GLENN J. CASIRAGHI || IT BECOMES ONE OF OUR RITUALS.
It becomes one of our rituals: like sharing a pot of freshly brewed tea every morning in his office before work, like building snow igloos over frost-tipped blades of grass in winter, like slow-dancing underneath the moon with music fading in the background.
He knows how to make flower crowns for me these days, his hands quick and practiced, fingers deftly braiding grasshopper-thin stems into something less brittle, something beautiful, something absolutely and completely ours.
They’re the same hands that cherish me with summer-kissed warmth right now, the same hands that grip my own with a tiny, telling sort of hesitation as he comes closer, leans forward, the same hands that gently rest at the nape of my neck, gently entangle themselves in the mass of my brown hair, gently cup my face.
There is a kiss on the night before his wedding, a sliver of weakness when you’re buttoning the suit you designed up his chest for one last fitting and he says wait, let me, and grabs your hands instead.
When it happens, neither of you bother with the lights. His bedroom is dark and quiet, the rain pattering loud and steady against the windowpanes. The silk of his bedsheets feels cool and strange against your bare back, and he is beautiful like this: warm and wanting and for once wholly yours, if only for the moment.
Tell me don’t go, he begs against your lips, his breath a plea that imprints bruises on your neck, on your collarbones and shoulders. He is inside you—skin on skin, heartbeat on heartbeat, bones on bones—and it feels right and it feels wrong, like nipping a bud before it blooms and tearing it to shreds. Like a slow, inevitable descent into madness. Like dancing on the edge of sin. Tell me to stay, he begs, and this time you whisper no.
He is moving inside you and you tell him forget me. He is moving inside you and you tell him be happy.
His smile grows rickety, fractured, a string the moment before it snaps, a bridge the moment before it collapses. You want nothing more than to imprint it to the back of your eyelids. You want nothing more than to smash it, keep the splinters for days when the sky is weeping.
“This feels a bit… strange,” Roberto murmured, shifting the present box in his hands to cover his crotch. “I’m not sure I like it…” He squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position when Alberto cleared his throat and shot him a stern look from the corner of the room.
“It will be over more quickly if you stay put, Prince Roberto,” the butler advised, straight-faced as always as he surveyed his handiwork in satisfaction. The chocolate of Roberto’s chest dripped down to graze over his nipple and the prince stiffened, an immediate blush colouring his cheeks.
On the other end of the bed sat Keith, looking completely disinterested as he licked the drop of chocolate on his finger. Luke had been clumsier than usual and the liquid was warm and sticky on his skin, making him slightly irritated. “Can we hurry up?”
“Will this really foster the relationship between the kingdoms?” Joshua asked curiously. Jan was on his knees on the floor, brows furrowed in concentration as he uncapped the bottle of chocolate dip he was holding and tipped it upside down, causing Joshua to let out a sound of surprise as warm chocolate covered his muscular thighs.
“We have never done this before, but it is certainly in demand,” Wilfred replied, examining his own body with cool, casual interest. The heart on his chest looked as if it had been trampled by an army of horses. “Hmm…”
“Shall I fix it for you, Your Highness?” Claude inquired.
“Ah… yes, that might be a good idea,” Wilfred nodded in agreement. Forever the efficient butler, Claude whipped out a paintbrush out of thin air and started reshaping the heart.
Standing three feet away from the bed, Glenn groaned, disgusted beyond belief yet infinitely thankful that he didn’t have to do this. For once, there was an advantage in being the only one underage.
Next to him, Yu cleared his throat and handed him the camera. “Your Highness.”
Glenn inhaled deeply and took the camera from Yu. “Okay. On the count of three, then.”
He lifted the camera and peered through the lens when the sight of Keith’s crotch filled his vision and he yelped and thrust the camera into Yu’s arms, causing the butler to shout in surprise. The chocolate covered Keith almost completely, but Glenn swore that he could see the happy trail that ran down from the prince’s navel, dark brown in colour like his hair, and… and something poking out through the chocolate, something hard and big and possibly erect—
“Shit!” Glenn cursed, falling to his knees and pressing his hands to his eyes in an attempt to erase what he had just seen. It was useless—the image burned like fire in his brain, brighter and clearer than anything he’d ever seen before and even more impossible to forget. “Fuck!”
“Your Highness! Are you okay?” Yu crouched down next to him, his hand on the prince’s shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!” Glenn shouted, near hysterics now. His face was completely red in rage and embarrassment, and he was still pressing his hands over his eyes. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”
The princes on the bed exchanged glances, varying degrees of bewilderment, surprise and irritation on their faces.
“What is the matter, Prince Glenn?” Wilfred asked.
“Tsk! Hurry up, I don’t have all day!” Keith glared at Glenn in distaste. “This is why Oriens can never compete with Liberty. Their prince can’t even work a camera right!”
Glenn looked up, offended, but the action only managed to bring their gazes together and he reddened even more, immediately burying his face in his hands once more. “Shut up! This is all your fault!”
