#a deception but it was always a little sweeter.

[maeintree]

burn | l. laufeyson

Summary: Loki grows jealous when a visiting prince from Alfheim flirts with you at a grand Asgardian feast. Pairing: prince!Loki x princess!fem!Reader Word Count: -800 Author's Note: woah two fics in two days? i'm on a roll! might start doing a series but anyhow enjoy this one too!! he's still a dick but he's a dick that wants you.

The grand hall of Asgard was alive with laughter and the rich hum of conversation. Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the revelry, and the scent of spiced wine filled the air. You were at the center of it all—laughing, dancing, letting the night take you wherever it pleased.

Loki had not left your side for most of the evening, but the moment he was drawn into a dull conversation with a councilman, you found yourself in the company of another. Thor’s newest companion, a visiting prince from Alfheim, had taken it upon himself to charm you, leaning just a little too close, his hand lingering at your waist as he spoke.

Loki saw everything.

From across the hall, his sharp green eyes tracked every brush of the prince’s fingers against your arm, every teasing smirk you threw over your shoulder. He clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the silver goblet in his hand, the metal bending slightly under his grip. The heat in his veins had nothing to do with the mead he had consumed—it was pure, unfiltered jealousy.

You knew he was watching. And you reveled in it.

You made a point to laugh a little sweeter, tilting your head just enough to let your hair brush over your bare shoulder. You weren’t stupid—Loki was the god of mischief, of lies, of deception. But when it came to you, he was possessive, raw, and incapable of hiding his emotions for long.

And so, you continued to push him, just a little more.

The moment the prince tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, it was over.

A chill spread through the hall, subtle but undeniable. The air felt heavier, charged with something dark. Then, a smooth, unmistakable voice cut through the revelry.

"I do believe you’ve overstayed your welcome, little prince."

The prince turned, startled, but you remained still, your lips curving into a knowing smirk as Loki stepped forward. He was calm—too calm. A predator circling its prey.

The prince chuckled, feigning ignorance. "Ah, Prince Loki. We were merely talking. Your lady is quite—"

Loki didn’t let him finish. "My lady knows when she is playing a dangerous game." His voice was a silk-covered blade, cutting through the tension like a sharpened dagger. His fingers wrapped around your wrist—not harsh, not painful, but firm. "And you, prince, should know when you are trespassing."

The prince hesitated, sensing the warning beneath Loki’s words. With a stiff nod, he backed away, blending into the crowd. The moment he was gone, Loki turned his full attention to you.

Loki’s jaw clenched, and in one swift motion, he pulled you against him, your bodies nearly flush. The heat of him was undeniable, seeping through the thin fabric of your gown as his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles against the bare skin of your wrist.

"Darling, do not test me," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You think I do not know when you are playing with fire?" His fingers trailed up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "You forget—I am fire."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "Perhaps I wanted to see just how hot the flames could get."

Loki’s smirk was wicked, his fingers grazing along the curve of your neck before tilting your chin up. "Then allow me to remind you, little minx," he whispered, his lips barely brushing yours, "that when you play with fire... you always get burned."

His lips hovered just out of reach, his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin of your throat before trailing lower, just above the neckline of your dress. His touch was maddening, sending a shiver down your spine. The tension between you was suffocating, an invisible pull drawing you closer, your breaths mingling as his grip tightened just slightly at your waist.

"Tell me, did you enjoy your little game? Watching me seethe while you let another man put his hands on you?" His voice was nothing but a hushed growl, his fingers now tracing the delicate line of your collarbone. "Or were you simply begging for me to remind you of whom you belong to?"

You swallowed, your pulse betraying you as his fingers skimmed lower, pausing just before dipping further. Loki saw the effect he had on you—he relished it.

Just as you thought he would give in, he smirked, pulling away completely, leaving you breathless and wanting.

"Come, dearest," he purred, turning towards the exit without looking back. "Unless, of course, you prefer to stay and entertain another suitor."

His words were a challenge, a dare. But you knew the moment you followed him, the real game would begin.

And this time, Loki intended to win.

comments, reposts, and likes are appreciated!

[armandaughter]

Interview With the Vampire + Perfumes

i posted about wanting to make this and people were also curious, so here it is :) i absolutely have no qualifications to be making this. i just love perfumes and iwtv and wanted to combine em!! lmk ur thoughts <3 fyi this gets pretty long-winded and analysis heavy at times

louis de pointe du lac (new orleans/paris eras)

very slow world in my mind. i think he'd gravitate to the warm spice of it and the hints of whiskey. this also smells a bit like incense, which i think is fitting for him. louis' religious upbringing will always inform how i approach him. but this scent also reminds me of the clubs in new orleans, cigars and rich drinks, and that transfers over to him exploring new sides of himself in paris with photography and engaging with art and cafe scenes. i question the inclusion of the balsamic top note, it's actually much more tea-aligned! this is also quite masculine to me, which makes sense as, particularly in nola, he had to be a little overly masculine-- older brother, man of the house after the death of his father, business owner, and a black business owner in an extremely racist setting. i like this for him, i'd even go as far as to say maybe it's not quite masculine enough.

runner-ups: full incense by montale, nothing but sea and sky by une nuit nomade (this one is very bergamont heavy, which i also think he'd like) foreshadow by curatrix (this one is in my rotation rn and i am almost out because i use it SO much. musk, tobacco, incense, cypress)

louis de pointe du lac (dubai)

this one isn't similar to the above at all, but i think it sort of stays in line with what we know of louis in dubai. it's a very fresh scent, with residual fruity and cedar/fig accords snuck in there that are more noticeable with longer wear. this feels performative like most of dubai, put-together and appealing to the senses but deceptive at the end of the day. i think it's still something louis genuinely likes, but i see him, when he's happy, wearing something a bit more explicitly sweet-spicy, less wood-spicy. this is an amalgamation of the above scent and other sweeter, floral accords he'd drift to, but not quite leaning into it the way i suspect he'd be were he actually healed, had he actually confronted his past in full and emerged content with his circumstances.

runner-ups: of true minds by liis (this is inspired by shakespeare's sonnet 116, also smells like sooo complex. floral spicy with a bit of suede) angel dust by fugazzi (cashmere, pepper, bergamont)

lestat de lioncourt

i actually took so long to decide for lestat. after consulting @operahouses (thank you for enduring my lengthy perfume character analysis) i'm happy w this. it's very very floral, mostly rose, with jasmine and iris too. there's also the underlying patchouli and according to what i read, a sort of rosewater wine-y feel about it. walks the line of intense and mysterious with an elegant softness that feels very true to lestat coming off of paris and finding his footing (and the love of his life) in new orleans.

runner-ups: l'olympia music hall by histoires de parfums (floral, also the name is very lestat in the vampire lestat to me) baccarat rouge 540 by maison francis kurkdjian

rockstar lestat

this is zoologist, which literally makes perfumes off of animal scents. i think that is so fucking cool. anyway-- this is a very bold scent that takes the sweetness of the initial perfume i shared and expands upon it with some really interesting notes. there's passionfruit, leather, teakwood, and incense. (INCENSE, which i think he'd intentionally wear for the nostalgia it could potentially evoke in louis!!) but, overall, a very impressive and borderline questionable miasma of smells. because of this, it's startlingly unique. verrrry memorable, which is kind of the desired experience of a rockstar trying to get his ex-husband back.

runner-ups: triumph of bacchus by argos (this one has such an insanely diverse array of accords i feel only he could pull off) do not disturb by vilhelm parfumerie (this leans into femininity a bunch, which i am down for with lestat. also has some questionable accords but again i think this era welcomes that)

armand

so i'm not even going to pretend i'm not projecting with my first choice for him because i am-- press gurwitz 0.3 is soooo criminally underrated. it's got the knockout combo of the cinnamon and vanilla but when the smoky spice of it hits... it HITS! it also isn't overly sweet at all. the vanilla subdues the sweet notes and leaves sort of a smoky yet clean spiciness over time. i think also the idea of him wearing a gourmand scent has a lot of interesting character connotations in it-- wanting to be desired, wanting to be almost edible, to attract that sort of temptation. if not a gourmand, i can see him preferring fresh, clean, sharp scents-- hence the choices for him as rashid.

runner-ups: milk by commodity (amber, firewood, tonka bean; ultimately the marshmallow accord felt a bittttt out of line for him but this scent is GOOD. a pinch sharp but in a way that's striking rather than obtrusive) female christ by 19-69 (eucalyptus, woody, with cashmere and cinnamon at the base notes, emerging the longer the scent is worn)

armand as rashid

this one has a lot going on but i NEED you to stay with me and hear me out. first of all-- there's notes of pineapple here, which i feel are soooo good given the 'honey and pineapple' exchange. there's also a lot of sweetness here and while the 'honey' part isn't explicit, i feel like it's still reminiscent of it. also, who's to say rashidmand doesn't wear honey body oil with this? wouldn't put that past him. otherwise, this is also pretty floral, fresh, and long-lasting. my one flaw is it is intense, especially for his playing as rashid. my defense here is this: he's already gone with the slutty shirts and the speaking out of turn, so a memorable scent doesn't seem suddenly too far, at least not to me. also, the bottom notes like the vanilla stabilize the intensity. for the first hour or two after application, i'm sure this lingers in a room (which is what he'd want) but as it fades, you'd have to be in closer proximity to notice it.

runner-ups: honey & crocus by jo malone london (this is the honeyed scent that could replace the pineapple one, with traces of saffron and lavender included too which go nicely) fleur de délice by reminiscence (VERY herbal and fresh)

daniel molloy (1973)

ok i am pretty sure i'm not the first to say this but he's SO jazz club. to me. this on top of probably perpetually smelling like cigarettes. and i've heard it's more masculine-leaning, with the rum, spice, and tobacco staying on the longest. i think in devil's minion canon armand would also be all over this like a bloodhound. not much else to say aside from boozy and kinda sexy. the kind of thing you'd wear to go out and score drugs or a fatal vampire encounter.

runner-ups: none! i stand by this one. possibly book by commodity, which uses cedar and sandalwood to come shockingly close to putting your nose in a book. also accomplishes a sort of smokiness.

daniel molloy

this is kind of like if jazz club matured a bit. from what i read (i haven't smelled this one) it's very leathery and dry with a slight sweetness at the end. it has some pine and dates in the list of accords, which works for me too. it is also a bit sensual and i think daniel would wear this in dubai to see louis for the first time since '73. not too intense, which i think he'd prefer. @operahouses suggested a new car smell and i STRONGLY agree.

runner-ups: ombré leather (2018) by tom ford (this went too herbal for me to attribute to him, but i still think leather is good for him)

claudia in new orleans

getting into headcanon territory. this scent is sweet, light, and rosy. i'm imagining this is a gift from lestat before things soured. also something to wear before she branched out and developed her own preferences. i personally think this one is a bit strong and just a tad like a bath, but then again it's very clean and satisfying when the initial scent sits for a little. the sugarcane there brings it together too. this would also contribute to the infantilization both louis and lestat force upon her, the shared--whether explicit or implicit- idea that she's theirs, only the 'girl' part of daughter and too young and naive to be the 'woman.' i feel like she'd grow to hate this smell eventually the same way she grew to resent what lestat and new orleans meant for her.

runner-ups: rose of no man's land by byredo (i didn't think the spices fit, but could be that's a stepping stone for her)

claudia (paris)

i haven't tried this scent but i do love curatrix. so i think in a similar way to daniel's progression this is an older, sultry, woody-sweet rendition of what a younger claudia would enjoy. knowing curatrix, it's probably a bit intense, but for a woman duelling with the reality she will not ever be properly seen as a woman, i think it's very fitting! the cloves and tobacco lend age to it while the honey and vanilla sweeten it up a bit, dries down into a suggestion of ginger. i think the name would attract her as well. claudia owns being a vampire-- she loves it, wants so badly to be loved by the coven for loving vampirism, so the idea of fatale is definitely something she would gravitate to in my mind.

runner-ups: hypnotic poison by dior (similar wood themes with a bit of floral and fruitiness mixed in, but mostly, the bottle is cute) carmilla by immortal perfumes (the name, naturally-- also has a blood accord!! was my first choice until i remembered fatale exists)

madeline

gets a classic. i wore this for years before i started to present less feminine. it's clean, floral, sweet, a bit powdery, and stays on forever. not too overwhelming but def alluring. one of thee ultimate femme lesbian choices to me!

runner-ups: immortelle by chloé (still white floral with some tonka snuck in. i like the name for her a lot!)

santiago

i really have nothing to say other than this scent doesn't get very good reviews and it kind of pisses me off and that's perfect for him. def wears way too much of this and it pisses off everyone in the coven. the HEIGHT of gay man who is about to infuriate you.

okay i had a lot of fun doing this. so if anybody else matched my freak ab this i would LOVE to do more.

