#carefully choosing the way to answer that question that makes me feel the least like i'm exploding into a hundred million pieces

[greaterspawnislands]

77! ^_^

i goddamn knew you'd ask me this one why couldn't we flip it around? why couldn't you ask about gravy here instead of dms?

77. What’s your kink?

some level of sensory deprivation i think. hard to say without actually trying it out but im pretty sure i'd be into that

101 Questions

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how you tamed monster!sylus…

warnings: descriptions of some violence, blood, injuries, rushed ending (lol)

character: sylus

link to master list here!!

author’s notes: i saw some theories that sylus is actually inhuman and i’d fucking love if in a past life MC resonated and ‘tamed’ him which is why he’s particularly fond of her, like i’m such a sucker for ‘inhuman’ things gaining humanity through love

my requests are open since i’m running low on ideas hehe :3

more under the cut!

monster!sylus was indifferent to everything at first, if you got hurt you got hurt. why would he feel anything?

he’d hurt many things before, killed many things before. such trivial matters did not bother him.

that was until, somehow he managed to get hurt.

watching you, a human, far more fragile than he could ever be panic over his wound was confusing for him.

the way you frantically dug in your bag to wrap his arm in gauze - his blood seeping into the pale cloth as he watches you, intrigued.

he could stop the bleeding at any moment, any time, but he doesn’t. instead, he opted to watch you flailing over his injury with a neutral expression.

only when he noticed his human form growing a little pale did he decide to stop blood flow to the wound, choosing to inspect the bandage you put on him carefully.

“What use is this?”

picking at the uncomfortable material, you scold him and tell him to ‘keep it on until it heals’ - monster!sylus decides not to tell you he already healed the site as soon as you finished fussing over him

the next time he got hurt, he decided not to heal himself and instead present his injury to you.

holding up his finger which was (basically) broken in half, he looked at you expectantly.

if you weren’t so utterly dumbfounded at the nonchalant manner in which he presented you with a severely mangled appendage you might’ve made a comparison to him and a cat looking at its owner after bringing them a dead rat

monster!sylus who proceeded to watch you freak out a little, fix him up then scold him (again) for being so reckless.

he was interested at the care you took to make it as painless as possible (it was safe to say you were terrible at it, he was trying not to wince the whole time. yeah he was a monster, but why are human bodies really fucking fragile and sensitive?), eyes flitting between your hands and your face

this was probably the first instances of sylus receiving care, being cared about, and holy shit he didn’t know what to do

monster!sylus that would inwardly sigh every time you’d ask him ridiculous questions such as “have you eaten today?” or “do you think the sunset today is pretty?”

half the time he would scoff or shrug it off, the other half he would respond

when he responded he noticed the excited buzz in your voice as you’d give your own opinion on it - something that he grew to care about

“What do you think of this flower, isn’t it pretty Sylus?”

“It is?”

“It is! At least to me- [insert you talking about your favourite flower].”

*Sylus watching you with intent, beginning of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.*

monster!sylus who, at one point, sat under a tree with you, looking over the N109 zone towards linkon when his deep voice split through the silence

“Do you like me?”

the sudden and blunt question probably shocked you - your flustered response causing him to grow confused

what was wrong with the question?

was the point of asking not to find out answers one wants to know?

he would simply sit and stare at you until you responded, no matter how long it took you he waited

monster!sylus who finally realised what it felt like to be cared for when you answered ‘yes’, the warm sensation flooding his senses, and he was utterly confused.

it wasn’t as if you’d devoted yourself to him, nor had you sworn your loyalty for life - but the idea that you liked him…

he gave you no response, looking off into the distance as he tried to process the information.

when you asked him ‘Aren’t you going to respond?’ he’s give some bullshit answer along the lines of “You haven’t asked me anything.”

he knows what you were asking.

for some reason, he can’t say anything back.

monster!sylus that slowly began to seek your presence, your company. waiting for you to show up became tiresome, he wanted to be with you.

showing up out of no where - when you were on a walk or entering your residency, he would all of a sudden appear and demand your attention (which you secretly didn’t mind giving).

each visit he’d stay longer, get a little closer, feel a little more.

you taught him how to laugh - well at least give an amused huff, how to do his hair ‘properly’ rather than having it sit erratically on his head.

moving his hair out of his eyes, you swoop it into a neat parting muttering something about not hiding his ‘pretty eyes’, arching over his lids and settling neatly.

however after looking in the mirror, he immediately ran his hand through the hair causing you to almost murder the man on the spot

you taught him how to appreciate cuisines, especially the different variants of drinks.

“This is what brand of wine? Ah… I see.”

you taught him how to treat wounds, how to cook simple foods, each visit a little date on its own.

monster!sylus who inevitably grew fond of you, watching you with a small smile no matter what you did.

if you ever pointed this out, he’d just shrug his shoulders and carry on with whatever he was doing before.

he didn’t notice at first, but you’d somehow managed to work yourself into his life - despite having tried to rid you many times before.

now, your company was second nature. for a solitary creature, he had never before had the chance to appreciate companionship.

you taught him how to.

monster!sylus who quickly learnt your interests. you loved the small, infant cats that would roam the streets - every time you’d stop at a shop, buy some food and nudge it towards the creatures.

you’d take him to ride on a horse - which he complained about being ‘too slow’ and that he could run several paces faster, so you introduced him to motorcycles.

sitting behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as you both sailed through the night air, the city lights your stars.

monster!sylus who you sat next to, head resting against his shoulder.

“Relaxing so easily against me, have you forgotten what I truly am?”

if you’re confused, he’ll spell it out for you. he’s grown used to your obliviousness after all.

a monster

a being birthed by abhorrence, the dirt and filth that humans try so desperately to conceal. no amount of flesh, skin and bone could hide that fact, no amount of blood that spills against his hands could cloak such a stench.

cruel, disgusting, selfish. malevolence was second nature.

sylus who learnt what it felt like to be unconditionally loved in your gentle embrace.

eyes widening with surprise, he’ll ask you if you’re scared of him, you say never. you say that you could never be disgusted by him.

you tell him with so much conviction it may as well have been indoctrinated in the stars.

he couldn’t help but smile at your innocence, your ability to love the unlovable.

sylus who learnt how to feel fear as he watched the wanderer pierce your body - blood spurting from your chest.

his hands are covered in blood - palms slipping against your chest as he tries to plug the hole in your chest.

the warmth of your body, your soul, gushes from you in violent pulses - sylus can feel your trembling breaths, his eyes wide with panic. he fumbles around, cursing louder and louder as he watches you fade away.

“Fuck- fuck. Hold on, keep your eyes open - I can do something about this just wait.”

sylus who watches in despair as the life drains from your eyes, feeling the sharp throb in his eye propel his evol at the wanderer that murdered you

monster!sylus who rips the wanderer’s limb by limb, ensuring that the subject experienced each and every sensation as its soul parted from the mangled corpse

no mercy was shown as he suffocated the creature to death, crushing it’s neck as it squealed.

monster!sylus who stood over a corpse. the corpse of the person who taught him love.

monster!sylus who didn’t attend your funeral.

you never taught him how to grieve, never taught him what to do when you’d leave him - damned with immortality.

monster!sylus who never got to say the words he wanted to.

he could only see you where you lay, sitting helplessly by your tombstone.

it feels as though he’s been stabbed, a burning wound ripping down his throat. he knows the answer now.

“I love you too.”

AN: not proofread as usual i had fun writing the beginning but i had no idea how to finish it - i feel like sylus and MC had a tragic end which is why he’s so forward with his love for them now that he knows he loves them and that their time together can end any moment, unlike their previous life this life he’ll make sure MC knows he’s theirs! :3

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook loves to see you smile and you are the god of mischief.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff / word count: 2.6k

content/warnings: mention of childhood insecurity, mention of biting during s*x, jk is very touchy, they watch a movie and the guard thinks they’re doing sumn nasty bc they’re both a menace honestly 😭, jk accidentally bites his lower lip and bleeds

> in which masterlist!

note: hi !! this is a repost of a drabble i wrote two (?) years ago but accidentally deleted lololol so if you’ve read it before that’s why! but this is now an edited version with a new title <3

—

“baby,”

jungkook calls your attention out of nowhere, pausing the movie playing on the tablet you’re holding. the frown painted on his face is difficult to miss.

“i have a question.”

