy room in the throes of a sudden urge, locking the door behind us to be left alone, you and me, in the complete intimacy of darkness>> you stare around alarmed, but what the fuck-.

<<How did you know I was in the copy room?>>.

<<I didn't know, I just guessed, you're at work and yet there's too much silence in the air around you, plus that's where I'd have the time of my life with my work colleague slash wonderful girl>>.

He wants to kill you or what, exactly?! Then to say such things while you are clearly in working hours, where everyone could hear him talking like that... that guy is your pleasurable torture.

<<This wonderful girl might decide to close the phone in your face in case you don't stop saying such nonsense!>> you blurt out with burning ears, cautiously looking at the door.

<<You won't, if you like me at least a little, you won't>> he says with great conviction.

You rest your back against the wall.

<<I like you very much, Mr. Jeon>>.

You close your eyelids and in the darkness that greets you you see him, sitting behind his desk with the phone handset pressed to his ear, a grin plastered on those perpetually rosy lips, his big dark eyes scrolling across the screen of his company computer. In your fantasy he has the first buttons of his shirt open, his long, wavy hair instead pulled back, leaving on display that pristine forehead on which you would have left a million kisses.

<<I really like you too, Y/N>>.

You nod, that may be enough for the moment, <<I know, I just hope you won't make me wait too long>>.

<<So... shall we make it the day after tomorrow?>>.

What?

<<What? What, the day after tomorrow?>> you croak in panic, not understanding what he is referring to.

<<Our date, of course! I want to take you somewhere nice, I've neglected you too much>>.

You smile smugly, suddenly calming down, <<Wow, Jeon Jungkook... you're just the boy of my dreams>>.

<<I was born to be, baby... aish, I have to go now, Yoongi is silently yelling at me to end the call…>> you giggle confusedly, who the heck is Yoongi?

The two of you say an unceremonious goodbye, according to him Yoongi is already in danger of throwing up his breakfast and wants to prevent that from happening.

You take the long-made photocopies from the machine and start to open the door, when you lift your eyes to the figure behind it you immediately jump in fright.

“Yoongyu! Goodness, what are you doing there?” you ask with one hand pressed at heart level, he stares at you strangely with his thin eyes reproachfully.

“Are you dating Jeon Jungkook, Y/N? I hope you know what he is,” you sigh, printing a fake smile on your face.

“A vampire? Yes, I know what he is and I don't care.”

You try to go around him to go straight for your own way, but he holds you by the shoulder, your heart churning anxiously as you cast a glance at his hand in amazement. What on earth is he doing?

Firmly you shrug him off, casting him a warning glance.

“I don't know what your problem is, but you have no right to put your hands on me like that, I hope this never happens again” your mind is stuck on what to do and not to do, he is your superior, but the two of you have always maintained a friendly relationship, even after your breakup. But it is also true that after that breakup he had never again allowed himself to touch you, not even in a gesture of greeting, so what the heck is wrong with him now?

He does not seem disturbed by your words, in fact, he smiles at them, “Are you going to let a vampire do it for me, then? Think about it, I put more than just a hand on you in the past, and I gave you all the time you needed to come back to me, now you come out seeing a vampire? And then, what? Are you going to look for a way to bring little monsters like him into the world? Don't be ridiculous and come back to me,” he tries again to touch you, this time stroking a lock of your hair, but once again you push him away.

Inside you feel like you're dying, your stomach is twisting from a sickening feeling. Who did you get so close to?

All the happiness you felt during your conversation with Jungkook has vanished into the air, in front of you is a real monster, one of those that hides in the shadows with a nice reassuring smile, posing as a human.

“Move over, Director. I don't have time to waste with you.”

He shakes his head, behind his eyes you can read irritation.

“You treat one of your superiors like this? Valentine had told me about this vampire fixation of yours, I investigated convinced it was just one of her usual nonsense, instead it's all true...I never expected such behavior from you, have you already forgotten me so easily with one of them?” you swallow your own air, you don't even have any saliva left to swallow, you stare over his shoulder in search of any exit, but block the passage entirely, there was little you could do.

“We ended our acquaintance because we wanted different things, do you remember that?”

“Yes, the excuse that you wanted something serious and I didn't... bullshit, the only obstacle at the moment is my mother, she wants me to marry an heiress, I could never let her down so I had decided to let you go... but to hear that you will so quietly give yourself to a bloodsucker fills me with anger, am I really that forgettable to you?”