[endless-ineffabilities]

le marquis et le moineau

Marquis de Gramont x f!reader

themes: angst, twisted business associates(?) to lovers, dubious morals, the Marquis has his eyes set on you and only you (but you don't know that ofc)

a/n: this bloody Frenchman has been plaguing my thoughts (thanks to a very sinister portrayal by one Bill Skarsgård). Mind you, I still haven't even seen the film John Wick 4, but I'm a fan of the series, and the morsels I've seen of the Marquis have been more than enough to give rise to a new lil fixation.

word count: 932 ▪︎ more of moineau ▪︎ other works

It started as a little game.

Just some passing fancy between yourself and the Marquis.

Or at least, that was what it was supposed to remain. Only that. A game.

But you should have known better. You should have known that any game played with Marquis Vincent de Gramont may eventually turn deadly.

Your high-risk job at the Continental usually also reaped the highest of rewards.

Tip off the right person and receive a gold coin. Deliver a message, without any bumps or bruises to all parties involved, and your reputation would be given a much-needed boost or two.

This business was danger wrapped in deceit wrapped in glamour. And you knew how to deal the right cards.

Although it seems, things are not as easy when it comes to the Marquis.

Vincent was every bit a menace as his reputation decreed. The Marquis tasked with restoring the authority of the High Table, he was nothing short of cunning and ambitious, prepared to take down any and all those who posed a threat to his objectives.

Dangerous. Deceptive. Glamourous as well, mind you. He was perfectly suited to this world.

He was also brazen, pretentious, snobbish.

And beautiful.

He knew just how to tug at your strings and make you bend. Or at least, he always tried to.

Like he was doing then, in one of the bigger rooms in his palacial estate, wherein only the two of you stood with only a few feet in between.

"What did we agree upon, mon moineau?" His silky accented voice implored.

My sparrow, he called you. The reason for which remained undisclosed to you, not for a lack of trying to wrench it out of him.

Why couldn't he call you something sweeter? Of the more classic French romantic sobriquets?

Chérie, perhaps. Mon amour. Mon coeur.

But no. You were stuck with measly ol' "my sparrow".

Of course, not that it mattered. Perhaps the Marquis reserved his sweeter words for those he actually cared for. At the very least, well-regarded enough to be associated with. Those impossibly beautiful and refined members of European aristocracy that he was so often rumoured to be wining and dining.

Unlike you. Renegade, foul-mouthed vagabond.

You stared up at his pacing figure. "I am fully aware of what we agreed upon, Vincent. What I have done does not breach that. I am perfectly capable - "

His head snapped to you menacingly. "You could have been killed, moineau."

You shrugged. "Consequences. I did not enter this damned line of work without considering the risks. As it goes, getting killed would not exactly be an uncommon occurence."

"Don't jest." He shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, in obvious annoyance.

You took a step forward, trying to find his gaze. "And if I were to... pass... so what? Everything would simply go on. The truth is that I'm already a ghost. Doing what I do in our world makes me some kind of spectre. I am already not there."

You knew this. You repeated this to yourself when you woke, and before you went to sleep. It was the only truth you could hold on to.

Until him. Until some buried, twisted part of you began hoping that he would care.

But hope is a dangerous thing.

You continued, as he kept looking away. "You would go on. Perhaps even find a new sparrow to play with."

You felt it. As your words hung in the air, his entire mood shifted. He straightened, and with both hands burrowed in the pockets of his impeccably tailored trousers, his eyes land on you.

He slowly took a step forward, and then another, until his figure loomed over you.

In all your shared moments, you learned to discern the quick switches in his temper and his expression. But not enough, not completely.

The look he was giving you then was impossible to read.

"You think..." His left hand drifted to the hem of your blazer, toying with it. "... that I..." His index finger then drifted upward over your silk shirt, stopping in between your collarbones. His tongue briefly darted out to wet his lips, catching your eye. "... would simply replace you?"

You finally felt his touch on your face, his fingers delicately caressing your jawline.

He made a fleeting tsk tsk sound with his tongue, as if in disapproval.

"I believe you underestimate just how much you matter to me, mon moineau."

You did your best to remain unfazed. This was the game, wasn't it? Whatever you might think it can become, what you hope it can unravel into - set it aside as delusion.

Don't fall.

It's just a game to play.

Don't fall.

You took a deep breath, then smiled sweetly. Mockingly. "What makes you think I would even pay any mind to how much I matter to you? That line of thinking doesn't work for people like us, Marquis."

"People like us," he repeated, amusement furrowing his brow. "Non, mon moineau. There are no other people like us."

He leaned in, eyes not leaving yours, all but eliminating the distance between your faces. You could feel his breath on your skin, could count the faint spotting of freckles around his nose.

You wished to ask him what he wanted, but held back.

No. There was something better to say.

"What are you waiting for?" You managed to voice the words despite your very heart lodged in your throat.

He smiled, proud of his precious sparrow.

"Mon coeur... I've been waiting for you my entire life."

Ahhh! 🖤 Everybody say thank you Bill Skarsgård and the on-set stylist for the visual treat that is the Marquis.

I'm not even sure if this will find the right crowd - seeing as my lovely followers are of the HotD persuasion. But oh well, I had to get it out of my system.

Could be more of this... idk 🤷‍♀️ Rest assured I haven't forgetten about all my series works, even the ones I haven't started but said I would do...

[oprahwinfreyjrjr]

Rating Frenchie’s Food Refs in The Boys

Roast chicken with green beans and potatoes

While he holds Kimiko prisoner in what looks like an abandoned squat, Frenchie takes great pleasure in describing the dinner he has prepared for her. He presents her with a pan-roasted chicken, seasoned simply with olive oil, fresh herbs, and salt and pepper. It is served alongside green beans and roasted potatoes.

I love that Kimiko is literally chained to a radiator and Frenchie is treating it like a first date.

Also, I thought it was cute that he gave Kimiko plastic cutlery to be on the safe side. As if he hadn’t just watched her murder a bunch of dudes with her bare hands!

🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷 🇫🇷 /5

——

Madeleines

After she stops trying to kill him, Frenchie teaches Kimiko how to make Madeleines, buttery little cakes shaped like seashells.

Adorable. I love how quickly he flips from “I can’t trust you with metal utensils because you will murder me.” to this cozy scene.

I’ve heard that madeleines are the kind of sweet treat that French children are given after school for their goûter (basically, an afternoon snack). If that’s a nostalgic memory for Frenchie, it makes it even sweeter that he chose to bake these with Kimiko.

Also, madeleine pans are pretty much only good for one thing—making madeleines. So my question is…why does Frenchie have multiple pans stashed in the safe house?

🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷 / 5

——

Jambon Beurre and Diet Coke

After Butcher is reunited with Becca and introduces her to The Boys, Frenchie makes a jambon beurre for her. It’s a classic French sandwich—typically just good butter and ham on a crusty baguette. As he explains, it’s deceptively simple but the end result is so much greater than the sum of its parts.

The bow is so silly. It’s not load bearing at all and serves no function but to look cute for Becca. I think it’s kind of sweet. They even remember her favorite drink—Diet Coke.

It makes me wonder how often this came up. Did Butcher talk often about how much his late wife loved Diet Coke? Or had he mentioned it once and his friends squirreled away that tidbit?

Frenchie gets points for the thoughtful gesture. But with a sandwich with so few ingredients, every element needs to be perfect. I’m docking points because I’m not confident he has access to decent fresh baguettes in this dank basement in Queens.

🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷/5

——

Donut Hamburger

At Voughtland, Frenchie is appalled at this godless American delicacy.

However, later that day, he puts his disgust aside and volunteers to take Kimiko to eat as many donut hamburgers as her heart desires because he just wants her to be happy. Awww.

🇫🇷🇫🇷/5

——

Sad Salad

Sad boring Colin texts his sad boring salad to Frenchie.

Colin was hot but he and Frenchie were doomed from the start. For the obvious reasons, of course, but also because the writers forgot to give him a personality.

What a boring thing to text? Also, it looks like Colin googled “salad” and sent Frenchie some stock art?

0/5

——

Cassoulet

Little Nina claims that Frenchie’s cassoulet is so good it made her come.

Probably a bit of hyperbole because cassoulet, while it is delicious, is also heavy AF. It typically has duck confit (duck slow-cooked in its own fat), pork sausage, more pork, and creamy white beans.

Up until this point, cooking for Frenchie was always an act of love. He associated it with good memories of his mother. It was one of the ways he showed he cared. And it’s telling that Little Nina would use something pure and twist it into something ugly. The whole point of her graphic comment is to shock and assert dominance.

🇫🇷🇫🇷/5

——

Office Donut

Frenchie makes a mess eating a donut at the office.

After getting admonished by MM for not using a plate, Frenchie replies, “But I never use a plate when I eat your mother’s sweet and savory vagin.”

What a wild, completely nonsensical response. I love how quickly that escalated. Also, I think this is the first time we’ve seen Frenchie consume anything that was not drugs or alcohol. I’m with MM, though. Use a plate!

🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷/5

[midnight--sadness]

(you right anon)

happy to hear u liked my musings! i really like the way u described gihun as heat, openly passionate, with his intentions clear and pointed; and inho as his natural opposite, deceptive and murky, cold, detached etc they really are two threads in the same stitch

and of course your inclusion of jungbae and youngil as well as sangwoo!! if any man could pull off being jealous of himself its hwang inho. he can tongue at the scar left by the tracker gihun cut out and burn about it while gihun calmly tells him about other little scars left on his body left behind from his childhood, from nights spent at the racetrack or bars or anywhere else inho was not privy to, a different softer sweeter gihun existing within the current man before him

and the idea that gihun wants inho to lose it, to be passionate, to be angry to show SOMETHING human, raw and sticky and bloody is so so fun. show me jealousy and grief, show me hatred in those eyes of yours, don’t look away from this or me, take the mask off, dont lie, i will crack you open and eat your softness etc

love the idea that they both want understanding from the other, and that they long to be equal. they’re darkness chasing light, light chasing darkness.

i think gihun has a particular distain of that geometric frontman mask, that’d he want to break it and then turn and tear at the youngil mask too. what he wants is that squishy human core. he wants to be RIGHT he feels that shit in his bones, so stubborn. he wants surrender from inho the way he wanted surrender from sangwoo.

hes righteous (jungbae) and he’s focused on winning (sangwoo) the way that matters most to him (saving, caring) and hes devastatingly, painfully, only just one man (who cannot save everyone but now he thinks maybe i could save and keep this one…) and this man requires the metaphorical death of the frontman, the mask, in order to accept inho as his. like he needs to kneed inho into something he can hold onto. play by MY rules and im yours to keep. let me win. and the idea that inho wants gihun to be right too ohhhh he really just wants to mash their broken forms together until its impossible to tear them apart. impossible to hurt one and not the other too, to be two as one, to feel the pressure, not of running games that kill hundreds every year but the pressure of protecting one heart. possessiveness can go both ways… as a treat…

loving each other the way the other thinks is inhuman while also contradicting themselves (inho thinking gihuns empathy and goodness is special to gihun and therefore not /human/ly, but wanting him to be right anyway. gihun thinking inho is bathed deeply in the blood of others; inhuman and monstrous, but hes slain that monster and what arose was redemption, not forgiveness but atonement etc)

i really love their back and forths, and combined with an idea u mentioned once, about how gihun was always chasing and admiring sangwoo and would maybe be a little overwhelmed when inho’s the same to him. i think he’d learn to crave the attention like air, esp being so isolated and withdrawn in between seasons he needs love so bad.

needing to always defend his continuous choice to show empathy and trust in humanity when time and time again the people closest to him give him so many reasons why he shouldn’t

getting a little giddy and drunk with the power that comes with choosing to trust someone who hurt so many, and him specifically pretty deeply (my best friend died in the squid games and all i got was this lousy shirt 2x) (and psychosexually obsessed other half with a staring problem sure whatever) he did have fun playing the hero, this once, the pain of it all, was worth it. ohhh seong gihun u will always be famous….

anyway! i ended up adding ur music recs to my 457 playlist!! they were all great! ive never heard lilith before, it was such a gem. if u like lana and mitski i think ‘let the light in’ ft father john misty and ‘me and my husband’ are also very 457.

originally i did have a longer list of music recs to swap with u, but i could feel myself starting to go on a whole different rabbit hole based on some of them, i started yapping about sangihun and this ask is already crazy long so ill leave the 457 specific recs here n save the others for another time maybe! have a lovely day

• ‘thats why i love you’ sir ft sabrina claudio (esp in the context of being halves of halves ugh my heart)

• ‘running out of time’ tyler, the creator

• ‘i need you (to be wrong)’ switchfoot

• ‘walk on by’ dionne warwick (get on the plane… let it be a dream… deeply mournful inho center my beloved)

YES YESYESYEYSYEYSYSYS YYYYYEEEEEESSSSSS!!!!! 😩😩😩😩

gihun wanting to see inho, all of him, not the front man or youngil, just inho.... but inho is so convinced he is unlovable and he cannot be forgiven, his sins are too great, so he can't show gihun, he refuses. but he doesn't realize that for gihun to ever love him, he has to see him.

inho associating gihun's goodness, his faith in humanity, his ability for forgive, deeply nurturing self, not to a human trait, but maybe to somethign god-like, something that is not of this mortal plane. because humans cannot forgive each other like that, they cannot look selfishness and cruelty and horror in the face and still be able to absolve, no, no. that is for gods, for beings of another realm. especially true for a man who has not only participated in the games and then was in charge of them for almost a decade, but also someone who worked in law enforcement and has seen the depravity of mankind.

god, sometimes they remind me of a poem i read about ares and aphrodite, and how aphrodite has held ares' hand for so long that the blood on her hands is the same as his. and that is so reminds me of inhun.

of how, in s1, when gihun offers his hand to sangwoo, his palm is clean but the back of sangwoo's hand is bloody. the implications that is they held hands, the blood on sangwoo would smear gihun, would "taint" him. and it's the same with inho. how can he get close to gihun without spilling this blood all over him? because i think inho wants to show gihun that people are not worth saving but, at the same time, he doesn't want gihun to believe him, because then maybe he can be saved. maybe inho isn't so far gone. maybe, inho can atone at gihun's feet, can lay his sins down and gihun can forgive him for them, can cleanse him of his wrongdoings....

i'm glad you liked my recs!! lana's "let the light in" is such a good song, can't believe i forgot it!!! gonna go listen to yur recs right now!! 🫶🥰

stop, when i was writing down my song recs, i was also seeing so many sangihun songs and was like, no wait this is inhun i cant add sangihun ejfieiioffrghhve

but please send those sangihun song recs and ramblings, i wanna hear them!! 😩

[hutaoscoffinn]

hello 1) i love your rika stuff you write her SO well i have read them all several times 2) do you have any fluffy rika x fem!reader cuddling headcanons? i cannot figure if she's the big spoon or if she deceptively appears like the big spoon but actually is the little spoon lol

also i may come back so here's an emoji to note me by hehe 🍑

thank u for sharing ur writing with us sending u lots of love 💕

AWW this is so sweet thank you so much and ahh yes Rika cuddling headcanons I have so many of those.

Warnings: none, this is wholesome cuddle content, very soft, tooth rottenly sweet, sweeter than an entire bakery, some suggestive themes such as aftercare and post-sex cuddles

Character: Rika from Pokemon

Requests: OPEN

★ Rika is incredibly and I mean incredibly cuddly with you

★ as soon as she gets home from work the first thing she wants to do is fall right into your arms and be pampered

★ in this moments when she’s tired from running around the league all day she wants to be the little spoon or to just lay on your chest

★ she loves when you start playing with her hair in these moments, taking out her ponytail and carding your fingers through the strands

★ use your nails a bit and massage and lightly scratch at her scalp and she might just start purring like a cat, she loves your touch that much

★ post-work Rika is simply a Rika that wants to be pampered with love

★ however, typically Rika will actually be the big spoon

★ every other time you two cuddle Rika will the one curled around you, holding you close and pressing kisses against your shoulder and neck

★ this especially happens at night where she prefers to be the one spooning you or to have your head on her chest so that she can pamper you

★ Rika is a very giving lover and she loves to shower you with all of her attention and affection when she gets a moment

★ your nighttime routine consists of Rika giving you kisses all over as you prepare for bed and then guiding you into her waiting arms, holding you close to her as she smothers you with affection

★ she always rubs your back or plays with your hair or rubs circles into your hips with her fingers

★ she just loves lulling you to sleep with her touch before falling asleep herself

★ this loving and caring cuddly side of Rika also comes out in your post-sex cuddles

★ Rika knows how rough and intense she can be during your sessions so she is always incredibly attentive and loving with the aftercare she gives you

★ of course, this includes her cuddling

★ she is always making sure you are comfortable and warm in her arms, having a fluffy blanket over your body as she holds you tight

★ Rika will press several kisses along your cheeks, nose, and forehead as she cuddles you, her eyes searching you for any sign of discomfort so that she can sooth that discomfort immediately

★ overall cuddles with Rika are incredibly sweet and loving and just meant for pampering each other and showing your affections

Reblogs are always appreciated <3

[infernal-ism]

"Raal gori, raal gori, va’thal morda un jormakh."

Cue Cyrus muttering to himself :>>

𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓 › ( 𝙐𝙉𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙏𝙀𝘿 ).

Saint's ears perked up hearing the man mutter to himself. it was the same language he always , always caught him speaking in. sliding in a couple of pre-chopped herbs, smoked vegetables, and the meat of the wild boar cyrus had hunted earlier already browned. he could just hear the man now complaining now about having to stop and set up camp earlier than usual. however , saint argued he needed more than just bland or cured meat. the man was far too big to be living on this diet of his and saint argued with him fiercely about it. his pot was big enough to give the man several bowl fulls and he wouldn't hear anything about it. stirring the ingredients , he casually cast his eye to the other while he meticulously cleaned and sharpened his sword with a whetstone.

setting aside the ladle , saint approached him and sat down at his side to watch him. and to listen. he sounded so determined whenever he spoke these same words no matter what he was doing or when he spoke them. he wondered a moment what they meant. ❝ blades can hear you when you speak to them , you know. ❞ he moved to pressed his thumb against the flat of the blade and watched as it growled ⸻ this blade , it didn't sing the same as most others ⸻ against his flesh. it was a deceptive blade , snarling at him in such rabid hungers. and yet , when he took his thumb to the blade despite its sharpness , it only ever sliced his finger open like a paper cut. the sharpness of this blade and it wouldn't take his thumb , unless bidden by its master. loyalty , and loyalty , and the fang to its masters ursine demeanor. it was deceptive in its perceived fierceness; it was a sweeter blade than anyone could gleen. he could feel it buried there at the heart of its ore.

❝ whatever you're saying , it agrees wholeheartedly. it'll follow you to the end of whatever line you're looking to find. ❞ and he smiled as it's ringing grew quiet like a placated puppy. like it's master , it was more bark than bite unless it thought the bite unavoidable. he would say it would bite with provocation , but like said master , it only ever growled and snarled when he provoked it. he couldn't help but to laugh at how similar they were; it loved him and so it took on these things of him that he'd thought long dead and some of what he might wish would die with it.

Saint turned his eyes to the horizon and noted the sunset nearing the zenith of its descent. the light of ra lay dying in this world , and with it , saint turned to look at cyrus. he lowered his head as if to get his attention from the corner of his eye. Saint didn't believe for a second those eyes of his don't notice. ❝ wait an hour , at the least , before you begin eating. don't forget this pot is the rice to go with it. ❞ he pulled out a small font full of rice and placed it down between them. another font only a little bit larger that he could pour the entirety of the stew in , though it seems impossible to fit. it would preserve it and he could eat it whenever plain jerky and unseasoned meat wore him out. they would both easily fit in that pack of his. Cyrus had little excuse . . .

but saint's sure he would still try to find one. when he saw the other man might not still have been listening , or was ignoring him outright , saint lifted his hand to grasp his chin and turned his face until he couldn't look away from saint's own eyes. ❝ an hour , or it'll be rubbery and you'll grouse it's distastefulness to your delicate senses. ❞ Saint couldn't help but to tease the man. he released his chin and stood up once more to glance anxiously at the horizon. ❝ orevwa , papabear. don't stay up too late you'll need the sleep for tomorrow's hunt. oh , and . . . I'll be gone half the month so i won't be able to come bother you. don't be too excited. ❞ joking , saint crossed the camps wards he's set up in the anchor stones for cyrus and left with the sound of thunder.

[celestialpoems]

Gifts / Valentine’s Day

My mother told me strawberries are poisonous and roses will make you bleed

I was taught since I can remember that if you accept a gift there will be something grave you have to give in return

Your mind , body , and soul can be sold just for a box of chocolates

The stuff animals are only given as a reminder of how fragile you truly are .