“so randomly?” you raise an eyebrow. “ask me then.”

“why do you cover your face when you’re happy?”

the wide-eyed look of genuine curiosity on his face is identical to yesterday’s, when he asked you what the word ineffable meant after hearing it in a song.

the question prompts you to take a glance at the screen, where a sophisticated woman has a hand over her mouth as she giggles with her elite acquaintances about an old but classic rich husband joke.

“it’s not that it bothers me, i just- i’ve noticed it lately and i-i wish to see you smiling and laughing more freely, you know?” he tries his best to choose his words carefully, offering you a kind smile as he lovingly caresses your head. “it makes me happy when i see you happy.”

“oh,” you blink at him, mind going blank as you attempt to form an answer in your head. his touch isn’t exactly helping you either— you just want to melt into him and not think of anything at all, float on cloud-nine and stay there forever.

however, seeing as he asked you the question out of the blue, he must’ve been thinking about it a lot. you’ve only been dating for a few months, so it’s understandable for him to eagerly seek the answers to his curiosities and observations. if anything, it feels nice to learn he gives this much attention to you— possibly notices things you don’t even know about yourself. for a split second the thought crosses your mind, that beyond a consciousness, you are tangible and real.

“it’s a habit i guess? when my teeth were falling out for the first time as a kid, i became insecure, so i decided that i’d just smile without showing my teeth from then on. like this.”

you demonstrate by lifting up the corners of your lips.

“and yeah-”

as if he’s helplessly pulled by the magnet of attraction, he leans down to kiss you and interrupt your sentence.

“i’d cover my face when i couldn’t contain my smile or laugh. and even when they grew back, it felt weird. like my smile didn’t belong to my face? if that even makes sense.”

“yah, that’s not true! you’re very pretty whether you’re smiling, or crying and-” his warm hand cups your cheek, and he stupidly grins as he’s about to say something cheesy. “even when you’re just breathing.”

the corners of your lips rise again. this time, it’s genuine.

“oh? how romantic.” you scrunch your nose cutely, and his heart flutters.

you hold onto his wrist, revelling in the way his thumb softly traces shapes on your skin.

“i’m over that, though. it was so long ago. i don’t think about it obsessively anymore at least. it’s really just a habit i haven’t gotten rid of.” you reassure him, meaning every word that you say.

we all have our secrets and fears that we keep only to ourselves, that much is understood between the two of you. there are circumstances in which withholding information is necessary. however, the one big promise you made to each other is to never lie. honesty and trust. ease and consolation. every word, every syllable hanging from your lips an addition to the naked history of your love. passed down stories. confessions. blurry memories. shutter sounds. curses. laughter. song dedications. that much is true.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you bite the inside of your cheek to conceal a smile, beguiled by his love drunk eyes seemingly stunned by your mere presence beside him.

“like what, baby?”

you shy away from his gaze. “like you’re either thinking that i hang the stars on the sky every night… or that you want to eat me alive.”

to confirm your words true, he takes your hand and sinks his teeth on the flesh of your palm where your thumb is connected. his wide doe eyes peer at you innocently, sparkling like of a little kid eating the fluffy pancakes he’s been craving since last night.

the latter might sound like a joke to others, but jungkook does eat you alive. almost. basically. you’re not even shocked at the act anymore. soon enough, you’ll memorize the mark of his teeth carving their mark on your skin, both in sexual and non-sexual setting.

“babe,” you send him a bewildered stare. “i really don’t think i taste as good as you make me out to be.”

he parts away with his eyebrows knitted in disagreement. “not true. you’re yummy.”

“oh, shut up!” you burst into a fit of giggles. your hands automatically attempts to fly to your face, but he has your wrists bound with his secure grip. you don’t resist. you only laugh harder when your sight lands on your hands tangled together.

“there’s ____’s beautiful smile.” he coos, proceeding to pepper your face with appreciative kisses.

and you fold. your back lands on the soft mattress, and your belly starts aching from laughter when he purposely blows on the spot on your neck where you’re most ticklish. hot tears gather at the corner of your eyes, and jungkook watches them fall down your temples as his lips graze your skin and your body shakes underneath him.

tears of joy and pleasure are the only tears you’re going to shed, he promises himself. you’re going to smile and make flowers bloom everyday, he promises you and the earth.

—

your teeth chattering from the cold is a shy away from your awkward smile, he notices the endearing resemblance as you shiver beside him.

“hmm, what did i tell you about cinema one?” he teasingly asks as he draws back the armrest that serves as a divider between the two of you.

“that it’s fucking cold in there-” you surrender, tone sounding annoyed. “here. whatever!”

“and who still decided to wear their smallest pieces of clothing?” he continues to taunt you while he pulls you into his body’s natural warmth.

you sigh, whether it’s in relief or annoyance, you’re not quite sure.

“i just wanted to wear my new cute clothes.” you whisper-shout.

the giant screen is still playing trailers of the upcoming movies this year, and you’re already mentally updating your calendar to accommodate them despite your hectic schedule. a two-hour vacation, you would always describe films.

he chuckles, and more shivers run down your spine at the deep and raspy sound being so close to your ear. “you do look cute today, baby.”

he catches the cloth of your skirt between his fingers, and somehow, he ends up squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh. you swallow thickly, unconsciously closing your thighs together and trapping his hand in between them.

“thank you, handsome.” you grip his wrist to move it away. you tut. “no silly business, though. i really want to watch this movie.”

his shoulders drop dramatically in disappointment. “okay… want to sit on my lap so i can keep you warm then?”

you look behind you to see that there’s no people sitting on your side, so no one’s view would get blocked if you were to agree to his proposition. the room is practically empty, with a few scattered people sitting on the sides.

you spend the first fifteen minutes of the movie in comfort and bliss, with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around you. he took off his jacket earlier, and he splayed it over your lap as to not neglect the goosebumps rising all over your freezing legs.

“so stubborn,” jungkook muttered under his breath while he was taking off the jacket, an amused smile etched on his lips. you would’ve felt bad, but you knew he likes doing these things for you, so you only playfully stuck your tongue out at him.

look, to be fair, it is your first time in this cinema. you’ve been on many dates at this theater with jungkook, but for some reason, you’ve never watched a movie in cinema one until tonight. it’s cold in the other three cinemas as well, the kind of cold you’ve gotten comfortable with, so when jungkook booked the tickets last night and told you ‘it’s really cold in there, wear something warmer,’ you thought he was just being ridiculous.

hah, how cold could it possibly be? right?

fine, jungkook is right. you are stubborn.

and you prove it once more when a flashlight shines over your face. the security guard holding it approaches your seat- wait, no, jungkook’s seat. jungkook is your seat. what?!

“i’m sorry, but only one person can sit on the chair. please comply.”

you trace the direction of her eyes to find jungkook’s hands tucked underneath the jacket on your lap, resting on your inner thighs to steal their warmth. you send him a sharp glare, but it doesn’t affect him one bit. he only shrugs, obviously hiding a smirk as he pretends to be the most innocent person in the room.

you pull up the armrest next to you with a pout, slipping back into your original seat against your wishes.

“he was just warming up his hands. i promise!” you whisper not so subtly to the guard.

she only clears her throat and awkwardly nods in response, walking up the stairs to observe the rest of the movie watchers.

you bury your face in your hands as your body vibrates with mirth mixed with humiliation, and jungkook’s jaw nearly falls on the floor.

“sometimes i can’t believe you’re real. how do you never get shy?”

“i was just clearing things up!” you whine, hitting his arm using the side of a closed fist, which he massages with a squeaked ‘ouch.’ “you’re the one who put me in a compromising situation!”