You look at him in dismay, not only because he is talking to you so arrogantly, but also because of all the mean things he is spewing about vampires, about Jungkook.

“I'm telling you again, get out of my way before I scream,” you hiss forcefully despite your trembling legs, you know you'd have little to do against him, but that wouldn't stop you from defending yourself should the need arise, his status be damned.

But to your surprise he shifts, although his expression remained insolent.

“I need you to make a decision, don't make me wait too long, I'll be around for you.”

You take a big breath, trying to calm down, “I've already made a decision, I'm going to get on with my life and you need to stay out of it, before I report you,” you answer him harshly, before hurriedly stepping over him, returning to your office, ignoring his derisive chuckle.

There you find Valentine talking on the phone absentmindedly, your anger goes into your bloodstream as soon as you realize how quiet she is, despite the situation she has put you in, and you find your outlet, suddenly one of your hands slams down on the desk hard, right in front of her, who jumps in fright and stares at you shocked, as if you have suddenly gone crazy, hastily closes the call and then yells at you.

“What the hell is wrong with you!”

“How dare you tell Yoongyu my personal affairs! I don't think you had the right!” you are deaf to the pain in your hand, at that moment you would love to encircle her neck with your hands so that you could choke her with extreme comfort, but you try to control yourself.

Valentine pales, “W-Wait a minute! He was the one who asked me for information!”

Information?

“Information of what kind, Valentine?” you growl at her.

She wrings her hands in agitation, there you realize she's done more than just blurt out your experiences with boys lately.

“He wanted to know if you were dating ... and I told him you're hooked on that vampire app by now!” then she also says more, to your horror, ”He also wanted your personal phone number, said it was an emergency because he couldn't reach you on the one you use for work, and then ...”

Fuck, what else would there be?

“She asked me where you usually went out to eat when you went out, I thought you'd like to be wooed by someone like him, you're too hung up on those vampires, and Yoongyu is handsome, rich, and most of all, human!” she exclaims as if you have to necessarily agree with her. You, on the other hand, are realizing more and more that you have been working all this time with an unconscious madwoman.

“Maybe he didn't have my phone number because I didn't want him to have it? Did it seem smart to you to give it to him without even asking my consent, you jolly goose! Besides, you don't get to decide who I should or should not date! Get it through that empty head of yours!”

“What else could I do? He's the boss here and what he wants he'll get, don't think I wanted to give it to him so easily anyway! I resisted at first!”

You bring your hands to your face, betrayed so foolishly by one who should know absolutely nothing about you in the first place, fucking camaraderie among colleagues, “Don't you dare lie to me so shamelessly, we all know that everything you come to know then the rest of the building knows!”

Evidently your rant must have hurt her, since she leaves the office crying, but at that moment it matters little to you; you have much else to think about now. You collapse in your chair, exhausted. This is something to be taken seriously, so you have to talk to someone about it? Should you report it, so that if something happened to you, suspicion would be immediately on him?

And should you let Jungkook know about this situation?

Shake your head immediately, you need calm. You can't ruin someone's career in case it was words dictated solely by the anger of the moment, his distaste for vampires has poisoned his good judgment, that's all.

Nothing was going to happen.

Plus there was confidence between you, perhaps he thought you would not be bothered by that attitude of his, no matter how villainous.

But despite those thoughts, the next few hours are hell.

Once you leave work you begin to look around circumspectly, see shadows where there are none and hear nonexistent voices in the stretches of road with fewer people, because you forgot your car keys at home, leading you to make the foolish decision to ride the bus to work because of your laziness?

Do your shoulders curve under the weight of anxiety, are you in trouble?

Exactly two days have passed, nothing of all that you feared has happened. No disturbing messages, no harassing calls, and especially no shadows to haunt you every time you turn a corner. You were right, Yoongyu was all smoke and mirrors, fortunately.

With a calmer mind you continue to prepare for the evening you'll spend with Jungkook, let your hair down on your shoulders, treating it with the best products for its care, you want it to be soft and shiny for him. As for the dress, well, you chose it carefully. You don't know where it will take you, so your choice fell on a high-waisted sugar paper-colored, knee-length, simple and very pretty little dress with matching white heeled shoes and very natural makeup. You nod at your own reflection, you are proud of your appearance that night and nothing will change your opinion.

You take your handbag with everything you need and add a light white stole to it, the weather has been crazy in the last period and from practically summer days it has turned to very cold nights.