When your heart begins to beat just a little quicker then usual you are done for

Make a grave for yourself before they do it for you

The endless gifts that could be given all have deceit written all over them

Professional tricksters is what my mom calls those people

The one who tells you sweet words and gives even sweeter heart shaped food

If your not careful they will devour your heart like you devoured that chocolate

They will leave no scrapes just like you didn’t

My moms words always ring in my ears when I see a gift now “ deception, fraud , and betrayal.” On a continuous loop to remind me that the giver is also a taker .

That nothing in life comes for free .

As I am given a gift I feel the ache of my heart missing

Others don’t see I am not whole , that I have pieces that were taken from me that can never be returned

I feel as of now I am immune to the charade these givers play

I know now roses are only meant to be given to the dead and strawberries are killers that remind me of warm summer nights where only one person was in love while the other couldn’t give such a pricy gift as that

[stinkbeck]

i know nostalgia is a bitch but there was a time when my mom would dress me in this little red peacoat and i’d be all warm when the fog came in and it was my favorite thing to just hustle around in the freezing crowd, sample different shop atmospheres, all the low lights and the people clamoring for coffee or bagels. my mom would be stressed out of her mind but we’d still find a way to sit down and smile at each other. and my mom’s hands were always gloved, and i’d hold the cold leather. i was just so small and anonymous.

[peachyteabuck]

caught a vibe

summary: you and fallon have dinner, it does not end as how you expected

commissioned by anonymous

pairing: fallon carrington x reader

words: 1,156

content warnings: stepcest, car sex, fingering, nipple play, manipulation, drinking (reader is tipsy), orgasm denial, grinding

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Fallon is a simple woman. She likes warmed Croissants that melt in her mouth and warm summer days, and the way a perfectly designed dress falls on her curves. Most importantly, though, she likes it when a perfectly thought out plan falls just into place. This – blessed be – is one of those times.

Months and months of hard work have culminated perfectly in you in front of her, tipsy from ridiculously expensive wine, staring at Fallon’s red-painted lips at a very public restaurant with the smell of pasta that’s barely touched wafting into her nose. The table they’ve sat in is darkened; the same booth Fallon’s been doing shady deals in since she was in high school. She knows this place like the back of her hand, and you know nothing, and it makes your desperation all the sweeter.

“We should, uh,” you murmur, thoughts scattered like confetti on the floor of a nightclub. You’d had the same number of drinks Fallon had – but you were never good at math and were always drawn to those deceptively “girly” drinks that contained enough alcohol to put down a trucker. “We should, we should go somewhere more private…”

Your mind swims in a euphoric pool, the words just out of the grasp of your hands. You want to speak, scream, do something, but all you can do is close your eyes and hope the woman next to you is willing to show you a minuscule amount of mercy.

Her words cut through the blood that rushes in your ears. “Why don’t we go back to my place?”

If anyone else had asked, you’re pretty sure it would’ve sounded like a question. With her, though, it’s a statement, or more accurately a challenge – one you have no choice but to accept.

“O-okay,” you all but whisper. It comes out as quiet as can be, but Fallon – as always – is one step ahead of you, throwing a wad of hundreds on the table and calmly leading you out of the ridiculously expensive restaurant. After a series of events you can’t quite decipher, you find yourself in the back of Fallon’s expensive car, the partition rolled up, and soft music playing so low you can barely hear it.

Most importantly, though, you’ve got the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders as Fallon pulls you closer, eliciting a small giggle that’s followed by an equally tiny gasp. “F-Fallon, we can’t do this…”

The woman in question just smiles, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth as she pulls you close to her. Instead of saying anything in return she merely drags her sharp nails over your breasts, her sinister smile deepening when you begin to gasp softly.

“You’re such a pretty little thing,” Fallon whispers, grinning as she feels you tighten around her. “Aw, you like that don’t you?”

Yes, is all you can think. Yes, fuck, I love it so much, please don’t stop.

The woman on top of you smiles wider. “I knew from when I met you that you would be one of those good little girls who would do anything for whoever so much as smiled down at them, who would do anything for some praise…”

A small voice in your brain screams, attempting to wretch yourself back into reality. Tell her no! It shrieks, hitting against the sides of your skull as you look up at her. Tell her to leave you alone! To fuck off! She’s got enough power and money to bury you, both literally and figuratively. One wrong move and you’ll never be heard from again. You’re so stupid – get the fuck out of there!

“Don’t even worry about it, baby,” Fallon’s whispers break through your meager defenses, her hand moving lower and lower, thumbing at the edge of your short, navy-blue cocktail dress. She’d bought it for you as an apology gift – when you first met her and explained how you were the result of a short, emotionally unfulfilling affair between your mother and her father, who had paid for your computer science degree and gotten you your job at the high-end tech firm you had been at since graduation. Fallon, in turn, had thrown an entire bottle of expensive champagne at your head. Luckily, she had missed, breaking through one of the French doors instead. Regardless of your physically unscathed state, the next day you found a package at your shitty apartment’s doorstep, containing a card with a succinct apology, this dress, and a few pairs of shoes. “Don’t even worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

Your skin feels both fire hot and ice-cold as her nimble fingers move under the dress she’d bought you, rubbing lightly over your black panties.

“Such a cute little thing,” she mumbles – seemingly to herself – before pressing down on your clit with her palm. Your breathy gasps and whimpers fuel her forward, crashing her lips into yours. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

It’s not long before she can’t help it anymore, before Fallon’s nimble fingers are breaching the territory of your most expensive pairs of panties and feeling how soaked you are. Easily, two fingers are slipped into you, crooking in the perfect way that makes you cry out.

Fallon moans into your mouth as your pussy tightens around her fingers. It’s not enough – it’s not enough! – and you’re desperate for more stuffed inside of you.

She laughs at how pathetic you are, at the sight of you trying to fuck your hips back down on her fingers. She can feel her own wetness soak her panties as she imagines her doing the same on one of those straps she bought but had never gotten to use. Fallon wishes the both of you weren’t in such a cramped space, wishes she could spread you out and tie you down and make you come until you’re sobbing. She knows you’re inexperienced (you’re chatty when you’re drunk), and all she’s been thinking about for weeks is how amazing it would be to fold you into the fantasies she’s had for ages but had never found someone to help fulfill them. You’re perfect, a moldable little doll for her to pose and bend and string up whatever way she pleases.

She just needs you to keep being good.

“Don’t come yet,” Fallon tells you, her voice stern. “I don’t want you to come yet, I only want that to happen when I’ve got you to myself.”

Confused, but too far gone to protest or form a coherent rebuttal, you nod pathetically as you continue to grind. Your head swims, your vision blurs, and you’re sure you must look like such a fucking mess. Still, you keep going, until Fallon pulls away entirely, towering above you in your disheveled state.

“Now would you look at that, darling,” she tells you, smirking. It’s then that you realize the town car had come to a complete stop. “We’re here…”

[leviathans-watching]

Hi hope you are having a good day, Could I request the brothers having an argument with MC and they accidentally say something hurtful towards the MC? If your ok with writing something like this? Thank you and love your writing cant wait to read more!💖

the brothers hurting your feelings

includes: the brothers x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .8k | rated t | m.list

warnings: fighting/arguing, hurt feelings (nothing specific)

a/n: thank you and thank you for requesting! this was a little bittersweet to write but i loved it anyway. my inbox is open to chat or req so feel free to drop something in it!

hello, i am once again asking for reblogs

➳ lucifer knows he’s gone too far the moment the words leave his moth. he watches, unable to do anything as he watches you rear back, mouth falling open in shock. “wait!” he finally manages, stretching a hand out to you. “i’m sorry. please, i didn’t mean it!” he feels sick to his stomach. he’s managed to hurt the one person he’s sworn he wouldn't, and watching your eyes fill with tears is a special kind of hell. but, against all odds, you wait, willing even then to let him apologize, proving once again that you are so much more than he deserves.

➳ mammon lets the words hang in the air, too frustrated to take them back right away. he knows he’s gone too far, knows he crossed the line the both of you tried not to cross, but at the moment he doesn’t know how to undo what he just did, doesn’t know how to begin to apologize. communication’s never been his strong suit, not even when he was an angel, and he can’t blame you for walking away from the argument, locking yourself in your room. it’s not long before he's in motion, scrambling to get you flowers or something, but when he presents them to you, head hung in shame, he’s startled by your tearful laugh. “i don’t care about gifts, you idiot! i just wanted an apology!” that’s something he can do, at least.

➳ levi pales, hating himself in that moment. he’s a big jerk when he’s upset- he knows this, and you know this, but he always tries his best to make up for it right away. and this time is no different. he hastily stutters out an apology, more than one, actually, pleading with you to understand. even though you forgive him, you still want a little time, which he agrees to, immediately working to get supplies for a better apology, planning to make it up to you lavishly.

➳ satan hits where it hurts, knowing exactly what to say to make you feel bad. he just wants you to feel as bad as he does. he knows what’s he’s done isn’t right, knows he’s potentially destroying your relationship, but he can’t stop, not when he feels so angry. even though you’re so clearly and obviously hurt, you still try to responsibly separate yourself from the situation (and him), his warning that he might go too far when you fight ringing in your ears. later, after some time has passed he comes to you, wringing his hands as he works through his long and thorough apology speech.

➳ asmo is good at making his words into honeyed poison, good at twisting the true meaning behind his insults into something deceptively sweeter, but you’ve always been able to see through him, and this time is no different. you bite your lip to keep from responding, walking away from the fight, and as soon as you're out of the room asmo’s working on fixing his mistakes, filling the tub for you and pulling all of his nicest spa stuff out, lining it up on the counter for you. he brings you to it, almost unable to meet your eyes, and tells you he’ll understand if you want to do it all alone without him, and to totally go ahead and do that.

➳ beel rarely lets your petty arguments spiral into something more, so when they do, both of you tend to go a bit overboard, not used to yelling at each other. this means the boundaries can get a bit blurred, so when he crosses them neither of you knows what to do. he quickly does what he knows how to do best, cooking all of your favorite things and presenting them to you, looking like a kicked puppy. he feels awful, and his anger had faded as quickly as it had come, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. it's a testament to how bad he feels about the situation when he turns down a bite of food you offer him, insisting it’s all for you.

➳ belphie watches you walk out, regret twisting in his gut. he doesn’t know how to apologize, doesn't;t know how to take back what he just said, and it hurts. he almost revels in how bad he feels, knowing he deserves it, trying desperately to convince himself to just apologize to you. he can’t, though, and so the day turns to night, and for once, he can’t sleep. he thinks a walk might help, deciding to head to the planetarium. you’re already there, though, and even though he still can’t find the words, he sits down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and it’s enough for now.

leviathans-watching’s work - please do not repost, copy, or claim as your own

[fanmoose12]

Idk if you already have a similar ask but for your higher school au, where hange has asthma, what if one day she has an asthma attack? Like a workout too intense or strong fumes from the chem lab or something. Maybe levi’s not around and someone has to go and get him or he finds out from the commotion or something.

Breathless

Levi usually doesn't listen to gossips around him. Most of the times, those gossips are meaningless. Sometimes - borderline mean.

And whenever he hears his own name in hushed whispers, it only makes him roll his eyes and darken his scowl even more.

But today- something is different. It isn't his name that is travelling across the hallways, going from one month to another.

It's Hange's.

The sudden realisation forces him to stop and frantically look around, straining his hearing.