“well, nobody told me taking care of my girlfriend was a crime!”

you carry on with watching the movie after that embarrassing scene, and you’ve forgotten that you’re cold until you’re uncontrollably shivering again. you begin rubbing your arms in a pathetic attempt to get rid of the goosebumps, but you eventually abandon all hope.

you sadly look over at your boyfriend to plead for help once more, but he has gotten too engrossed with the film to feel a pair of shaking pupils beseech him intensely. he finally opened the box of popcorn he’s been saving for the climax.

and he was the one who wanted to do something other than watch the movie.

you grimace.

you are no stranger to his confusing attention span.

after carefully studying the room to ensure the guard is no longer in sight, you unceremoniously climb on jungkook’s lap again. your actions cause some pieces of popcorn to fall from the box, and he scrambles to stuff them all in his mouth before the powder stains any of your clothes. yours are new, after all.

his face displays a puzzled expression, screaming i thought this was supposed to be a compromising situation?! and his soft rosy cheeks on the other hand-

“you look like a chipmunk who got caught in the headlights stealing food with its mouth full.”

the screen flashes a frame of the clear, blue sky in the aftermath of a ferocious storm. it sends the fleeting sunlight to shine on your face— just long enough for him to capture the image of how pretty you are when you giggle, and most of all, how your hand moves to cover your face, but drops on his arm before it could reach its intended destination.

he recognizes it as a conscious effort, and he feels a tug in his heart. his sweet, precious lover. you will never do anything wrong in his eyes, he thinks to himself as he hugs you closer for a kiss. the feeling of your smile against his lips might just be one of his most favorite things in the world.

he pulls away with a toothy grin to match yours, offering you the box of popcorn. the beautiful smile you claimed to not belong on your face lingers as you turn it down and sip on the lemonade instead. and then it simmers down to your usual mellow smile, to a deep frown, until your lips quiver as the resolution of the film reduces you into a puddle of tears.

jungkook likes to keep mental notes about you.

an excerpt from today:

1. how to make ____ smile? act cute.!! :)

2. how to make ____ cry? watch a son and mother reunite after eighteen long years.

p.s. i think i cried harder, but quieter ????

3. how to make ____ angry mad furious? kill off the said mother unnecessarily at the end of the movie for the sake of shu shock value.

the lights turn on all at the same time as the credits start rolling down on the plain black screen. your body slumps back on your boyfriend, drained by the series of overwhelming events that transpired in the past two hours. he waves his hand infront of your face, but your eyes remain unfocused and unblinking.

“this is the worst movie i have ever seen in my life. four out of five stars.”

he snorts at your unseriousness. “that is the most stars you’ve given this month. and it’s the 29th.”

“see? it’s the worst! i’m going to have nightmares!” you cry out with an exaggerated shudder, grabbing his forearms to envelope yourself in his embrace.

“honestly, pushing her off the cliff was a bit too mu-” his sentence gets rudely cut off when your shoulder accidentally hits his chin. you scrambled to go back to your seat, and this escalated to him accidentally biting the inside of his lower lip. the unusual mix of the bitter and salty taste of metal permeates his tongue as an unexplainable expression spreads across his face.

on the other hand, you’re too preoccupied with mischievously smiling at the guard standing down on the floor. she measures you up with a displeased look worse than earlier’s, but much to your relief, she proceeds to walk out after scanning the room one last time.

“baby!” jungkook yells in pain to grab your attention, jutting out his bottom lip to show you the wound that you inflicted.

“oh my god- shit, shit, shit-” you curse, digging your hand in your bag in search of your handkerchief. “i’m so sorry!”

you press the cloth on the bleeding, profusely apologizing to him with a wince. “i panicked! i’m sorry, i’m sorry!”

he pushes your wrist away for a moment, doe eyes squinting at you accusingly. “you just wanted to play around with her, didn’t you?”

you chew on your bottom lip, the sight of blood that has stained the handkerchief sends a pang of guilt across your chest. “sorry… her face- she was just so funny.”

“fuck, why are you like this?!” he throws his head back with a bright laugher that echoes throughout the theater. “ah, you’re so adorable!”

“come back here!” you scold him, holding his face in your hands to crane it back down.

he juts out his bottom lip again, but his body continues to vibrate with lighthearted chortles.

“does it hurt?”

“it hurts…! i think i might seriously cry!” he answers despite his high tolerance for pain, distorting the truth so that he could drown himself in the gratifying feeling of being doted on by you.

he writes another mental note as you inspect his wound, repetitive bloopers playing in the background of the love bubble the two of you share.

4. ____ likes playing games with strangers. must protect with my life.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter five

summary: you and luca finally talk about what happened the night of the ballet -- and finally have a chance to clear the air.

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, slow burn, baby, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 3k

a/n: let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

part four | masterlist | part six

You’ve been avoiding his calls all day. 

After Luca bid you goodnight on Thursday, you’d practically sprinted upstairs and into your apartment, slamming the door behind you while wondering what the hell was wrong with you?

You’re too stubborn for your own good, you think to yourself, recalling the moment – the one where you could’ve kissed him but you didn’t – between you and Luca. You stood there, too paralyzed to make a move, yet unable and unwilling to walk away from him. 

Luca had given you space most of yesterday, save for a text later in the evening, but the fact that today is Saturday, the day he almost always comes into the restaurant, is not lost on you. Instead of dealing with it, you’ve been hyper focused all day, choosing to bury your head in work as you run lunch service with Mathilde, more than grateful that business has run at a steady pace today. 

It’s not until you hit a stop, forced to pause after a few hours in between the lunch and dinner rush, reaches a lull. Your brain is suddenly inundated with too many thoughts: was this it? Had you scared him away forever? Did he think you were a total freak considering you’d practically run away from him after he’d said goodnight?

“So are we going to talk about it?” Mathilde presses you, ripping you out of your thoughts with the sound of her voice. You look her way, noticing that her lips pursed in sheer annoyance at your avoidance mechanisms. 

Your face falls, unable to carry this solo for much longer, letting out a sigh of resignation because you know she’s right. 

You can’t run from this – from your feelings, from Luca – forever. 

“Yeah,” you give in. “Yeah, okay.”

“What the hell happened?” Mathilde hisses as she approaches you. “I mean, he’s gorgeous, he’s cultured… he took you out to the ballet, and you like him!”

“I don’t know,” you huff, disappointedly. “I just-, I think I got too caught up in my head. It’s like one minute I was really jazzed at the idea of being on a date, let alone a date with Luca, and the next I’m just… I don’t know… totally psyching myself out and pushing him away.”

“Merde,” she swears in French this time. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, at least releasing a little of the pent up pressure you’ve been holding onto all day. 

“Babe, I know that holding all of this,” she begins, gesturing wildly towards you, “gives you a certain edge in the kitchen… but I can’t imagine it’s good for you.”

You send her another look – one that says ‘fuck off because I know you’re right’ this time. 

“I don’t know what to do, Mathilde,” you confess, your eyes pleading with her for some advice. 

She turns to you, this time with a much more serious expression as she says, “Luca seems like a really great guy. Maybe you should just tell him all of this.” 

You nod slowly as you process. It’s not that you haven’t thought about it – it’s not like it’s a new concept to you – you were married once, after all. But the idea of being vulnerable like that, showing someone new your whole hand feels really scary. You know it’s the thing you need to do; it’s the kindest, most honest option that you have – and you know that Luca deserves just that: kindness, transparency, the truth. 

As you continue to think it over, the only words that come to you are:

“I told him that I wasn’t in love with him anymore – with Joe. When he asked.”

“Luca?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t a lie. Was it?” Mathilde questions you carefully. 

You share your head, growing more and more certain in your answer. 

“No, of course not. It’s not that. My hesitation has never been about Joe. It’s-, it’s about me…” you explain, finding the right words in the moment. “... about my heart.”

Mathilde places a gentle hand on your shoulder as you share a knowing look as she listens.

“What if I do this? I mean, what if I jump… and it’s a horrible mess… and I ruin a good thing with a really great guy because I’m not ready?” you ask, shining a light on your biggest fears. 

She takes a beat, thinking it over, before crossing her arms over her chest, as the two of you stand side by side, leaning up against a stainless steel prep station. 

“Then you do,” she answers, as if it were that simple. “And you figure out the rest. You’re only human after all.” 

You chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes at Mathilde’s not-so-friendly reminder. 

“Here’s an idea,” she starts back up again, catching your attention as you glance sideways to look at her. “What if you jump? And it’s the best thing you’ve ever done? What if it’s worth it?” 

You take a deep breath, letting her words sink in, letting yourself feel the possibility that this could also be the best thing you’ve ever done too. But before you can say anything in response, Jesper comes back into the kitchen, calling for you. 

“Hate to break up the slumber party, ladies, but can I borrow you for a moment, Chef?” he asks, making it clear that he’s talking to you. You and Mathilde exchange glances as Jesper nods through the open kitchen to where Luca waits for you in the dining room. You open your mouth to say something, but instead, you just nod, murmuring a ‘yeah, of course,’ quick to follow Jesper out of the kitchen. 