As if in a sort of Déjà Vu the doorbell rings gently to let you know there is someone waiting for you, you let out a sigh and arrived at the door you look through the peephole just in case, your eyes follow the smile that immediately opens on your face, this time it is not Jimin your knight.

You open the door wide and a wonderful floral smell invades you, the beautiful bouquet of flowers blocks your view and does not allow you to properly look at the boy who in a short time has become important in your life, you can make out white carnations and red and purple tulips on a bed of primroses, you take the colorful bouquet in your arms and inhale its scent, finally catching sight of Jungkook's angelic face.

“Hello, baby,” he murmurs as he looks at you spellbound, you have to fight against the fire that threatens to pervade your face, and to do so you hide almost completely behind the flowers that in moments cover you entirely.

“Hello to you, Mr. Jeon,” you drink in every detail of his appearance, from the growing hair let loose on his forehead to the jeans that bandage his well-shaped and toned legs, not to mention his chest that barely manages to be contained by the buttons on his navy blue shirt or the thin gold necklace that highlights his perfect neck.

“Before I got here I wanted to take you to dinner, now I'm of the opinion that it would be much better to stay home,” you try to suppress a laugh at the sight of his eyes trying, in vain, not to scan you like an infrared camera.

“Am I not suitable for a date with Jeon Jungkook?”

He shakes his head sorrowfully, “You are so beautiful that I will have to restrain myself from jumping at the throat of anyone who dares to look at you and desire you.”

Those words astonish you in no small way, it's the first time you've heard him say something like that, and in fact he winces.

“I really wouldn't do that, of course! It's against the law to kill, j-just kidding,” he clarifies nervously, blinking slowly.

He said 'It's against the law to kill,' instead of the usual and more typical 'I wouldn't hurt even a fly.'

This is meant to imply that in case of need he would be no trouble, and this strangely doesn't scare you, far from it, it makes you feel protected. He is a vampire, not a human being, and you appreciate every trait of him, from the most human to the most animalistic, even though Jungkook has never shown any of these.

You've never even seen him drink a single drop of blood and he doesn't seem willing to touch the subject, Jimin on the contrary has been happy to explain to you how the issue of nourishment works for vampires, perhaps Jungkook still doesn't feel comfortable with you.

“Jungkook, it is not and will never be a problem for me to hear you say such things, I have said worse in the past,” and it is all true, many times you have hoped that an axe would fall on the head of the usual boy who flirted with you in high school, or that the stupid, lackluster girl in the books would for once twist her ankle on those stilts she dared to call ‘shoes,’ whenever she came to school to threaten you with making her copy your tests.

“Oh, I should think so,” he takes a step toward you, stroking the tip of your nose with a finger in an affectionate gesture, ‘You sure have the face of someone who will never let anyone step on her toes,’ he nods amused, and you give him credit, because that's just the way it is.

You ask him to wait for you there, looking for a vase to put the expensive-looking flowers in, and when you come back you encircle his neck closing your eyes, sticking out your lips in what is a mute request, the kiss is not long in coming and you again enjoy the typical coldness of his soft lips, but this does not detract from the emotional warmth you feel, he is a careful and thoughtful kisser, one of those you can hardly forget.

When he pulls away his eyes are still half-closed and adoring, this makes you quiver internally.

“Can we go now?”

You nod without letting him tell you twice, and arm in arm with him you walk to his car parked a few meters away from your house, during the short walk you notice that your body is warmed only by his clothes, not his skin, how different can he be from you? Curiosity eats at you like a woodworm, you would love to ask him more about his species, but any time seems unsuitable for such a topic.

He gently opens the door for you, waiting for you to get in, and then goes around to the driver's side, in the car you can still detect a whiff of the floral scent that greeted you earlier in the house.

“What's with the flowers?” you ask, he gives you a puzzled look before starting the engine.

“Don't you like them?” he asks in turn, but you quickly deny it.

“Actually a lot, but it's been a while since I've received any, nowadays such gestures are considered too common and people don't do them anymore,” you sigh, maybe you're too old-fashioned, but you've been pleasantly impressed by them.

“It's people who give them a trivial meaning, flowers don't deserve to be called “common stuff”!” he exclaims seriously indignant, you burst out laughing and his gaze becomes confused, ”Why are you laughing? I'm serious!”

“Sorry, sorry! It's just... I don't know, maybe you were born in an era where no one would ever question certain romantic gestures and now you're nervous, you're so cute” you keep laughing with your hands in your face, trying to hold back, but after a few moments he too joins in.