Have you seen it?

Yeah, it happened right in the middle of a class.

The weird Zoe, really?

Yep, blacked out during the dodgeball.

Levi leans against the wall, his heartbeat suddenly racing.

It is getting harder to concentrate on all the voices around him, as blood rushes to his ears.

His vision begins to swim, but he continues looking around, searching for someone he knows and who, at least, doesn't completely hate his guts.

There, he forcefully breathes out, once he locates two tall blonde figures. He is beside them in a matter of seconds.

"Smith," he grabs the front of his pristinely white, perfectly ironed shirt. Particially to appear more intimidating, and, particially to stop himself from failing. "Where is-"

"Hange is at the nurse office," Erwin replies, surprisingly gentle. He raises a hand, laying it on Levi's shoulder. "Mike carried her there."

Carried? She couldn't even walk? Oh god, Levi thought, what if-

"Is she-"

"She fainted," Mike says. "Moblit caught her before she hit her head but-"

So Berner is the one he needs to thank for the saving of his idiot? Levi was wrong then, Moblit isn't the sore loser he always thought he was.

"I'll go and check up on four-eyes," he tells Mike and Erwin, struggling to get his breathing under control.

"Good luck," Mike nods.

"Give Hange our best wishes," Erwin smiles.

"Of course," Levi promises and starts running.

***

By the time he tumbles inside the nurse's office, his legs are hurting and his lungs are on fire. Perhaps, Hange is right in always lecturing him. He does need to cut smoking.

His eyes immediately find Hange, laying on a couch with Moblit sitting beside her. The boy jumps as soon he sees Levi, his face widening in panic.

"Levi! I was just- you know, I didn't-"

"Relax," Levi interrupts, rolling his eyes. Usually, when Moblit is near Hange, irritation tends to get the best of him and his scowl becomes too scary, as Hange had so kindly put it. This time, however, there is no irritation, only gratitude.

"Thanks for sticking with four-eyes," he forces the words out, feeling the tips of his ears burn. "And helping her when I... couldn't."

"I'm just glad that Hange is alright," Moblit smiles, the picture of sweetness. "And since you're here, I'll be on my way. Get better, Hange," he turns back to her, swiftly squeezing her hand. "Call if you need help with homework."

"Thank you, Moblit," Hange smiles back, and Moblit nods, grabbing his backpack and leaving the room, before Levi can give him his trademark dark look.

As soon as Moblit is out, Hange's eyes are on him.

"You ran here?" she asks, raising her eyebrow.

"No," Levi lies, smoothing the edge of his shirt.

"No?" Hange raises her eyebrow just a little higher, a taunting smirk pulling on her lips. "So it's the sight of me that leaves you completely breathless?"

"Brat," Levi curses, gesturing to Hange to scoot over. She complies with a giddy smile, and Levi sighs, sitting down next to her. As soon as he does, Hange puts her head on his lap and looks straight at him, daring him to push her away.

Of course, Levi doesn't. He does the exact opposite, in fact, and pulls Hange closer, burying his fingers in her hair.

"Aren't you the one who ought to be breathless?" he shots back at her, his eyes looking over her intently.

"I was a little breathless," Hange answers so carelessly it makes Levi seethe. "But I'm fine now. Mike got me here in time."

"And what if Mike wasn't there? What if he wasn't fast enough?" his eyes are hard, as he stares at her.

Hange huffs and shifts her gaze to the side. "But he was there, wasn't he?"

"Four-eyes..." Levi groans, exasperated. He gently flicks her nose, making her yelp. "How many times do I have to tell you to be more careful?"

"Did I make you worry?" she asks quietly, and then, before Levi can give her answer, she adds, "sorry if I did."

"Just don't do it again, alright?" he lifts the corners of lips, showing that he's not actually angry. Hange's eyes flicker to his mouth, and Levi shoots a quick glance at the door. "Where is the nurse?"

"Went to call my mom."

Levi hums, moving his face closer to Hange.

Their lips are just centimetres apart, when the door opens with a loud bang, and the nurse comes in.

"Ackerman!" she shrieks, pointing a finger at him. "What are you doing here?"

Levi scowls, glaring at the nurse. "I came to check on four-eyes."

"I won't let you start trouble in here," the nurse moves closer to him, looking like she wants nothing more than to kick Levi out.

Hange's quiet voice interrupts her.

"Can he stay here, please?" she adopts her best puppy eyed look. "Until my mom comes to get me."

The nurse hesitates, and Hange adds, her voice even sweeter than before, "I'll make sure he behaves."

It is only then that nurse sees the hand that Levi still has entangled in Hange's hair. Her eyes widen, as a realisation finally hits her.

"Oh..." she mutters, her lips twitching. "So even Levi Ackerman has his weaknesses. Fine, you can stay. But," she levels him with a hard look. "Be quiet."

"Alright," Levi nods, and the nurse goes to sit at her desk.

Levi turns back to Hange. She's smiling from ear to ear.

"Brat," he shakes his head, and Hange laughs.

"You know, Levi," she begins, deceptively innocent. "I think you should start carrying my inhalator..." The idea is surprisingly sound, and Levi finds himself nodding, agreeing with it. But Hange isn't finished yet. She moves closer to him, whispering into his ear, "because whenever I'm with you, I get completely breathless."

What a brat, Levi thinks again.

He looks behind, checking if the nurse is looking. She isn't, so he flicks Hange on the nose again. And then, because the nurse still isn't looking and he can't quite resist it, he leans closer to Hange and leaves a soft peck on her lips.

"Breathless already?" he asks, reveling in Hange's soft smile.

"Completely," she answers, pulling him for another quick kiss.

[nintickleswitch]

Electric Feel

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Word Count: 3227

Characters: Michael (The Distortion), Mike Crew

Warnings: Tickling, NSFW

Summary: Mike has a monster boyfriend that introduces him to a kink he never knew he had.

If you'd asked Mike Crew last year what he'd be doing on a chilly late autumn night like this, frost slowly creeping its way up the edges of the windowpane, relaxing in front of the TV with his formerly most despised enemy would have been his last guess. The vaguely person shaped collection of multicolored thread and blonde hair that was Michael had entangled him quite securely in its limbs. Having lost interest in both the film and complaining about it a long time ago, instead it chose to focus upon lavishing its affection on him. Tarkovsky was never a bad choice, but as much as Solaris had been a hit with the both of them, the slow loss of self in the vastness of the universe being quite an appealing theme to both of their patrons, Stalker was becoming a little bit of a drag. More of the sea captain's fare, Mike thought idly.

Regardless, affection from the Distortion right now consisted of slow, deliberate nips along his neckline and a gentle pull along his waist that beckoned him closer. He leaned back, eyes fluttering closed. Passion flower. The scent of his hair always seemed to shift depending on its mood. Jasmine for when it was feeling sweet, a heady blend of cinnamon and cardamom when it was more mischievous. At least, that's what he'd guessed. There was no mistaking what kind of mood it was in tonight, though. Its claws slid under his shirt as he leaned in to plant a warm kiss against its lips.

It was the warmth that it found most startling about Mike, really. He was so deceptively fragile, pale skin adorned with a litany of scars, some more recent than others. The main one, of course, was the Lichtenberg figure which wound its way from his neck down his torso, even extending some way down his arm. Others were a result of his attempt at erasing the former scar, appearing as starbursts of jagged lines. Finally, there was the one he'd earned on his shoulder, still in the process of forming. It remembered that night well, drinking in the fear of the battered, bleeding man choking on the rocky earth of that forest, stuck between the ghosts of his past and the horror of his present. And how in spite of that fear, when the trap shut behind him, his stare held only the ice cold calm of the coming storm - eyes that declared it could not have him then, and it would not have him now. Oh, but it had him now, it chuckled to itself, humming against his lips as it reminisced. There was so much more to the man than the slight, bony form tucked away inside Michael's arms, but as he couldn't hold the wind that whistled past his ears or caress the great expanse of blue sky stretching past the horizon, he was quite happy with how entirely physical he appeared. It gave it some comfort to hold something with a beating heart and hot flushed skin and quick, short breaths which picked up when its hand wrapped around the other's hip, dragging down the elastic band of his sweatpants.

"Michael, please..."

He murmured, head long lost in the clouds far above the smell of ozone that kept its distance but never ceased to pursue him. The sound of that name had never been sweeter since he'd met his counterpart. Though it was the name Mike had chosen, it was still too close to the name his parents had called him by, so Mike it was. Besides, it suited the Distortion's deceptively angelic appearance far more than him. His hips rolled like a wave against the precarious edge of the Distortion's fingers, helping ease his pants down until they exposed the V-line below his stomach. A fine dusting of light brown hair trailed down from his bellybutton, disappearing into a coarser patch just peeking out from underneath. Michael slunk down to press petal-soft kisses down that line, unwinding the Vast avatar with every little touch.

It wasn't until the pad of his thumb happened to brush against his scar that Mike jolted awake from his trance, dark pupils narrowed to small, shaking points. His gaze was cast into the distance, knuckles turning white as his grip on Michael's shoulder became unsteady. Immediately, Michael pulled back, closing a hand over the nails digging into the twisting fabric until finally, he let go. When his eyes refocused, they held a softer, wearier look.

"I'm sorry, Michael, it... It happened again."

"Was it something that I did," it asked, its mouth twisting into a shape resembling a question mark.

"I, ah..."

Mike's mouth went dry. The subject of intimacy was not one he found easy to discuss. Ordinarily he would have had no problems, his history of affectionless flings only serving to prove that point. But this time around, it was more complicated. 

"No, it wasn't your fault. It's just that - becoming reacquainted with the Spiral hasn't exactly been easy for me. I suppose I'm... On some subconscious level, I'm still afraid that you'll hurt me," he confessed.

"Stormbringer..."

Michael's arms curled around him, gently stroking between his shoulderblades.

"You know that you have my promise."

"And it's not normally in your nature to make promises that you intend to keep, so this was hard for you. I understand that."

"But?"

"I'd still prefer if we took it slowly, for a change," he smiled, planting a kiss on the tip of Michael's nose, the air itself flushing pink around it. "Just don't make it too weird on me, alright?"

It tilted its head for a moment, at an angle far too obtuse to seem real, as though processing.

"I am willing to accept that."

"Good. Promise I'll try not to tease you for too long... I can tell how worked up you've gotten already," he leaned against his ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. The cloud of pink shone even brighter as the Distortion dissolved into a fit of flustered giggles. "Come here."

In its eagerness, the Distortion seemed to melt into its partners lips, settling its claws around his waist. Mike leaned into it, mouth filling with television static. Its unnaturally long tongue snaked deeper down his throat, exploring every impossible angle of his body, reaching into places the Vast avatar didn't even know he had. So much for not getting too weird, but fuck - he loved where this was going.

When Michael reached under his shirt though, Mike immediately stiffened up, his breath hitching. Unluckily for him, he'd forgotten just how maddening the touch of those claws felt - Especially when they idly traced pretty little patterns all over his bare skin. In a moment of weakness, when the thumbs of his claws finally reached his lower ribs, he twitched. No, he squirmed away from Michael's touch, trying his damnest to suppress the breathy chuckles pushing their way out of his throat. Surprised, the Distortion pulled away again, wondering if it had gone too far.