Keith gaped. “How is this my fault? You were the one who—”
“Calm down, Prince Keith,” Edward interrupted smoothly, lavender-coloured eyes sparkling as he adjusted his bow-tie. “I am sure Prince Glenn is capable of taking our picture as soon as he collects himself. Don’t you agree, Prince Roberto?”
Roberto, who had been staring at the chocolate on Wilfred’s knees, snapped up to attention at his name.
“Ah, yes. Young Glenn might be young, but he is no less competent than any of us…” he trailed off. Wilfred had moved his legs as Roberto spoke, and the movement caused the silk that separated their bodies to unfold, leaving barely any space between them. If he moved his leg even an inch, he’d be touching Wilfred’s… um, backside already. “Er… can we just take a picture already?”
For the anonymous who requested a Love Letter From Thief X fanfic featuring Takuto and the MC, with the prompt “in bed”. My MC’s name in-game is Kanade Ogasawara so that’s what I went with, but feel free to request with specific names if you want to. Done in about thirty minutes? I haven’t written anything in a while but I hope it suffices. :)
noctiluca that which shines at night
When it comes down to it, sometimes Takuto thinks that he doesn’t really deserve her.
There is something about Kanade that’s special, that’s different from all of the other women he’s met and known. He’s seen it in her from the start: how the museum visitors just naturally flock to her, how Mitsuru’s eyes seem to linger on her back whenever he thinks she’s not looking, how even the Black Foxes, usually so indifferent to everything, become softer whenever she’s around, gentler, kinder, less sharp edges and rough surfaces.
Kanade is brave and spirited, bright in a way that Takuto can never hope to contain—the complete opposite of his cutting gruffness, of his inability to express what he actually means, of his tendency to instead say all the wrong things in all the wrong ways at all the wrong times. It’s nothing short of a miracle that she lies next to him now, asleep and completely naked if not for the thin sheet that covers them both, and all he can do is pull her in, press their bodies as closely as physically possible to each other without waking her up, envelop her so fully in his arms. His fingers brushing away unfaithful strands of hair away from her face, he leans down to leave a tender kiss on her parted lips.
“Takuto…” Kanade murmurs, her eyes still closed in a dreamy haze, a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth, “I love you.”
It is his undoing. There’s a voice in his head that says this one and there’s a voice in his heart that says this one and for once they’re in harmony and he knows, inevitably knows, that this is it, that she is it, that if he’s going to love someone for the rest of his life and more—it’s going to be her.
It’s only going to ever be her.
So he falls asleep like that, with the moon curling on the edge of their bed, with the steady, soothing rhythm of her heartbeat against his own, and with her love, warm and good and entirely his.
For vKIE! I can’t give you an actual hug so let Joshua do it instead. :3
how to cheer someone up 101
There was something wrong about Vickie today, Joshua noticed. She was sitting on the velvet sofa in his study, the book she’d brought lying useless on her lap as her fingers traced the circular patterns on the arm of her seat. Her dark eyes were filled with a certain kind of unhappiness and his heart ached to see it.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice breaking the comfortable silence that permeated the room. His hand stilled over the document he was about to sign, his pen hovering right above the Dres Van seal, a blot of ink dropping onto the paper.
Vickie looked up, startled, but shook her head gently. “Ah… it’s nothing,” she said evasively, giving him a feeble smile, “I’m just feeling a little down today.”
Sighing heavily, Joshua put down his pen and walked towards the sofa. Awkwardly he sat down next to her, hesitating for a few quiet seconds before he suddenly pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. The book she had been holding dropped to the carpeted floor with a soft thud.
“Ngh—what are you doing—Prince Joshua!”
He sighed again, his eyes slightly downcast as he let her pull away a little bit. “I read somewhere that this is what you should do to cheer someone up,” he said sadly, a frown creasing the space between his brows. “Am I not doing it right?”
A smile curled on his lips as he looked at her. “There, there,” he murmured, voice low and husky and very, very close to her ear, “Feel better, okay?”
I’m on my phone now so I can’t add pictures but I shall do so when I return. :3 Meanwhile CHEER UP BBY WE LOVE YOU ❤
I have two other Kaiji x Mizuki fics in the works (one angst, one smut), but as you know, my writing is super fickle so I might never finish them. Also I’m feeling rather melancholic these days, so this is what you get. :3
unless you count dreams
Three hours past midnight and the ballroom is finally empty.
Kaiji stands by the entrance, staring at the portrait of the beautiful couple. The wedding has been over for quite some time now, but he finds himself still transfixed, thinking back to the glimmer of the matching rings on their entwined hands, the vows they professed, the sheer euphoria on their faces all throughout the night—all the things that have been on display for their guests and the rest of the world to see.
“Kaiji.” A gentle voice breaks into his thoughts and Kaiji turns around, a familiar warmth rising in his eyes when he sees Mizuki standing behind him.
“Oi.” His face softens as he reaches out for Mizuki, squeezing his hand. “Were you waiting for me?”