“You're making me feel so old, I like flowers regardless of where and when I was born,” he clarifies proudly, leaving again when the traffic light kicks off, the city lights are so bright it looks like daytime, the little stores are still open, but few people are seen around at that hour.

“If only you would tell me exactly how old you are...” you throw in briefly, Jungkook shoots you a piercing glance from the mirror, you shrug your shoulders.

“Hey, you're smart ... but a hundred days haven't gone by yet.”

“Antipathetic...” you mutter in a low voice, sticking out your lower lip, he laughs at you, shaking his head.

After that he stops the car not far from a restaurant, it looks very nice and elegant, not obnoxiously glitzy, but intimate. Just the place for a date.

Out of the car he takes your hand, leading you past the small road and then toward the entrance, your footsteps ticking along with his quieter, more regular ones, he seems a little excited and how can you blame him? You're so flustered you think you won't eat anything, then again, it's Jungkook and you can safely be yourself.

A waiter comes up to you smiling, your attention immediately falls on the two front teeth that are sharper than the others, you study the environment, noticing how the colors are as warm as they are dark. Also, people whisper to each other, not letting you know what they were saying to human ears.

“Two days ago I made a reservation for two,” Jungkook is saying to the boy, who nods, asking him under what name he registered the reservation, although he seems to know Jungkook, perhaps he is a regular client. Past that part you are escorted to your table, which overlooks the restaurant's inner garden.

Jungkook pays no attention to the people who take to observing both of you after you pass their tables; you do. Their attention seems to be all on you, and you wish you had read the name of the restaurant so you could do your dutiful research, because it seems anything but a place habitually frequented by humans.

Not that there's any problem for you, but you don't want to be disruptive to the vampires present, you humans have a particular kind of smell that only they smell, which they might like as much as exactly the opposite.

Jungkook gently pulls your chair aside and you thank him with a nod; small candles have been scattered throughout the room, making the atmosphere more intimate.

“Do you like it?” he asks, pointing to the place.

“It's very nice, do you come here often?” investigation mode activated.

“It's my friend's restaurant, Taehyung, I've been a regular client since it opened, about...” he suddenly freezes, raising an eyebrow, “I know what you want to do, I'm not going to tell you when it opened,” he mutters, picking up his menu.

You snort through your nose; if he had told you how many years the restaurant has been open, you might have guessed roughly his age.

His dark eyes scan all the dishes on the menu very slowly, you're sure he knows that menu by heart, he's just wasting his time not to confront you, shaking his head you also take your menu and just follow his same actions.

There are many meat dishes, and it says in a note that they give the option to choose the type of cooking the client likes, clearly a vampire would have chosen a juicy, rare cut of meat, but you are not a vampire, so you choose a Korean dish that involves well-cooked meat.

“How was work?” you ask, bringing his attention back to you.

“Real hell, I told you Jin is busy with the wedding, right? That made Yoongi go ballistic,” he says contritely.

“Why? Wedding preparations are important!”

Jungkook looks around for a moment, then leans toward you with one hand covering his mouth, “Jin's brain has been more watered down lately than usual, he takes orders from his girlfriend and doesn't complain about it, the wedding was meant for next year, but that viper insisted it happen earlier and that messed up our schedule, we have more work than before, and Yoongi, our section chief, has been having nervous breakdowns several times.”

You bring a hand to your mouth trying not to laugh; it's the first time you've heard someone talk like that about Kim Seokjin. It must be nice to work with people with friendly faces, you think back to your situation with that fool Valentine and Yoongyu, a weight settles on your stomach.

“I wish I had friends at work, too, but instead I'm stuck with a moron who does everyone's business and even gets them into trouble.”

“Why settle for friends when you can have a boyfriend at work?”

The waiter arrives to bring you a bottle of red wine and water, beginning to pour the scarlet liquid inside the crystal glass, staring at Jungkook with plenty of eyes.

“What... What do you mean?” you stammer taking a sip of wine, Jungkook looks amused.

“What I said, from the way you talked about it you don't sound very satisfied with your job and I could use an assistant for photocopying,” he gives you a brief wink before drinking in turn.

You watch spellbound as you watch the sensual movement of his neck following the swallowing of the dark, full-bodied liquid; perhaps because of the alcohol, or perhaps just from the presence of the man, your body tingles uncomfortably.

You settle back in your chair, pulling the skirt of your dress lower, trying to cover both of your heated thighs. You certainly won't need the stole that night.