And then Michael saw something he did not entirely expect to see. The Vast avatar's pale blue eyes, expansive as the sky, deep as the ocean, filled not with the bitter trepidation he was used to, but rather a new kind of fear - fear that he could taste on the tip of his tongue like salted caramel and taffy, despite the ghost of a smile that visibly flickered across his face before returning to his usual tired look. A contradiction. Michael liked that.

"Something wrong, my Fallen Titan?"

It purred leisurely, curls springing to life at this new discovery.

"No, it's alright. You can keep going, you-"

He attempted to speak in his usual cool, unbothered tone, but choked on his words the moment Michael lightly traced his fingers over his lower ribs again, whipping a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. This time, the look was far less fleeting.

"Maybe - not so gentle, add a little more pressure," he managed, the pitch of his voice rising as quickly as the pressure in his ears. The trouble was with being as pale as Mike was, he could never hide his shame. Especially not from Michael, who was drinking in every moment of this.

"No, no, no, I don't think so. You did ask me to go easy on you, start slow. So I will~"

There it was again, that tiny nervous grin flickering across his face again. What was he hiding?

The simple truth was that Mike was terribly, incorrigibly ticklish. It was something he tended to think of as a small inconvenience, for rarely did his lovers lay their hands on him as much as Michael did. To them he might as well have been cold marble, with veins of an even paler white running through it. But no, despite the Vast's claim over him, he was entirely flesh and blood, and remarkably sensitive at that. He'd often struggle to force a smile down when Michael's curls spilled over his neck, sending wild shivers down his spine and throughout his scar. Luckily for him, the Distortion never seemed to notice. Until now.

He hadn't noticed he was biting down on his lip until Michael's fingers had crept up to the soft hollows of his underarms, miserably failing at hiding the little flinches and short huffs at the pricking of his claws along the way. They were not as sharp as they could have been, the Distortion had made sure of that. More importantly, Michael was of the Spiral, not the Hunt. They did not have to be deadly in order to drive him up the walls, thinking he'd lose it at any moment. For a second, Mike had glanced up towards it, immediately regretting that decision, as Michael's eyes swirled with utter glee at its discovery. 

"Do you know what your weakness is, darling?"

"Enlighten me," Mike huffed, knowing he'd used up his very last ounce of composure for this.

"You are far too trusting of me, knowing full well what I am capable of doing to you."

The drop in his stomach as all ten of its fingers stood poised to descend on him at once felt like something akin to standing on the precipice of freefall. And the sudden, dizzy rush of sensation at Michael scratching over his delicate skin felt much the same.

From the day they became enemies to the day they became lovers, Michael had realized he had never heard the man properly laugh. A chuckle here and there, the occasional snort. Only now did he realize what he had been missing out on. Mike's laughter was almost angelic - light, carefree, and full of joy, a complete turnaround from his everyday demeanor. It blanketed the Distortion in a warm and fuzzy static that felt like home.

"Poor little Vast avatar. So sensitive, and so helpless to do anything about it."

An undignified squeal escaped Mike as he twisted from side to side, trying to wriggle out from underneath Michael's exceptionally tickly grasp. This didn't exactly accomplish anything, other than making him squeal even louder when he bucked right into the Distortion's fingers. Clamping down his arms had only succeeded in trapping his tormentor there, so it happily took this opportunity to claw at the backs of his ribs at the same time, briefly sending his laughter soaring into shrieks before it decided to explore other avenues.

Mike had barely noticed when he'd stopped tickling him, still sucking in giggly breaths behind his hands. He peeked out from between his fingers, observing the Distortion who was now beaming at him with pride.

"You're... Horrible," he pouted.

"And you lied to me, Stormbringer," Michael responded with faux-incredulity.

"Now how did I do that," Mike began to protest.

"You told me that you weren't ticklish."

"When did I ever do thahahA-"

His reply was quickly cut short by the languid tracing of nails along his collarbones, making him scrunch up to protect himself.

"Really you never told me that you were, but I believe that still counts as a lie of omission, wouldn't you say so?"

It giggled raucously, making Mike's head spin even more than the tickling did alone. He tried to form a reply, batting at Michael's hands, but found out that he couldn't get anything out past the bubbly stream of laughter elicited by the intricate fractal patterns being traced over his skin.

"In any case, it doesn't matter. Now that I've found out, I think I'll keep you like this forever, laughing your pretty little head off for the rest of time~"

There was nothing more that Mike craved than the desire to kick, to scream, to tell the Spiral avatar to go fuck himself. But as long as he loathed to admit it, the combination of soft, relentless teasing and feather light touches coming from Michael was at once excruciatingly humiliating and unbearably delightful - melting him into a puddle of overstimulated nerves. It certainly didn't help that as it crawled atop him, the cascading veil of hair that blinked its bright colors and taunted him with its shapes drowning him in that ocean of madness, the Distortion just so happened to press one of its knees between Mike's legs, rewarding it with a full bodied moan. He froze.

"Shit, I didn't mean to-"

Mike stammered, his blush now a vivid scarlet against his ghostly white scar. Ignoring his protestations, two crystal-cold, slender fingers slipped underneath the waistband of his trousers. He couldn't help the jerk of his hips and the sharp hiss he let out at the contact with his warm, wet folds and his eager throbbing cock. A gentle swooping sensation passed through the Distortion's core. Mike looked positively enraptured like this, and Michael thought he would fall in love all over again, right in this moment. He didn't want the fun of this new discovery to be over quite yet, though.

"Fuck... Stop teasing me already, you Spiral bastard," he groaned, nevertheless sinking deeper into the couch at the feeling of Michael slowly circling his cock, never applying enough pressure to take the edge off.

"But we are having so much fun, are we not?"

A frustrated sigh and muttered curse was all it received in reply.

"The politeness drops easily when you are needy, I have noticed," it chuckled, sliding its hands out to help Mike pull off his shirt - at least, appearing to, until it trapped him halfway through it, imprisoned with his own garment pulled over his head. The man's heartbeat quickened immediately, but not with the sweeter fear that Michael craved. It tasted faintly of sodden soil.

"Michael... Stop. I don't like this."

He tried his best to keep his voice steady, but the nervous tension running through him was like an unstoppable current. Understanding the message, Michael peeled off the rest of the shirt until it saw those clear blue eyes peeking back up at it. It planted a reassuring kiss on his forehead, then rolled up the rest of his shirt to just around his wrists.

"Is that alright?"

Mike gave a few experimental tugs. Stretchy and easy to escape. He nodded, giving Michael a faint smile.

"Thank you."

The full extent of Mike's scar was not a mystery to Michael, a dazzlingly eerie fractal that wound its way from his torso all the way up his neck. The branching had split off around his chest, producing a feathery assortment of scars just below it. It knew all too well of their association with a regretful past full of heartache and loss, yet it couldn't help but stop and stare every time it had the chance. To be marked in such a way by the Spiral, delicately embracing one's body at all times... It was almost romantic.

With one hand, it entwined its fingers with both of Mike's and pinned them down, stretched taut above his head. Every inch of his upper body was now utterly exposed and vulnerable, a fact that did not go amiss on him. He felt like a live wire, with Michael's knee still between his legs and a devastatingly wicked hand poised to strike at any moment, ready to wring out every last ounce of his tortured laughter. Instead, Michael's digits landed on his scar, cautiously tracing upwards along the branching pathways with a newfound curiosity. This time, the feeling struck him like lightning, immediately eliciting soft whines and insistent squirming. It burned, yes, the searing heat blinding his thoughts, but it burned with such sweetness and love that he was paralyzed to do anything but grind against his partner's leg. And then another kind of electricity coursed through him.

"Micha-ha-hael!"

The shorter man yelped in horror at the gentle massaging of that sweet spot between his ribs and his armpits. He tossed his head, curls damp from the sweat of his escape attempts. This was torture, pure torture! As if to say it wasn't even close to the worst that Michael could inflict, the Distortion rolled the rest of its remaining uncountable knuckles between his ribs. Mike was absolutely ready to cry. The utter loss of control would have been enough to make him panic a long time ago, but he couldn't even collect enough energy to think about anything except for what Michael was doing for him, and how the dull friction between his legs was so close to making him finish already.

To see him twist so beautifully, arching his back with such need into the Distortion's touch, aching for a drop of relief, sent a ripple of something incomprehensible through its form - then another, pulsing waves of color that seemed to flow into each other, increasing with every peak. All the while, the Vast avatar's laughter and moans mixed freely, building until their lips sealed again, and the clear evening sky would crack in two with a flash of lightning. As the smell of ozone came and left, everything went still, save for the murmuring of the television set left on in the background.

"That uh... That was..."

Mike finally made out after catching his breath, still coming down from the high of the whole experience.

"That certainly was, my dear."

The two of them locked eyes for a moment. Then, they burst out laughing, and embraced, Michael burying itself deep into his neck as it flopped beside him on the couch.

"Can I ask you one question," Mike inquired after a couple of minutes, running his fingers through the staticky mess that was Michael's hair now.

"Mm?"

"I felt - well, I felt a lot of things during that, but if I'm not wrong... Did I feel you feeding off me there? As in, fear-wise."

"What a fascinating question."

"That the answer to is...?"

"What do you think," its eyes glimmered as it peered up at him.

Mike looked down at him for a second, then let out a chuckle, staring up at the ceiling.

"I didn't even know it could work like that, that's just crazy."

"You hurt me so, love."

"Did I say something-"

"And I know exactly the kind of apology I'd appreciate," it grinned mischieviously, claws wrapped around his sides already.

"Oh no, not again-"

And then the house was filled with the sound of love and laughter once more.

[alifeasvivid]

Favorite thing about ukus?

Do you have any headcanons for ukus?

So to be clear, usuk and ukus are the same ship in my eyes. But they are different flavors of it.

That said, I think my favorite thing about ukus, what I think makes it better than usuk (in my extremely humble and correct opinion which no one has to agree with)... is that it's more fun.

(speaking very, very generally) England almost always laughs more, is more indulgent, more affectionate. America can act like a twerp (because he is a twerp), but he's not as susceptible to sliding into asshole behavior. It tends to be sweeter and more open. And ukus has a lot more unexplored territory, whereas, after 13 years, most of usuk feels pretty played out to me, I haven't seen a new take in a long time. I would like to stress that I do love it very much, but in terms of what appeals to me for writing purposes, it's not as interesting.

Headcanons you say??? Hmm...

-England is hella possessive -America is sometimes a Brat (yeah in the BDSM sense) -England is confident and sexy, but like in a masculine way XD -Alfred is generally pretty naive by comparison, which is not to say he's stupid -Arthur is deceptively strong. Alfred is very, very flexible (and still freakishly strong) LOL

Other than what I listed above, what you guys have to understand is that I don't have set characterizations for either America or England. I have things I know I don't like, but other than that... I know I'll do whatever suits my purposes at the time and I'm generally willing to let other people make their case, as it were. LOL

Like... Arthur and Alfred in Thief of Spades bare little resemblance to Arthur and Alfred in that teacher/student au nor are either of those pairs very similar to the Trust au and they're all different from the Time Traveler/Immortal au and the way I write anything in canonverse tends to differ substantially from human au's and obviously, of course, there's overlap because... I'm a human and I have tropes and particular characterizations that I like better than others, but >.> America and England are extremely plastic characters and that's what I love about them.