It’s impeccable timing, really, you think to yourself, that you were just contemplating the possibility that this could be something you could do. 

You could jump, you remind yourself, if you really wanted to. 

“Hi,” you say, barely above a whisper as soon as you see Luca. 

“Hi,” he smiles warmly in return, causing Jesper to look from you to Luca, then back to you again. 

“I’m just gonna-,” he starts, searching for an excuse. 

Only, he doesn’t have one, so Jesper simply excuses himself before disappearing into the kitchen to find a place where he and Mathilde both can pretend to do something when really eavesdropping. 

Jesper’s abrupt and clumsy exit seems some of the palpable tension, earring a laugh from both you and Luca. 

“I thought-,” he begins as you simultaneously say, “I’ve been meaning to call-.”

“Sorry,” he says with an apologetic half smile. 

“No I’m-. You go first,” you encourage, blushing on a little as the two of you clumsily dance around each other. 

Luca takes a breath, reminding himself that it wouldn’t be this weird if there wasn’t something between the two of you – that he hasn’t been imagining this – not even a little bit. 

“I hope that it’s okay. That I’m here,” he finally says, his voice steady and even. 

“I-, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” you ask him, suddenly insecure about the fact that he felt he needed to ask in the first place. 

“I just-, well I thought ehm, maybe you’d need some space. I didn’t want to ehm, you know… show up here if-, even though it’s Saturday because it is your place and I wouldn’t want-,” Luca tries to explain, stopping and starting again and again. 

“Luca, no I-,” you say, before pausing, swearing to yourself under your breath as you mutter. “Shit. Fuck, I-. Goddamn, you really are fucking perfect.”

“What was that?” Luca asks, only catching the swearing part at the beginning and the ‘fucking perfect’ part at the end. 

“Um…” you trail off, looking around you. 

As you catch Jesper and Mathilde ducking behind a shelf out of the corner of your eye, and a few of your waitstaff hurrying to make it look like they’re busy and not listening in, you realize that you and Luca have managed to earn the attention of some very curious onlookers. 

“Do you want to step outside for a moment?” you ask, gesturing towards the front door. 

“Sure,” he nods, letting you lead him to a spot outside.

You make sure that you're both as out of sight as possible, staying far away from the broad windows that line the front of your restaurant. 

“Hi,” you say again on an exhale.

“Hi,” he says back, simply. 

“I’m glad you came. I know I-... I should’ve called, or- or texted you… after Thursday,” you begin, nervously, eager to own up to the very big part you’ve played in the lack of communication.

“Yes. You should’ve,” he repeats, his eyes catching yours as you nod in confirmation. 

It’s good – that he’s not going to let you off the hook – and while you like it, you like that he has boundaries, you’re disappointed in yourself as you say:

“I’m sorry.”

Luca sighs, shaking his head as he immediately counters with:

“No, I’m sorry. I mean, yes, you should’ve called. Or at least texted. But I should’ve been clear in the first place that Thursday…” he trails off, almost as if he’s mustering up the courage to say what he needs to say. 

“... that Thursday was more to me than our regular excursions. That it was a date. To me at least.”

“Luca-.”

“I wish I would’ve told you – made it clear in the first place – so you knew what you were getting into,” Luca finishes, carefully watching for your reaction. There’s something so honest in the way he goes about this conversation, and you sure as hell feel like you could take the proverbial jump right fucking now. 

“I appreciate that. Really, I do…” you start, before trailing off again. “But I-. This isn’t on you, Luca.”

“How do you mean?” he asks you, his expressive brows knitted together, as if you’d just spoken in tongues. 

Here goes nothing, you think to yourself.

“I-. This has been great. I mean… I really like spending time with you,” you start, anxiously, instantly realizing that it sounds like you’re breaking up with him. “Fuck, I-.” 

You let out a frustrated groan as it seems you’re having an impossible time getting out what you need to get out. You take a breath. And a beat, before continuing. 

“And I’ve really liked this… hanging out, getting to know you… borrowing your books. I-, I just… we’ve got such a good thing going and I really don’t want to fuck this up, you know?”

He sighs your name this time, looking down for a moment as you add:

“I’m-, I’m afraid that… I’m going to fuck this up.”

“Yeah. I know,” he answers, heavily. “I-, I am too.”

“And then Thursday night, things were so, so good, and I-, I panicked and I feel terrible because… you don’t deserve that. You don’t.”

Luca takes a beat as he listens. He’s not sure what exactly that means, but he reminds himself to stay on track, stay the course and make sure that he says what he came here to say to you. 

“It’s alright,” he reassures you, softly, taking a step towards you. “I don’t want you to feel like… like you have to feel a certain way just because I-.”

“No, that’s not it! That’s not-, that’s really not the problem,” you interject as you struggle to explain yourself, unsure of where to even begin. You take a step towards him this time too, your voice softening as you continue. “Luca, I don’t feel obligated to feel… any kind of way just because you-.”

“Because I?” he questions you.

The silence his questions leaves goes on a few beats longer than you expected, and you realize that he’s waiting for you to fill in the blank. 

“Well, I don’t know,” you pause, a shocked look on your face as one of you waits for the other.

“You didn’t-, I never let you finish your sentence so,” you ramble aimlessly, immediately bursting out into a fit of laughter as you realize that neither of you are getting anywhere. 

Luca laughs too, joining in on the much needed reprieve. 

The two of you exchange glances, and one more shared laugh, before settling in once again. 

With a crooked smile spread across his lips, Luca can take a hint, realizing that he may need to take the lead on this one.

The way your name sounds on his lips is so heavenly, so divine, so soft that you know you’ve got it bad, as you scramble for a way to tell him everything that you’ve been feeling. 

“May I?” he asks, in reference to taking the lead. 

“Please.”

“I just came here to tell you… I want to tell you…” he corrects himself, taking a step towards you. 

“... that I really like you. I really like spending time with you. I like that you get me out of the kitchen in search of something different. And I think that your mind, even though incredibly neurotic, is absolutely brilliant. And if what you need is for us to be friends right now, I want that. We can… slow all of this down. All you’ve got to do is talk to me.”

It feels like time fucking stops, and the world goes black and white for a moment, then full color all at once as you hear the words coming out of his mouth. Your revelation comes rushing in, clear as day – that this man cares so deeply for you and that maybe, your heart could be safe with him. Unsure of how to deal with the grace and compassion Luca is showing you, you’re only left with one question, as it falls from your lips like a boulder. 

“How?”

“What?”

“How do you always have the right thing to say…” you ask him, your voice caught in your throat as you finish your question.  “... when I only have the wrong things to say?”

Luca opens his mouth to say something you’ll never hear, as you choose to completely throw caution to the wind. 

Perhaps the question was rhetorical anyways. 

You’re not sure what’s coms over you, but instead of words, you only have actions left, and the only thing that will remedy the situation is to do the thing that you’ve been panicking over doing since Luca showed you into the pastry room at AOC. You charge forward, reaching out for him, and he’s right there with you, meeting you halfway as you eagerly press your lips to his. 

You can feel all the blood in your body rush through you as your lips connect. Your heart flutters. Your head spins. It’s the kind of kiss that people write sonnets about – write love songs about. It’s almost three months of simmering tension, finally allowed to reach its boiling point. You pull away, just for a moment, uttering out a breathless:

“Holy shit.”

Luca laughs with a shake of his head as he agrees with a, “Yeah.”

You exchange a look, and a laugh, before kissing him again. 

And this time the kiss is a hello, it’s a new beginning, it’s a ‘thank god I met you.’

This time, Luca pulls away, reluctantly releasing you as he does. 

“It’s not that I don’t like this,” he begins, using all of his restraint to put this on pause. “I really, really do, but… I’m kind of getting mixed signals here.”

“No, no, I know,” you apologize, turning as you hear your name called, swearing under your breath again as soon as you see Mathilde peeking her head out of the front door. 

“Oh… my God! I am so sorry, I’ll just-, except for we need you to-, she calls after you, stumbling over her words as soon as she realizes what’s going on between you and Luca. 

“Nevermind it can wait!” Jesper exclaims, poking his head out of the front door as well, before dragging Mathilde back into the restaurant.

You and Luca exchange another laugh. 

“They’re… something,” you chuckle, with a shake of your head. 

“Good wingmen,” Luca adds, mirroring your previous exchange with his coworker. 

