Midnight, midnight was beautiful. The crescent moon sitting in the middle of pitch-black, constellations that every organism in the world could, honestly, stare at until their flesh disintegrates off their bones. The pitch-black sky which had stars strewn all over it made people fall in love with it, gazing at the beauty presented above them.
But, the eyes of the most beautiful woman Ranpo has ever laid her eyes on; it was beautiful to look at, especially when looking up at the moonlit sky. Whenever the detective stared in those alluring eyes— she would say that she saw constellations without even looking up. A pair of dull lilac eyes, people got lost in it, people fell in love with it— hell, people fell in love with the woman herself.
Eleanor. Eleanor Alice Poe, a polite and calm woman, she’s a novelist. She writes mystery novels that are ever so marvelous, mystery novels that were difficult for people, though Ranpo was not people. Her work was dark, brief descriptions of torture, but that was no surprise. Eleanor was a mystery novelist after all.
Eleanor was more than midnight; soft chocolate hair, lips that had the color of a fake rose, and— oh my, her eyes. Her eyes, they were replicas of nebulas, nebulas glowing more than ever in a pit of black. It was a galaxy, with stars and constellations all over, all of it. They were a pair of amethyst, the violet glowing gem, and the world was never given a chance to see them. Lovely, alluring, beautiful eyes.
Ranpo was lucky to have this woman as her lover, they balanced each other. Eleanor was polite and gracious (sometimes), on the other hand, Ranpo was abrasive and brutally honest, no one stopped the detective from speaking her unfortunately true thoughts, especially this night.
She might be being a bit dramatic right now— but the most beautiful woman that Ranpo set her eyes on walked in. Wearing a pastel pink nightgown, straps attached to a detailed bra with a mini ribbon in the middle, continues a skirt, the skirt ends with ruffles, and more details. Eleanor looked beautiful in it, it must be illegal to be head over heels in love.
Ranpo handed Eleanor a gift, a pink bag, which looks like the detective made a little trip to the mall. She wasn’t the type to buy gifts, she was more on physical touch, but tonight, why can’t she be both? It’s not impossible.
Looking down at herself, “Ranpo, dear, is this why you’ve set up candles all over the room?” Eleanor says, leveling the end of the skirt to her hips, she must admit, she looks gorgeous in this nightgown.
Ranpo chuckles and walks towards Eleanor, placing her hands on the writer’s hips. “I thought i was getting lucky tonight, i sure do hope i am.” She says, face so close to Eleanor’s she could feel the writer’s breath on her lips. She looked straight into an eye of galaxy, the other being covered by a curtain of hair.
The detective’s hand sneakily traveled from her hips to her thighs, caressing it gently. Eleanor’s skin was sensitive, any physical contact with.. anything, actually, could make her shiver or shrivel to pieces. And, Eleanor did in fact, shiver.
Eleanor’s breath hitches at the touch, almost letting out a high squeak before covering her mouth. Forest green eyes staring directly in hers, dark-red was brisk to color her pale cheeks. The detective clicked her tongue multiple times before gently removing the writer’s hand from her mouth, then placing a kiss on her knuckles, eliciting a small gasp from the woman.
“Ah, ah, ah. You know i want this night to be fun, why hold back?” Ranpo says, peppering the writer’s face. Her hands wander around Eleanor’s thighs and in-between. The shorter leans in (on her tiptoes) and whispers softly in the older’s ears;
“If this gets too much, tell me when to stop, okay?”
Eleanor nods as a response.
An endless night of pleasure ensues, and a poor raccoon had to hear everything.
A mop of dark-chocolatey hair tickles Ranpo’s neck. Waking up, the first thing the detective sees is a gorgeous, gorgeous woman sleeping right beside her, hands hugging her waist, and in an extraordinarily beautiful nightgown. Ranpo shifts in her place to sit up, which makes Eleanor groan, she apologizes softly and kisses her forehead.
Ranpo lays there, with a writer by her side, playing with her hair and waiting until she wakes up. Eleanor is beautiful, a sun-kissed face with light freckles that was spread across her cheeks, long hair that was tucked behind her ears, and soft rosy-pink lips that felt like angels were coming down to Earth whenever her lips would collide with the detective’s.
Few minutes past, Eleanor woke up, greeting the younger happily and peppering her face with kisses. If you had told Eleanor that she would be here, laying in a bed with her rival, and just slept with her last night, she would tell you that you are delusional and honestly insane. But, you know what? Eleanor wouldn’t trade this for the world.
Chuckling, Ranpo slips on Eleanor’s clothes, although incredibly oversized due to their height differences, it was utterly comfortable. Her shirt reaches until half her thighs, which read ‘I AM A POET, I AM NOT DRUNK’ in a bold black font, which Eleanor bought at a thrift store when she was shamefully drunk, how ironic.
Eleanor was cooking, waffles, just the way Ranpo likes it; with whipped cream, chocolate, strawberry, blueberry, and tons of sugar. She places the waffles on the shimmering gold-white plates, preparing gold cutlery and takes a seat beside her beloved.
As Ranpo rambles about the day past this, all the, quote on quote, drama in her workplace (because she knows all, obviously.) Apparently, Dazai was being fucked big-time by an executive from the PM named Chuuya Nakahara, that was her name. Eleanor was shocked, mouth agape, it wasn’t a big deal— the writer just liked to make the detective laugh.
And, Ranpo told her about this one time where her mummy-lookalike co-worker once walked in looking like she got messed up real good, and she did, her and the executive just had a little bickering-off before work. But, how did she end up like that if her and the executive was just.. bickering? Obviously, Ranpo knew the reason why, but the writer’s intelligence almost matched with hers, so she left it to Eleanor to find out.
Few minutes have passed, and the detective was adoring Eleanor in multiple ways, with her eyes of course. She rises from her seat and sits on Eleanor’s lap, turning to the side and gently tucks a part of the writer’s hair behind her ear.
“I love you.”
Eleanor was genuinely surprised, but her eyes quickly softened and blush was quick to flush her face. She moves closer to the shorter’s face, only a centimeter away, she whispers a few four words so softly that Ranpo could feel her breath touching her lips as she breathes;
“I love you too.”
Two lips against each other, they kiss.