Mizuki smiles, elusive as always. “Something like that.”
“I just…” Kaiji pauses, glancing at the portrait again. “She’s my childhood friend. I look at her and I think of the girl who plays in sandboxes with her underwear showing, and now she’s married.” He bites on his lower lip. “Married. I just wonder what it feels like, you know? Marriage.”
“I know,” Mizuki answers softly, a smile on his face as he stares at Kaiji.
Kaiji clears his throat, embarrassed all of a sudden. “Time flies, doesn’t it?”
“Time flies,” Mizuki agrees, reaching out a hand to Kaiji’s cheek, pulling the other man down for a slow kiss in front of the portrait of the happy couple. When he finally withdraws, his breath is a deceptively gentle imprint of warmth on Kaiji’s lips, though his grip on Kaiji’s shoulder is a touch that grounds them both to reality. His voice is a little bit too hoarse, a little bit too soft when he asks, “Do you regret this?”
“No.” This, at least, is the one thing Kaiji knows is true. Theirs is a love that can only be claimed in the subtlest of ways—like text messages deleted thirty seconds after they are received, like silver rings worn on chains under layers of clothes, like heated, desperate kisses stolen in empty hallways—but Kaiji can never regret this. He can never regret Mizuki. “No… don’t be silly. Of course I don’t.”
“Hm,” Mizuki responds. “I see.”
He lets go of Kaiji, then, walkiing towards the controls of the ballroom and fiddling with them for a little while. The lights dim and then go out completely, and Kaiji looks away from the portrait, this time to see Mizuki stepping right to the centre of the ballroom, the skin of the moon sewn to the carpet next to his feet glinting silver against his polished shoes. The song that floats into Kaiji’s ears then is a slow, romantic one, gentle keyboard tunes tickling the back of his consciousness, Barry Gibb’s breathy falsetto singing ‘cause we’re living in a world of fools, breaking us down when they all should let us be, we belong to you and me…
“Come here,” Mizuki commands, holding his hand out to Kaiji, with the smallest of smiles blooming across the curve of his lips, with a voice that sings the sonnets of secrets, with a gaze that still, still—after all the years they’ve been together, after waking up on weekends with breakfast in bed, after countless nights they spend pressed against each other, bone on bone, skin on skin, heartbeat on heartbeat, lovers with no place in the day except for dreams—still makes Kaiji burn. “Dance with me.”
So Kaiji does.
I swear that sounded so much better in my head. OH WELL. I’m gonna roll right back to bed now even if it’s practically noon. COME JOIN ME? I HAVE PILLOWS. ❤
And there it is, the plain awkwardness in his ordinarily gruff tone, the slight blush that adorns his cheeks. You’re sitting in the car, straddling his lap, and the only sound in the world is the crackle of the radio as it sings to you old songs from the 1980s. His eyes are bright in the darkness of the car, and you grin, reaching to the side to lower the back of the seat until it is almost horizontal.
"I am, of course. There is no one around…” you murmur huskily, your hands on his warm chest, pushing him down gently until he’s leaning on the seat. His heart beats steadily under your palms, but you assure yourself that it won’t stay that way for long. Dipping your head down, you nip on his lips before you pull away. A coquettish smile curls your mouth, and you run your finger down his cheek, over his jaw, to tug on his tie. “Shall I convince you?"
asghdjadsa this one isn’t about anyone (or anything, really) in particular, but…
You want this too, he says, and his kiss is a ticking time-bomb, a chair left out on your backyard during Wednesday rainstorms, a broken fence post with white paint chipped at the edges. You want this too, he says, and you know—as his cruel laughter curls around your nerve endings, as his eyes burn into yours with cobalt-coloured flame, as his lips quake over your skin with liquid electricity—you know he’s right.
can you post some lines from anything you've written but haven't posted? you haven't updated your ffn account or writing tumblr for so long (with new stuff, at least) and i really miss your writing. :(
This is a really lovely message to read, and I’m really flattered. Thank you, anon! I’m sorry I haven’t updated anything, but I assure you that’s just because I’m trying my best to get back writing… and well, um. Nothing I have written recently is up to my standards. :(
I can’t post any particular lines because I’m horribly embarrassed of how much my own writing has declined at the moment, but uh. Let me post a snippet instead? :)
mediocre dreams this is the forever i promised you
One day he will marry her.
Lelouch isn’t sure how this will happen, exactly. He doesn’t know yet how he’s going to propose: if he’s going to drop on one knee and then pop out the ring or if he’s just going to casually mention marriage as they’re eating pancakes for breakfast. Five years of living together have taught him that even if C.C. will rather kill him than admit it, she can be quite the dreamer. A lavish ceremony is out of the question since he’s supposed to be, well, dead, so the proposal will have to be nothing short of exceptional.
And there you go! This is what has been in my drafts for like… a year, now, so I can’t really say it’ll ever be completed, but eh.
Once again, thank you for this message! You are really too kind. ❤