Returning his focus to you, Luca shakes his head incredulously, considering this is not the way he thought this conversation would go. He grins as he takes you in, but knows that this is time limited. He’d noticed the curious staff of your restaurant that he’s come to know and love doing their best to pretend they weren’t listening in on your conversation earlier. They know exactly what’s going on here, so if they felt the need to interrupt, Luca knows that you’re most likely needed back in the kitchen. 

He shifts his weight in between both of his feet, taking a small step back as he states:

“We’re gonna have to talk about this.”

“Yes,” you agree, your declaration certain.

“But right now you have to go,” Luca continues. 

“Right now I have to go,” you echo as confirmation. “Later. I promise. We’ll talk. Tonight?”

“Yeah ehm. Not to be… presumptuous. But my place is closeby. We could… perhaps talk. Tonight. There?” Luca suggests, trying to downplay the fact that it sounds like he’s asking you to come over for a booty call. 

It’s certainly not his intention, considering he’d just offered to slow things down, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. 

“Yeah. I’ll text you,” you agree, suddenly nervous again. “When I’m done here. If you’re still up.”

“It’s a date,” Luca agrees, deciding to move in towards you again.

You nod, taking another step towards him so that you can kiss him again. 

“Oh, and Luca?”

He hums in response, his eyes flickering from yours to your lips because he really can’t wait to kiss you again either. . 

“I should be-. I want to be clear,” you begin, deciding to be brave in this moment. 

He raises an eyebrow. 

“I really like you too,” you say, before standing tall on your tiptoes, and pulling him down to you for, this time, a see-you-later kiss. 

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

a/n: ummm hi how are we doing is everyone doing ok?!

[sunny44]

Love is in Mallorca (chapter 5)

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Y/n goes to Mallorca intending to leave her life behind, at least for a while. Then she meets a mysterious guy who makes this trip, to say the least, unforgettable.

Previous chapter

In the days that followed, that feeling of floating between the unknown and the familiar lingered. It was as if, with every conversation, every walk, we were getting closer to a truth he refused to reveal. Mornings were spent exploring hidden corners of the island, and nights, under the stars, were filled with laughter, casual conversations, and, underlying it all, a silence as dense as fog.

I should have been satisfied. Any ordinary person would have enjoyed the experience to the fullest, without questioning, without trying to look beneath the surface. But something in me longed for more. There was something about him that sparked my curiosity—and my heart—in a way no one else ever had.

It was on the third day, after breakfast in the village, that everything began to change.

We were standing at the top of a cliff, watching the waves crash violently against the rocks below. The wind tossed my hair, and the salty sea breeze reached us. He stood beside me, hands in his pockets, his gaze lost on the horizon.

“It’s beautiful here,” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

“It is,” he replied, his voice low, almost distant.

I looked at him, trying to understand what was going through his mind. He always seemed so present, yet so far away.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to just disappear for a while?” he asked suddenly, without taking his eyes off the sea.

The question caught me off guard. It wasn’t something I expected to hear, and the vulnerability in his voice made me hesitate before answering.

“Disappear?” I repeated, as if I needed time to process. “You mean… run away?”

He finally turned to me, and there was something in his eyes I had never seen before. A deep sadness, a weariness that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“Not necessarily run away, but… hide. Find a place where you’re nobody. Where no one expects anything from you, where you can just… be yourself.”

I watched him closely, my heart pounding in my chest. This was the window I had been waiting for, the moment he might, finally, let his guard down.

“I understand,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Sometimes it feels like the whole world is watching you, expecting you to be something you might not even want to be.”

He nodded, his intense gaze never leaving mine.

“Exactly,” he whispered.

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the waves crashing below. I knew I was on the verge of discovering something important, but at the same time, I feared what it might mean. Then, he took a step closer to me.

“I like who you are,” he said, his voice firm. “You see me in a way few people can. You have no expectations, no desire to fit me into a mold. And that… is something I haven’t had in a long time.”

Words stuck in my throat, because for a moment, I thought he was going to tell me who he really was. But instead, he looked away again, fixing his eyes on the distant horizon.

“I don’t know how this will end,” he continued. “But I’m grateful for every moment we’ve spent together.”

My heart ached at the sincerity of his words. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but in a way, it was what I needed.

“You know you can trust me, right?” I asked softly, trying to get him to open up, even just a little more.

He smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I trust you,” he replied, but there was something in his tone that told me he was still holding back. Something that, for some reason, he couldn’t share.

We stood there, at the edge of the cliff, with the wind tossing our hair back and the constant sound of the sea crashing against the rocks below us. The physical closeness between us seemed to heighten the invisible tension, and I knew that, sooner or later, the bubble we were living in would burst.

I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know what he was hiding or why he seemed so desperate to keep his identity a secret. But in that moment, I decided it didn’t matter. What mattered was that, no matter what he was hiding, there was a greater truth there: he was struggling with something far deeper than I could understand.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, he turned to me again, his gaze softer than before.

“Want to have dinner?” he asked, as if the previous conversation had never happened.

I smiled, even though inside I was wondering how long he would continue avoiding the truth.

“Yes, I’d love to.”

We made our way down the slope to a small wooden cabin he had mentioned earlier. The smell of fresh food filled the air, and the sound of people laughing and chatting animatedly added life to the atmosphere. He chose a discreet table, away from the main bustle, and we sat across from each other.

This time, though, the silence between us wasn’t heavy. It was more like a temporary truce, an unspoken understanding that, at some point, everything would come to light.

While we waited for our food, he looked at me for a long moment, as if he were trying to memorize every detail of my face.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said finally, breaking the silence.

“Sure.”

“If you knew someone you met was hiding something important but wasn’t ready to tell you, would you push them? Or would you wait until they were ready?”

I swallowed hard, fully understanding what he was asking me.

“I think… I’d wait,” I replied honestly. “Because sometimes, the person needs time. And sometimes, forcing the truth can push them even further away.”

He nodded, as if relieved by my answer.

“That’s good to hear.”

The food arrived, and we began to eat, but the conversation faded into the background. The feeling that we were on the brink of something important, something that could change everything, lingered in the air.

I knew he would tell me, sooner or later. But until then, I would have to be content with the mystery and trust that, when the truth came out, I’d be ready to handle it.

And somehow, I knew that whatever he was hiding would change everything between us.

I just didn’t know if I was ready for it.

Bonus scene!

Cs55private Instagram stories

“Beautiful days with this beautiful lady”

@landonorris maaate, you went to Mallorca for 3 weeks and already found someone to spend your vacation time with?

Wow, I’m impress with your rizz

@Cs55private mate, I think I’m in love with these woman

@landonorris wait, really?

@Cs55private yes man, I’m down bad

Tag list: @lieslostinsilence @iloveallmyboys @r4zberrygirl @hoya122 @sid-is-gr8 @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @barcelonaloverf1life @dark-night-sky-99 @willowsnook @thegirlamongthestars

Next chapter

[paperclipped-mongoose]

Convincing Enough For You?

Pairing: Angus Macgyver x F! Reader

Summary: An important mission came up, and during the briefing it became clear that Mac didn't think you were the right fit for the flirtatious role.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Use of Y/N (not excessive), First Person, Fight Flirting, Arguing, A malfunctioning MacGyver, A villain who likes to take advantage of women, Couple Arguments. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hey Guys! This my first MacGyver Fanfiction, I love writing the series and characters so let me know if you guys like it! Comments and messages mean the world to me! If you've got any ideas for future fic's my idea box is open! ENJOY!

“I’m not sure if this is the best idea, Matty. You know how they feel about each other.” Riley trailed after her boss as they made their way down the hall to the war room. She had been let in on the game plan for the next mission early because Matty needed her input.

“They’re adults. They can put their feelings, undefined they are, away in order to do their job professionally.” Matty could hope. Ever since you joined the Phoenix Foundation there had been a certain animosity between you and a certain human encyclopedia. You were never sure if it was flirting or trying to get on each other’s nerves. 

Matty could hear the sounds of shouting from the war room down the hall. “Oh, get your head out of the clouds! You know all too well that if it wasn’t for Bozer and Jack you would have blown yourself up, gotten shot, or made some kinda poisonous gas to kill yourself. You think you’re way more aware than you are. But newsflash: you’re not!” You paused to take a breath, you had made sure to choose your words carefully, they were nothing if not the truth. Mac could make a plane out of a recycling bin and some potatoes, but he routinely got his ass saved by Jack in the field, and Bozer in his own home. 