[rubykgrant]

(Y’all want a tiny sample of Grif and Simmons being all domestic for the first time once they start to actually be boyfriends? Sure you do~)

“I should have just done what I always do and changed into something else before coming back here… and YOU should have taken all your armor off in one place. Now you’ll have to carry those pieces back with you when you have to wear it again,” Simmons teased him as he started to take off his undersuit.

“Dammit, you’re right… but I REALLY wanted to get back here first, and you change so fast!” Grif told him. He undid the little clasps so the armor fell off him, bit by bit, section by section, then kicked it under his bed.

“Pff, WHY?”

“Oh, I was gonna wait for you on your bed with a rose in my teeth, and-”

“You were NOT!”

“Yeah, no, I wasn’t…” Grif admitted. Now that they were both changing and talking casually, he felt himself relax. “My actual plan was to get under my covers and pretend to be asleep, then jump up and surprise you,”

“You probably would have fallen asleep for REAL if you did that, and then what?”

He heard Simmons chuckle, and Grif glanced over in that direction. Simmons had already gotten his sweatpants on, and was now pulling on a t-shirt. Grif had almost the same sweatpants, but his were bigger and more worn-out (Simmons’ were still a dark black, while Grif’s were faded to a dingy gray… showing a few stains from where he had once spilled some chili in his lap). Grif pulled a tank-top from his clean-clothes-pile, slipping it over his head, unable to stop looking at Simmons. Sensing Grif was watching him, Simmons looked over and smiled at him. Grif smiled back, and he didn’t have to look away, or pretend he was just spacing-out, or make some joke, or insult Simmons as a distraction; this was his boyfriend now. He could look at him. Actually, he could do a lot more.

Grif walked back to him, and Simmons opened his arms to embrace Grif. For a moment they stood like that, holding each other, feeling the way they both breathed in and out.

“If I DID fall asleep before you got back… you could just, y’know, come over and… get into bed with me,” Grif told him, pressing his face into the crook of Simmons’ neck (this was quickly becoming his favorite place to nuzzle; he could feel Simmons’ pulse, the muscles twitch when Simmons swallowed or talked, and it was so warm right here).

“Yeah?” Simmons asked.

“Yeah… not like it’s the first time we’ve ever slept together. Now we can actually cuddle, though. Um, we could just go do that… right now… if you want,” Grif didn’t want to sound too much like he just wanted to sleep… true, that was one of his favorite things to do, and he was tired from racing through the ship, but his actual motivations revolved around being able to keep holding Simmons as long as possible.

“Well, I don’t know… your bed is all the way over THERE. That’s WAY too far. My bed is right HERE, though. How about we just crash at my place?” Simmons laughed at his own lame joke before letting go of Grif, leaning over so he could pull back the blankets. “You get in and get comfy, I’m gonna go get something…”

Grif hopped into the small bed; they would pretty much have to sleep right on top of each other… Grif felt overwhelmed by several different emotions. One, his natural laziness was indignant over the running incident, and now very content to simply pass-out. Two, he was incredibly endeared by the fact that Simmons was not only willing but looking forward to sharing a bed with him (and even appealing to his laziness by offering the closer bed). Three, he was just ever-so-slightly aroused… because Simmons was being far too cute, and all this casual intimacy was deceptively hot. Four, he was still a bit awkward and unsure about what to do, because he didn’t want this to somehow go wrong, he wanted this to be GOOD, he wanted them both to be happy together (and whole thing about being in the closet on Chorus was in the back of his mind. That had been too fast and too blurry… whatever they did next, Grif wanted it to be slower and sweeter).

The laziness and the awkwardness were drowning out the arousal, but the endearment was making up for it all; Grif was happy to do this, sleep and snuggle with Simmons. Maybe they could do this every night…

Simmons returned, sitting down on the side of the bed. He had a few small objects in his hands.

“Here, disposable tooth-brushes. They have this coating of tooth paste, so they get foamy while you use them. Oh, and see? I’ve got a bottle of water right there on the nightstand. Here’s a little paper cup you can spit in to rinse when you’re done,” Simmons explained as he handed Grif one of the tiny tooth-brushes.

“Haha, dude, seriously? I was just gonna skip it tonight…”

“NO, you need to brush every night, Grif! Ugh, how can you sleep with plaque on your teeth? I can’t stand it,” Simmons shook his head in mock-disdain. “And I have more of these, too… I know you don’t have your own tooth-brush here,”

Grif had to smile at that; Simmons was still sore about all the times Grif had used his tooth-brush in the past, but clearly not genuinely mad. Grif did as he was told, grateful at least that Simmons had brought all this to him instead of making Grif get up and walk outside to one of the bathrooms in the hall (no personal bathrooms on this ship… not even for important space heroes). Once they were both finished, Simmons threw the used tooth-brushes and cup away. Finally, he turned off the light, and slipped into the bed with Grif.

“You good, dude?” Grif asked as he settled.

“Yeah… you’re even softer than the bed, so this works out just fine for me!” Simmons had practically draped himself over Grif. “What about you, OK?”

“I am way beyond OK…” Grif sighed, enjoying that was once again able to press his face into Simmons’ neck. Oh yeah, he was great… this was perfect…

“Oh, I just remembered something I wanted to tell you!” Simmons said. “I figured out how to access the satellite signals for this place without disrupting any of the important information messages,”

“Mmm… yes, that sounds very impressive… good nerd, smart nerd…” Grif patted his head.

“That means I can get us Spaceflicks on my helmet,”  

“Oh, what? For real?” that got his attention.

“Yep. We can do a movie marathon when we both have the time. Now, say it like you MEAN it!” Simmons smiled smugly in the dark.

“Good nerd, smart nerd!” Grif repeated with more emphasis, running his hands through Simmons’ hair. “Clever nerd, cute nerd, funny nerd, sweet nerd, MY nerd…”

Simmons damn near purred at all the praise.

[lyallblacklupin]

Now that all is over.

TW: Implied Sexual Assault/Nightmares.

Voldemort is killed with all aspects which is how the Second Wizarding War has ended. Fortunately, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin have survived. They have a godson to look forward to make up for the lost times, the world is serene and ill-free, and especially, they have each other. Life cannot have been any sweeter.  However, one miserable night, Sirius jerks out of the worst nightmare he has ever seen in his life. He is screaming and looking anywhere for help but Remus Lupin, who has been sleeping beside him. Will Remus be able to calm him down without having to touch him, or even come close to him?

There are a lot of things Remus Lupin should be thinking right now, which included his indecisiveness for accepting the job Dumbledore has offered him again, now that the story of Voldemort had ended once and for all. Also, the fact that he needs to move out from Grimmauld Place for the sake of his-boyfriend? Fiancé? Lover? He doesn’t understands what they are, but he knows that they are certainly not teenagers anymore. They had endured wars, losses and especially, ducked down from their own deaths, together. They finally have another chance to live, and this time it is without the fear. The fear that had been looming like their shadows since they can remember. This was THE chance.

However, as Remus exchanges the bill with the cash the red-headed girl is giving him for the Oscar Wilde’s poetry—which becomes a good distraction because the girl looks timid and strongly reminds him of Lily Evans picking up poetry from the Hogwarts for him, then she would smile at him with a teasing glint in her emerald eyes when it was Wilde’s queer poetry—he is stuck with his brain flickering the image of what happened today morning at half past five when Sirius jolted out of his sleep, running away from nothing but Remus.

“Sirius, honey—“

“NOOOOO!” Sirius’ eyes were screwed shut and he was pulling his hair like a madman, squirming in the most corner of their bedroom, with his knees glued to his chest as he quivered violently. Remus didn’t know what to do because this was something that he had never experienced in their togetherness. Sirius did have the tendency of having frequent nightmares even in Hogwarts, but never once he had pulled Remus away when he had reached and took his trembling body to tuck it against his own. He didn’t even need to ask his permission which was evidently clear that Sirius could recognize his presence without even looking him. However, this time Sirius’ wide eyes were staring him and yet he was shrieking when Remus inched forward to touch him. All of this was giving Remus only one answer: The nightmare was about Remus.

“Okay, Sirius, I’m not touching you, I’m not coming to you, see…” He steps back and sits on his bed across the very scared looking Sirius sitting on the floor. He pretended that didn’t have assume the reason behind Sirius’ behavior, looking very calm, “Did you have a nightmare, love? You can tell me, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise you, Sirius—“

His words died in his throat and suddenly something very heavy settled on his chest because Sirius is shaking his head.

“Don’t lie.” Sirius whispered and Remus thought that all of his surrounding was turning upside down. He hadn’t felt so helpless before. It had never been like this. Sirius had always been too tactile with him, no matter what. He couldn’t do anything, he was running out of ideas and strategies to deal with the situation. His mind was ringing and he started feeling nauseous as if some vial is refluxing from his stomach. His fisted the bedsheet and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to call out Sirius but he could hardly hear his own voice when a certain ringing sound is somewhere around him. He could tell nothing except the regrets and the what-ifs that were screaming in his head: What is happening to us? Are we falling again when the chance is finally here? Why now? What if Sirius had dreamt that the wolf has killed him? What if Sirius has now realized that he was bound with a monster? What if Sirius has believed that nightmare? He shouldn’t have been with me! He deserves more! Someone who is hundred times better than me! What will I do without him? And again? Weren’t those twelve years enough for us? Why isn’t the universe a little merciful on us?

And then what came out from his mouth was a sob. His body was shaking as it  racked through him. He manages to breathe as he lifted up his head and there was Sirius looking at him with his tear-stained face, inching forward towards Remus’ legs by the bed. Remus wanted to throw caution to the wind and embrace him with all his strength and love, but he had to be very gentle to not make him flinch. He carefully raised his hand, not breaking his eye contact with him. Sirius nods hesitantly. It broke Remus’ heart to see the doubtful face of his lover. His fingers touched the skin of his arm, and fortunately there was no hint of discomfort in his face.

“What’s happened, Sirius? What did you see?”

Remus deliberately jerks himself out of the flashback because what Sirius explained him after that, was not failing him to shudder every time he plays that memory in his head. He realizes that he has to go to the therapist he has been seeing since a month. He likes Dr. Holly Meyer, and she knows about his relationship with Sirius. He thinks that she was the right person to talk.

His shift at the bookstore ends at quarter past two as he hurries for his appointment.

     ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Does Sirius have any past trauma related to rape or any sexual assault he has experience from his loved one?”

“Umm, no, he never mentioned.” Remus replies to Holly’s question. But he highly doubts that Sirius was never sexually molested by his family because one of the days at Hogwarts, when they were dating, he saw an angry looking bruise on Sirius’ hip which jolted him to his cores. However, Sirius never talked about it and neither Remus had the audacity to ask him who did that to him.

“Remus, have you ever done something which has terrified him? Any physical gesture or…I hope you know what I am talking about. Something that might have prompted that memory out of him, which also might have influenced him through this nightmare?”

Remus felt sudden surge of heat beneath his cheeks, and he doesn’t know how to answer. They haven’t physically interacted with each other in a while. The last time he can remember is when Sirius gained health after being in comma for five weeks when Bellatrix had hit him with a very complex curse at the Department of Mysteries. They were reunited in Grimmauld Place after the healers discharged him, both of them brimming up with emotions as they tried to express their undying love for each other. After that blissful moment, they got too busy with the approaching war, that they could only spare time for quick snogging and whispering ‘I love you’s incase if they never see each other.