“Don't be silly, in that case I'd be your boss, not the assistant who prepares the photocopies,” you taunt him a little, he taps a finger on the table, his expression not changing, he's still wearing that slapping face.

“Oh, but photocopying would be a valid excuse to do much more, the use of a small key is the trick” what is he getting at?

You haven't even gotten beyond kissing and already he's talking about what you might be up to in the office. In front of a lot of vampires who can hear you talking then, has he gone mad?

“What are you getting at, Mr. Jeon?”

The waiter arrives to bring your dishes, Jungkook has chosen a rare steak, of course, but that doesn't make him look away from you.

Jungkook waits for the young man to leave before responding.

“Everywhere. I want to get everywhere, with you,” then quietly takes knife and fork waving you to start eating, you have to impose mental barriers on yourself not to think of dirty things that might turn you on more than before. Jungkook's words were crystal clear, as was the meaning behind them.

“Have you read Fifty Shades of Grey lately? You look like its protagonist,” you casually ask, before you take a bite, the flesh though well-cooked melts like butter and you almost groan with pleasure.

You don't know this friend of his, but boy, would you thank him for opening that restaurant, everything is really good.

Jungkook meanwhile wrinkles his nose, “Please, I'm so much better than that Christian Grey!”

You mock him, “You think so, and yet, you look like something out of that book.”

One of his eyebrows snaps upward, “How can I prove otherwise?”

You pretend you didn't hear him, so you change the subject.

“This date is also a chance to get to know each other more, right? So I can ask you everything,” he snorts through his nose, bringing his back to better observe you.

“Okay, okay... everything except age,” he points out, but that wouldn't be a problem for you.

Did he play with the dirty jokes? Well, you have a repertoire of such questions.

“First kiss?” you throw there without flinching, unlike Jungkook who tightens his lips trying not to laugh exasperatedly, ‘Explaining situation, person and environment’ you join your hands under your chin, with a completely innocent smile.

“You are... You are absurd! You want to find out my age any way you can!”

You bite your lower lip, smug.

“I only asked you when and to whom you had your first kiss, it's not that difficult... or maybe such a question embarrasses you?”

He forcefully resumes his glass, draining the last drop of wine with narrowed eyes, “I'll answer, as long as you do the same.”

“You are such a child.”

He raises his eyebrows and you roll your eyes, nodding.

“I was still living with my parents, but I was old enough to experience certain ... urges, throw in a broom cupboard and a girl a little older than me and the dish is served,” you raise an eyebrow.

“You kissed her just like that, without knowing her?” you ask in amazement, Jungkook hadn't seemed like such an easy guy.

He shrugs, “She was nice, plus she was visiting with her father, she needed someone to show her around the house while our parents were talking in the office... I offered and we liked each other, that's all,” you narrow your eyes.

You immediately banish any form of jealousy from your mind, after all, you too had other experiences before you met him, you must be a mature person.

“Exact age?” he ignores your question, asking another question.

“You?”

You?

You sigh a little.

Well, what about you... you certainly weren't as precocious as he was. You're embarrassed to admit it, but you came rather late to enjoy certain intimate aspects of a relationship.

“Nineteen years old, first boyfriend, the place was his house, more specifically the couch, his parents weren't home and we decided to experiment a little,” something in your words makes him laugh incredulously.

“Did you have to specify?” you sense annoyance in his tone and this makes you mentally lick your whiskers like a cat satisfied with dinner. “You specified that it was the broom cupboard!”

“And you that it was your boyfriend!”

He's not really angry, just annoyed, and you're loving this

“Shall we go ahead, first time?”

“Oh, dear...” he pinches his nose with two fingers as his broad chest vibrates under his giggles, ”It's our date, do you really want to hear me talk about former sex partners? Be serious, you just want to make me pay for it,” he says with conviction.

“Really... and what would be the reason?”

You move again, crossing your legs conspicuously, let the fabric of your dress flow a little over your smooth skin, and pretend to adjust it, making sure he notices.

In response he leans toward you again, completely amused by your actions, “You're tired of kisses and little caresses, you'd like our acquaintance to move to a more physical plane, and you're irritated by all this slowness.”

“And if that were really the case, what would you do then?” you blow provocatively.

He remains silent for a few moments before giving a polite nod to the waiter who was about to bring another bottle. You watch confused at his actions.

He murmurs something in his ear, and the young man nods, taking the wine with him. “What did you say to him?”

He puts on a completely innocent expression, “I just asked for the bill.”