Mac stood in front of the coffee table, his arms crossed tight across his chest. “At least I actually do things to save our asses on missions. Or were you the one who made infrared glasses so we could see the cameras when Riley couldn’t access the system?”

Something about Mac’s defensiveness made you want to egg him on continually. Maybe it was because you liked to hear him talk, even when it wasn’t in a positive way. There were days where the two of you were civil and even friendly, but those days were boring. No conversations would be had, and the day inevitably turned into awkward silence and stares. 

Neither you nor Mac liked it that way. 

So you picked on each other. It was clear there were never any ill intentions, but sometimes it rode the line and, you were sure, made your coworkers wonder if you and Mac were actually mad. To be fair, it was a question that rarely had a simple answer. But that was just the way the two of you were. Complicated. And you wouldn’t have taken it any other way. 

“Can we go one meeting without you two saying something distasteful to each other? One meeting. That’s all I’m asking.” Matty pulled up her screen on the wall before shooting a pointed look at those who stood around the room. Jack observed the screens as they came up, and Riley sat on one of the chairs doing her best to ignore you and Mac, knowing how this would go, and something told her Matty wouldn’t get her wish for peace.

“This is Bryan Snyder.” A rather unpleasant-looking man was pulled up on the full screen along with his Phoenix records. “Hacker extraordinaire with a rap sheet a mile long of gambling offenses.” Matty flashed a couple photos across the screen of Bryan surrounded by presumable winnings and women. 

Riley finally took a cue from Matty and spoke up. "He's had incidents filed with multiple casinos, all stemming from his pension for picking up women who've just fought with their partners, while the partner is around."

Jack scoffed as he found his way to the empty seat next to Riley. “Sounds like he's made a game out of picking up girls on the rebound."

Jack’s comment earned a grin from Riley, who added: "At least he looks like he tips well."

Your leg bounced involuntarily as you fiddled with the few paperclips in your hand—not bending them, just linking them together one after the other to make a chain. It drove Mac mad, and you knew it. He was one who did things with purpose, so idly fiddling with some paperclips without reshaping or bending them clawed at him internally. “So what is our position in this?” you finally spoke up. “I didn’t know the Phoenix Foundation did personal vendetta work for ex-girlfriends.” 

Matty shook her head watching Mac who silently but unsubtly stared you down as you wrapped the paperclip chain around your wrist to make a bracelet. “Not a vendetta. A prevention service for the Parisian government. Snyder holds a virus on his laptop that, if released onto the broadband servers of France, would cause nationwide blackouts and hold millions of people’s information hostage.”

Jack’s face soured at the thought. “Oooh, okay, yeah, so not an angry ex-girlfriend. Got it.”

“We’ve had Riley coding a USB drive that, once plugged in, can give her access to the computer’s system. That way she can corrupt the virus so that when he tries to open it, none of the code will be salvageable. The only thing our team needs to worry about is getting that drive plugged into Snyder’s computer for 8 minutes without him noticing.” 

Another scoff came from Jack. “No offense, Matty, but this guy seems like the kinda nerd to be obsessed with his computer. He’s probably one of those weirdos who treats it like his baby or something.” He immediately turned to Riley who had her computer in her lap. He pressed his lips together and stood up, walking towards the other wall to get as far away from Riley as possible. “I’m just gonna shut up now.”

“Yeah, smart choice.”

“The plan, if you guys will ever let me get to it, is this: Is to send in (Y/N) with a partner to pose as our unhappy couple, Bryan has a stay booked with a casino in Monaco this weekend. It’s his last stop on the way into France. A messy breakup in the middle of the casino should be enough to pique Snyder’s interest, and from there all (Y/N) has to do is get him to take her to his hotel room so she can connect the USB to his laptop, which shouldn’t be so hard given his M.O. After 8 minutes, once Riley’s USB has done its job, (Y/N) will take it out and destroy it so it’s not traceable.” Matty pressed her lips together firmly when she noticed Mac shifting his stance and uncrossing his arms, which normally meant that he had something to say. “Can I help you Blondie?”

Mac took the opportunity and stepped forward. “Why don’t we just send in Riley? If the USB doesn’t work, she’ll be able to disable the virus manually. Plus,” a strong look of disdain settled on his face, “I don’t think (Y/N) can flirt convincingly enough to get him to take her back to his room. It’s dangerous to put the weight of a mission on it without a backup.” 

That got you mad. You stood and eyed Mac in his stupid power stance. His hands on his hips while he stared at the screen as if he was avoiding eye contact with you. You wondered where all of his confidence had suddenly gone.

“Oh? You don’t think I can handle it?” You took a confident couple steps towards Mac. A well-placed hand on his forearm brought his big blue eyes back to you, somewhat confused as to what you were doing but it didn’t seem as if he was going to stop you. 

You took his silence as permission to continue and slid your hand down his arm, bringing your free hand up to play with the suede lapel of his jacket near his chest. You lifted your eyes to meet his for a single, shy moment and couldn’t help the way your cheeks flushed. Who thought it was a good idea to give a man with such a perfect face those baby blues? Fuck.

Mac was malfunctioning, his jaw slack as he tried to focus on anything other than how close you were to him. Or the fact he could feel your breath on his neck, or the way your hands held him. Tantalizing and unobtainable. He was sure if either of you did anything in the oncoming moments he’d find himself too deep to back out. 

You slid the fingers fiddling with his jacket past his chest to his abdomen, felt the shiver run up his spine even though he tried his best to hide it. Your fingers reached his beltline with more confidence than you felt, and…there was a undeniable tension. One that left you wondering if perhaps you should excuse yourself and drag Mac into some unoccupied office down the hall. 

A quick smack below the belt and Mac was half-keeled over, gasping for air as you stepped aside with a prideful smirk. “That convincing enough for you?” 

The rest of the team broke into laughter, the sexual and uncalled for tension that was in the room had gone.

“The Macbook needed to reboot there for a moment huh,” Jack said patting your shoulder. “You’ll do just fine, and your mission partner will be there as your backup, you can trust them 

Matty just pulled on that subtle smirk she wore when she knew something was bound to be entertaining. “Well, glad you’re working on your chemistry, because Mac is your mission partner. Try not to cause a scene before the target gets there, though. Wheels up in 2 hours.”

Mac had finally been able to gather himself and recover from the unexpected tap. “Let’s just hope you’re ready for 2 to be playing that game.”

A/N: Thank You guys for reading! I am thinking about making another part about the actual mission or what the aftermath would look like for your and Mac's relationship.

A/N: Remember I'm always open to talk to people (18+) about MacGyver! I love the fandom and want to interact as much as possible. If your interested don't be afraid to shoot me a message!

[tenderfxck]

al haitham would be such a sore loser.

he picks and chooses so carefully what battles he takes on to assure his victory.

until little unassuming you waltzes up to him one night in the bar, challenging him to a drinking game. the prize? whatever the victor wants to be fulfilled by the loser.

what’s the risk? he’s larger than you so al haitham knows he can process the liquor more efficiently than you can. he drinks wine often enough so he knows that he has some tolerance at least. it’s logical, is it not?

cut to him, face flushed, head slumped against the table top, head swimming from the alcohol rushing straight to his head and other parts of his body he’d rather not admit. he inhales deeply, picking the scent of your cologne out from the deep odor of alcohol pervading his senses. he leans closer, sensing the warmth of you so near to him.

"mr. scribe, you never answered my question."

oh archons. you were prattling on about art or composition or some inane thing you always talk too long about. how could he focus on your words when the lips they come from could be put to a better use?

you sensed his drunken mind had wandered from the conversation, so you decided to steer it back to your little competition.

“another round?” you asked clutching another shot glass, rosy-cheeked and smiling wide. you suspected this self-proclaimed “feeble scholar” couldn’t take another drop.

he groans. it’s not a yes or a no, but it’s definitely a sound of resignation.

“good effort.” you coo, pressing the bottle to your lips, emptying the last of its contents in one swift motion. “but i believe i win, mr. scribe.”

“fine.” he hiccups, barely able to piece together the words. “i-i secede.” he lifts his head, green eyes finally focusing on your face across the intimate table you had found yourselves at.

his gaze met with a look on your face he couldn’t quite place. Determined with dark eyes.

“i demand my winnings then.”