“No, we haven’t…I mean didn’t-we didn’t…” He was not looking at the doctor because Remus could feel her smiling at him. “But why me? Why was it me in the dream doing those horrible things to him?

“Remus, dreams can be quite deceptive, and not to mention our mind has the power to take shapes of our fears the most terrifyingly in our dreams.”

Remus is speechless, and he is feeling something ugly erupting in his chest. He is quite precise about it. It is guilt. For not taking care of Sirius’ mental health.

“Remus?” Holly calls out very softly. Remus looks up sheepishly, despite the burning sensation creeping his neck and cheeks. “The case is quite clear here. Sirius has something in his hearts of hearts that he isn’t telling you. Something that hasn’t just left him ashamed or traumatized but also he is quite uncertain if this is something he should talk about. I assume that he is not giving it the importance to discuss this with you. And at the same time, you are not giving him the attention he wants from you. You two have been through misfortunes that has left you both listless and empty. You need to fill each other with love and happiness. Any love gestures will do. Let the other know that you are here for them in every possible way.”

Remus feels like his legs are giving out, even though he is sitting on a very comfortable armchair.

“Go, get your man. He needs you. He just doesn’t have the heart to bear loneliness. He is suppressing himself for you because he think this is what you want.”

No, this is not what I want! He makes a mental note to himself. And how could I not want Sirius? Remus knows that he is lying to himself about the war being the only reason for their lack of physical contact. He knows that there has been lack of communication which has followed the current problem, landing them here.

“I shouldn’t have left him alone in that house.” Remus mumbles.

“No, Remus, you did the right thing.” Holly retorts gently, “This is what he needed. To think straight with himself and be sane. You being there would have been too suffocating for him. Clearly, you needed someone to put sense in you. Your welcome.”

She is smiling amusingly, and Remus can’t help but agree. He is leaving when Dr. Holly calls him out and he turns to her.

“Say, Remus, what flowers does your better half loves the most?”

Roses. It is an automatic reply like he doesn’t need to think for even a second. Red Roses. Very cliché Sirius Black. Remus bites back a chuckle and tells her.

“Oh boy, Remus, you have a hopeless romantic in that house sulking alone, and what you are doing to him is brutal.” She is grinning at him, and he is quite grateful of her for not scolding him because he suddenly feels that he deserves it. He was too distant while being next to Sirius. He would much rather prefer to take responsibility for all of this, and make things right between them.

He apparates in front of Grimmauld Place 12, clutching a bouquet of fresh red roses. He grimaces when the scent fills his nostrils, and the idea of being above forty and doing such gesture is making him nervous. He enters the house, and suddenly stops in his track to find that the hallway is not dark anymore, it is kindled up by so many candles and enchanted stardust floating in mid-air, taking various beautiful colors. For a second, he thinks he is somewhere else. Maybe 11 or 13 Grimmauld Place? But then Sirius emerges with a pop, wearing an apron, his hair is neatly tied in a bun. He is also wearing black robes, and he has shaved but there are dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey!” Sirius walks towards him and he is saying a lot of things with the weak smile on his face, but Remus is staring him with utter fascination. He is suddenly feeling very young to realize that Sirius can still make him fluster with nothing but looking like that. Remus cannot let out a word from his mouth, but then he is broken out of his trance of swooning when he registers those silver orbs are widening, and then glistening. Remus feels an unexpected panic rising in his stomach because now tears are streaming down Sirius’ cheeks. And before he knows it, Sirius has crashed his lips on his. Remus cannot help but kiss him back. His damp is skin rubbing his, and they both rests their forehead against each other.

“Thank you.” Sirius whispers, pressing a kiss on his nose. Remus has forgotten that he have brought roses for the love of his life until Sirius is taking them, which is when he realizes the reason for why Sirius started crying suddenly. A weak grin appears on his lips, and Remus realize that he has never felt so happy in a longest while. “You remembered that I like roses.”

“Of course, darling.” Remus says teasingly, reaching forward to capture Sirius’ lips again, but then Sirius is laughing merrily which instantly warms Remus’ heart. Even so, he leans further and kisses him a little more earnestly. Sirius laces his arms around him, and Remus takes their height difference as a benefit to scoop him up in his arms.

“Moony…”

“Yes, love?” Remus nuzzles his nose against Sirius’ cheeks, as they stumbles in the nearby drawing room.

“I’m sorry about today.”

Suddenly, the awkwardness returns.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Remus says, “It was a bad dream, Sirius. I know that you love me, and I love you. It’s enough and we should be forever together and we should probably get married and have a new life and live in a country or something far away from everything and all and—“

Sirius is gawking at him, dumbfounded, and Remus realizes that he is rambling. He wants to slap himself right now. He might have ruined the night he is intending to make the most opportune.

“I mean…I—Sirius…” He knows that he is still scared. No matter how much the therapist has tried convincing him, he knows that no one can convince him completely, but Sirius Black. He wants to walk past the layer of no communication, and he does.

“Sirius…I can never hurt you. I can never even imagine of hurting you that way. I certainly have hurt you emotionally in the past, and maybe I still am, and if you feel like it then please talk to me, tell me if I have hurt you. But I have never hurt you physically, Sirius. I have never. It is worrying me. Have I done anything? Don’t fear, Sirius, I promise you that I am not walking unless you order me away.”

Sirius slightly shakes his head at the end of Remus’ statement. He cups his face and places a lingering and soft kiss on his forehead.

“It is you. The real you.” He whispers against his skin, and it confuses Remus. “Remus…It was not you in the dream. It was you in front of me but this…” Sirius ran his hands on the latter body, squeezing his arms with fondness swimming in his eyes, “this feeling of you, your arms, these hands and…just you... were not  in the dream. It was him. The same feeling.”

“Him?” Remus knows where this is going. He already has his suspicions.

“My father.” Sirius’ reply doesn’t fail to make his eyes instinctively wide. The thought makes him shudder and Sirius slips away from his embrace, looking miserably lost.

There is one question that is still not planning on leaving his mind and he feels he needs to ask this from Sirius, no matter what the answer, and he does.

“Why still me?”

Remus expects that he will receive a very disgusting reply from Sirius, or a glare, or maybe he has completely ruin their night and Sirius will be shutting him out for good. But—

“I came face to face with my boggart the other day in the ministry.” Sirius replies, looking straight in his eyes. Remus can recall that Sirius’ boggart was his mother when they discovered in their third year’s Defense against the Dark Arts class. However, Sirius must have read his mind when he continues, “It is not my mother anymore.”

There is a brief, tensed silence between them.

“It was you.”  Remus’ heart suddenly stops. He fights to keep a poker face. “You were there looking at me with disgust and…” He can see that Sirius is struggling through his words as if they are causing him physical pain. “…you were looking at me with such hate and you said you were leaving me because you were tired of me. You…you have never looked at me like that…”

Tears are spilling from his grey eyes.

“You have always looked at me with warmth and humbleness, but that image of you is not leaving my mind. It is there and it is making me believe that it is true, Remus, because I don’t deserve you. You are so worthy of love, I am not. I was never worthy of love. I drove you mad in our relationship. I betrayed you once, and then made you believe that I can betray you twice. But you…you never did anything like that. You compromised yourself for me, in every way. You dealt with me for a very long time, and I won’t blame you if you don’t want to deal with me anymore. It would hurt. So much, because for me, it’s hard to imagine my life without you after everything we’ve been through, together.”

Remus is numbly standing, just looking at Sirius’ face flooding with tears. He feels like his heart is breaking and mending, breaking and then again mending, back and forth. He wishes internally that Sirius’ words may leave his heart mended, because he knows he cannot deal with another heartbreak, another loss, or another tragedy.

“Know this,” Sirius comes close and touches his wet cheeks, which is when he realize that the tears are also silently rolling down his own face. “…that I love you, Remus. I know you can’t hurt me. You’ve never because you have a pure heart, Moony.”

This is when Remus doesn’t take anymore. He shoves Sirius in his arms and sobs in his shoulder. He feels Sirius relaxing into his embrace because he is placing feather-light kisses on Remus’ exposed neck.

“I’m so sorry. I am so sorry, Sirius.” He doesn’t know for what he is exactly asking his forgiveness, but he knows deep down inside his heart that it is for everything that has happened in their lives.

“But no,” He pulls out to face Sirius, desperately reaches his hands to intertwine with his, “I am not leaving you, not because I can’t but because I don’t want to be away from you. I can never be tired of you, Padfoot! And I can’t be surer about that. You think I compromised my comfort for you? That was not a compromise. That was my love for you. And it still is, here. I never regretted our relationship because of you. I did once because of myself because you had to deal with me, my cursed and poverty-stricken life. I am nothing compared to you, and yet you want me. How can I not love you? How can I disgust you? Or hate you? It’s something that can never exist when it comes to you. I don’t think I loved anyone like that except for you. I still want you, only you. I love you, a little too much, please believe me.”

Sirius has his forehead pressed with his, as he murmurs against his cheek, “I believe you, Remus.”

They kiss and they kiss for Merlin knows how long. Remus is suddenly yanked back into one of his favorite memories with Sirius, when they were at Hogwarts and it was their seventh year. He remembers that those days were Christmas holidays because they were fooling around in their dorm very peacefully, with no fear of James or Peter interrupting them. The both lovebirds were the only ones who didn’t leave for their homes. The erratic breathing, the electric excitement in their bodies, the eagerness to explore each other’s mouth is something Remus can distinctly recall from that day, at this very moment because it feels just the same as if they are seventeen again.

He reaches for Sirius’ robes to unbutton them when Sirius pulls back gently.

“Wait,” For a second, Remus thinks that this is not what Sirius wants before he smiles romantically, “I hope you have guessed why I am wearing an apron?”

“You cooked?” Remus gapes at him that makes the other laugh gleefully. That laugh makes his heart flutter again like happiness was bubbling out of him. Sirius nods at him.

“I thought I should make up for disrupting your morning, and I know you must have taken a lot of stress at work because of me. So I made your favorites.”

“You didn’t have to do this, love, I know cooking is not something you like to do.”

“Wrong!” Sirius gasped dramatically, “I love to cook for you! And besides, you bought these roses for me…” He picks out the bouquet, sniffing its scent, admiring the handiwork, and smiling the entire time as he brushes his fingers around the rims of each petals of the roses. Remus just stares at him like that. He could see the pink flush appearing on Sirius’ cheeks, and he thinks to himself that this is the most scenic view to look at. He suddenly recognizes that all of his exhaustion has dissipated from his body, and he is very much looking forward to the rest of their night.

“Come on, first dinner, and then we’ll see.” Sirius winks, taking him to kitchen when Remus stops him gradually.

“Tell me you are not frightened of me, are you? Be honest with me, Sirius.”

“I was never, Remus. I was frightened of being alone. My own mind was playing tricks on me. But not you, never you.”

Remus sees his eyes are promising.

“Promise me that you will talk to me, about anything like we used to. Just like the old times.” 

“Just like the old times. I promise, Moony.”

Sirius’ eyes returns the glimmer, and they are shinning like they used to before war, or Azkaban. Remus feels the contentment spreading in his heart and comes to a realization that it is all he have been yearning for.