“archons. . .” he groans. what will it be? a ticket into the akademy’s private library? buying you drinks for the month? him to be your personal butler for the day?

“come with me.” you whisper, grasping him by the hand.

he follows with surprisingly little fuss until he ends up in a dim, secluded corner of the bar, somehow seated in a chair and looking up at you.

he had half a mind to question what inane scheme you were plotting until he suddenly felt you mount his lap, catching his lips in a deep kiss before he could make a noise of surprise.

archons. he swears that even the liquor on your tongue, can’t overpower the overwhelming taste of you.

it’s quick, it’s needy, it’s lewd the way your tongue swipes along his lips, soft thighs straddling his while your body moves so provocatively against him. he breaks the kiss moments later, puffing for air as he feels your hips shifting so purposefully against his.

fuck. he’s dreamed about something exactly like this before. finally having you sat on his lap, all to himself, grinding so sweetly against his now aching erection. you’d look so pretty out of those clothes, bouncing on his lap, cumming on his cock.

the parting of your lips didn’t last long before you found another expanse of skin to entertain yourself with. you dipped your head, laying a few kisses along the column of his throat as your fingers deftly peeled his collar from his neck. his adam’s apple bobbed in anticipation, breath ragged before catching all together. a surprised moan escaped him as you finally latched on to his neck, sucking a pretty little hickey onto the canvas of his pale skin.

his mind moved too quick, and the reactions from his body weren’t too far behind. he was trembling beneath you, pitifully bucking his hips up to meet yours. his hands which previously remained white knuckled to the side of seat finally moved, reaching up to cup your plush ass and give it a healthy squeeze.

“m-more. . .” is the only word he could form, a small trail of drool sliding from his panting mouth down his chin.

“oh, haitham, poor thing.”

you suddenly remove yourself, al haitham groaning as you stand, sent absolutely reeling from the loss of you.

“we can finish this little encounter somewhere a little more secluded tomorrow evening. I’ll cash out my prize in full.”

he sits disheveled in that chair, cock pressing hard against his pants, dumbly watching as you turn heel, pay your tab, and walk right out into the cool night.

. . .

after regaining enough composure to stand, al haitham returns home in a huff, not even acknowledging his roommate’s greeting before he locks himself in his room. he roughly shucks off his shirt and shoes before falling onto his bed, palming at the tent in his boxers that has been plaguing him since he got the hell out of that bar.

al haitham lets out a heaving sigh, dragging his pants and sash from his waist, indulging himself in desires a more sober version of himself would be too proud and oblivious to yield to in a bout of burning desire.

[ohnococo]

This Must Be the Place | Ijichi x Reader

❥ WC: 1.3k

❥ Warnings: fem bodied reader (no pronouns used), established relationship, pegging, light praise, vaginal sex, creampie, kissing, porn without plot, fluffy smut, not proofread

Ijichi’s eyes are stuck on where the nylon straps dig into the softness of your hips, not tight enough to cause discomfort, but enough to keep everything held firmly in place for play. He reaches down, letting his legs fall around yours as he runs his hands over the soft divots created by the carefully tightened harness. When he speaks, in his soft, low voice, it’s as if he’s overcome with emotion. That you would do something so special for him, though you’ve done it many times before. That you would be his, despite having always felt like you would be.

“You’re so… you’re just… lovely.”

“So are you, Kiyotaka.”

His eyes snap up to yours, and his face flushes further, never red enough for how strongly your words wash over him. His smile is happy but sheepish, betraying how much he appreciated it and how much he wanted more all at once. There was a time where he would have been too shy to ask for what he wanted, regarding this at least, but that time—and that uncertainty—was tucked away in an old box in the back of his mind. That was no longer of use to him with how much you’d opened each other up, laid everything bare, and rebuilt it as something better. Something stronger.

And so he wants, and so he asks, voice breathy and bubbling over with appreciation and want in equally large measures. “Can you make me come? Like this?”

The answer is obvious at this point, with his cock leaking precome in a hot, glistening trail where it curves gently along his trembling stomach. His eyes are the only part of his body holding steady, locked on you, taking you in like he’d suffocate if he couldn’t look up at you over him. Still, you answer, swelling with adoration at the way his cock jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Of course.”

For a moment, everything else is communicating through looks and touch alone. Lubed tip gliding over his entrance, your eyes taking in the way his thighs twitch at just a hint of what’s to come. Then a look upwards, locking eyes where his never left yours, brows softly raised, one last question of a gaze that was far from necessary, but done nonetheless just to take in the enthusiastic nod of your beautiful Kiyotaka.

A push, a sigh, muscle giving way as he all but sucks you in. He reaches for your hips, kneading and loving and begging with clammy hands that you keep going… don’t stop… til he’s whole. By the time your hips have met his he’s exhaled all the oxygen in his lungs, but pushes still to wring every last bit out til his chest is trembling—all leading to the sharp breath inward that is let loose with your name upon it, desperate and elated and yours all yours.

It’s your sign to set the pace of your choosing, and luckily for him in this vulnerable state, it’s one that doesn’t force him to find some way to beg when his mouth was much more preoccupied with whines and moans. You fill him slow, and deep, and steady, and that all he needs to have his untouched cock jumping every time he’s filled to the brim. When he trades whines for gasps, you press harder when your hips connect, soft slap of flesh on flesh jolting him enough to send his eyes rolling back.

Your sweet Kiyotaka, with tiny tears prickling at his beautiful lashes, looking up at you and gasping like he can’t find the breath, nevermind the words, to continue. You know what he’s feeling, because he feels it often these days, sometimes you do too, but you still have to check in.

“Are you okay, Kiyo?”

He nods, closing his eyes and letting out a shaky breath, so long and low and accompanied by a lilting hum that serves as a death rattle for his senses. But he finishes it with a sharp breath inward, the speed of his nod picking up as he opens his eyes and refocuses on you, speaking with authority and desperation at once.

“Yes.” He lifts his knees higher, revealing flexibility only you know he’s capable of, and spreading his cheeks wider. His stomach tenses, flexes, as he curls in on himself, trying to will you deeper inside of him, and it makes you chuckle at just how eager he is.

“Yes, please, yes, yes, yes.”

His sweet familiar please, while not needed, is much appreciated, and you grant him the wish he doesn’t have the sense to ask for as you trace your fingers up and down his cock.

“Oh.” It’s a shock to his already failing systems, and he moves his hands to the sheets, clenching at them as you run a finger lightly along his sticky and glistening tip. “Oh-”

That’s all he can offer before he’s arching his back, groaning as he spills across his own stomach and clenches so tightly that you can barely keep thrusting through his orgasm. It’s for the best though, as you slow your movements, not interested in pushing him too far into discomfort this time.

“That was beautiful, Kiyo.”

“Y-you’re… th-“ he lets out a huff, chuckling gently as he gives up momentarily on being coherent. You squeeze his thigh gently, eliciting a nod from him as you pull out slowly and he shivers through your exit.

Your strap is quickly set aside, your only focus on kissing, holding, and loving the gentle man beneath you as you lie atop him.

“Do you need anything?”

Though he’s so steeped in his afterglow that he doesn’t quite respond, you know he’s awake and happy just to enjoy every moment of you touching him as his blush deepens when you start pressing kisses along his bare chest.

As usual, his cock responds before the rest of him does, always able to be pulled from the depths at the promise of more attention. This time you know he won’t be quite as quick to finish as he is to start, not with his self-chosen duty to show you the love you’d just shown him. He should give himself more time, to collect himself, to recover, to at least open his eyes fully from the waves of satisfaction carrying him along, but your sweet Kiyotaka has never been one to allow himself too much rest.

Eyes still closed, breath still uneven, he pulls you into place next to him on the bed, facing each other, noses brushing against one another. His hands are gentle but firm as they pull your leg up and over him, rocking his hips so the still-sensitive head of his cock taps at your entrance. As his inviting wetness meets yours, you reach between your bodies to angle him properly, letting him press into you with a lilting moan as his eyes open just enough to show you the full breadth of his joy and being slotted so deeply inside of you.

“How do you do everything so well?”

Your chuckle is carried on a moan as he rocks his hips into yours, “I don’t.”

“Well, when it comes to me you do…”

With that you just have to pull him into a kiss, as slow and soft as his thrusts, deeper and deeper until your tongues can only touch gently, moans falling into each other’s mouths as you find your bliss within each other’s arms. It’s as easy as everything is between you now: soft, natural, any choice to make things better for each other the obvious one, until your hips slap at an unsteady pace and you clench around him. He sighs and cries out, hot cum spilling into you as he pushes to be joined with you deeper and deeper until you both want for nothing but rest within each other’s arms.

banners by @/cafekitsune

[unreliablesnake]

I'm not going anywhere (Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader)

Summary: Ghost gives you a visit at the infirmary after you had a miscarriage.

Note: If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button. I don't have a taglist.

Warnings: miscarriage

Ghost had been freaked out when he saw you being in pain, having no idea how to help. It wasn't a stab wound, you weren't shot, you just sat down and put a hand on your abdomen as if you had terrible cramps. He wasn't experienced enough to know how to handle it.

Then he was told that you had a miscarriage. His heart clenched at the thought, after all it was tragic, and it only reminded him that some lucky bastard had the chance to make you feel good. Was he jealous? Yes. Along the way he began to have romantic feelings for you, even if it was against the rules.

He couldn't help but visit you in the infirmary, just to see how you were after everything you went through. “I heard what happened. I'm sorry,” he said quietly as he stopped next to your bed.

“It's okay, I guess,” you replied, earning a questioning look. “I mean, I didn't even know about it until now.”

“Did you tell the father?”

You shook your head at this. “No. I'm sure he's busy, and it doesn't matter now, does it?”

“Who is he?” Ghost knew it was none of his business, but he needed to know.

“It doesn't matter.”

“So it's either a one-night-stand you're ashamed of, or someone I know.” As he watched your reaction, he realized that what he said was spot on. “Or both.”

You nodded, then thought about the answer for a moment. “It's König,” you said quietly.

König? There was only one person he knew with that name. “That big Austrian guy from KorTac?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“Hmm.” This surprised him. He was expecting someone from the team, but from KorTac? “He's your type?” he asked, the filter between his brain and mouth temporarily malfunctioning.

You shrugged. “I don't even know.”

“What? I guessed you two–”

“We're not, it only happened once,” you interrupted him.

Nodding, he folded his arms over his chest and thought about it. “So you know what's under his sniper hood.”

“Maybe,” you told him with a small smile.

“He was irresponsible if he let you see his face.”

“What? If it was you, you would have fucked me with the mask on?”

“I wouldn't,” he began, ready to tell you he would never do something like this. If he ever slept with you, he would do it as Simon, the one without the mask, not as Ghost. “I should go. You need to rest.”

You didn't say anything to that, only looked down into your lap then went, “I'm sorry.”

Ghost turned back from the door. “Sorry for what?” he asked.

“For everything.”

Letting out a sigh, Ghost returned to your bed and sat on the edge of the mattress next to you. “There's nothing to apologize for,” he began to say, taking your hand in his instinctively. “You're going through a lot, it's okay to be upset and snap at people.”

But you shook your head. “No, it's not okay. And you're my higher up, I should choose my words carefully when talking to you,” you said.

“Listen, if you want me to get in touch with König, if you want to talk to him about what happened, just tell me and I'll do it.”

“I don't want to talk to him. He's not the one I need now,” you were quick to say.

Ghost wondered what you meant. Who was this person you were talking about? “We have a therapist at the base, I can get you an appointment.”

But you only shook your head and looked down at his hand that was still holding yours. Did it mean you wanted him to let go? Did it mean you were talking about him? No, why would you talk about him like that? Why would you even think about him this way?

Your gaze turned to him, eyes looking for his in a desperate attempt to get him to understand the silent message. But Ghost had absolutely no idea what you were trying to tell him, or at least he wasn't sure he was ready to accept it just yet.

“Can you stay here with me for a little longer?” you asked when you understood that he was still uncertain.

Ghost smiled under the mask, then pulled it up to his nose to lean down and place a soft kiss on your forehead. “I'm not going anywhere.”

[rose-pearls]

That's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend - Part 5

Previous Part - Next Part

There are pictures lying everywhere around her, to try and make her mind work or at least that is what doctor Everdeen has told her.

Some pictures make her brain hurt from looking at them, like memories are trying to come back but aren’t able to. Others are just there, and she can’t even remember who the person is on it. In only one picture she can recognize the person, but the memories linked with him are not the best ones. 

Peeta and you are smiling at the camera, a half-eaten cake in front of them with three forks around it. They both have a bit of frosting on the cheeks while they are holding their teacups in the air. You don’t know how the both of you came to be how you are today, broken down, when just a couple of weeks ago you were smiling for the picture. 

One picture always takes your attention, the man in it is smiling warmly at her while she smiles at the camera a long dress covering her body. It looks like it had been taken at a ball, champagne flutes in both of their hands but she looked happy there. You feels like you are missing something, just like when he was looking at you with heartbroken eyes when you told him you couldn’t remember him.

“How is memory lane going?”, a voice asks behind you and you see Doctor Everdeen looking at you sweetly. 

“Could be going better, some pictures bring me headaches, others don’t do anything and then there is the picture of Peeta.”, the doctor nods at your words and writes down what you just told her. 

“The good news is that we took you just on time before they managed to make everything disappear. However, we were thinking of making you talk with Peeta if you are feeling up to it? It could help the both of you.”, Doctor Everdeen says the last part after a few seconds, and you look at her surprised. 

“What happened to him? The only thing I could hear were his screams.”, you whisper softly, looking at her for answers.

“They used some venom to make him believe that Katniss was the enemy and that she is a mutt that needs to be killed.”, your blood turns cold at the words, although you didn’t remember Katniss well you knew she was important to Peeta or that was at least what was shown on your board.

“Can I first take a look around?”, you try to ask, they hadn’t really let you out of the hospital too scared of what could happen. The doctor looks unsure but after a sigh she looks at you carefully.

“You will have a guard with you, and you have one hour.”, she looks like she was expecting your question because a guard enters at her words, and you look at her in surprise.

“I’m Boggs, I’ll be with you.”, he says after a moment of silence, and you nod slowly at his words before taking the clothes the doctor offers you.

--

The halls are quiet as you walk through them, it looks like a big maze, and you don’t know how you would’ve found your way without Boggs leading you around.

You arrive in a room filled with weapons, lining up on the walls and you try to understand why the man brought you here, but he just nods towards the long row of targets. The guns attract your attention, and you take a small one before moving towards the knifes choosing a small one. 

As you come before a target it starts moving into place, you look back towards Boggs who gives you a small smile before you turn around trying to grip the knife correctly. Memories of a knife flash back as you grip it tighter, a butcher shop flashes before your eyes making you take a step back. 

“We don’t want a murderer as a daughter.”, you hear someone yell as the memories of a butcher shop takes over, a small girl looking at her father skillfully cutting the meat and then a flashforward to a bag being thrown in front of you.

You shake your head and grip the knife tighter before making a pirouette and throwing it hard against the target, not expecting new memories to appear. 

Blood, so much blood surrounding the abdomen of a young girl who is looking at you with scared eyes. She is whispering words that you can’t differ, but you feel the pain and guilt again. You feel like you can’t breathe and for a moment you close your eyes before you hear Boggs voice and you come back from the memories. He is looking at you worried but still a feet away from you with his hands up, and you remember that you still have a gun in your hands. It drops to the floor, and you sit on the floor trying to make sense of everything you just saw, while staring at the knife in the target.

“It’s the 75th Hunger Games!”, you hear a voice yell in a faraway memory full of pride and cockiness.

A voice breaks through your daydream and you see Boggs in front of you, looking at you with worried eyes.

“What is happening? Can you talk to me?”, you nod slowly before taking a deep breath.

“T-the knife. It brought back memories.”, you manage to whisper, and he looks at you slightly surprised before sitting down in front of you.

“That’s good. Can you tell me what you saw?”, you close your eyes at his words and a moment later you nod slowly.

“There were memories of a butcher shop and then a bag being thrown in front of me with a voice saying that they don’t want a murderer as a daughter.”, you tell him slowly and he seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly. 

“Your parents were district 12 butchers, so you are starting to remember them. That memory of the bag was probably when you came home from the games.”, he tells you softly like he is scared that it will break you. But his words make sense, the pain you felt at the memories must have been of your parents telling you to leave.

“There was a second memory.”, Boggs nods and you try to think of how to tell him before taking a deep breath.

“When the knife hit the target, a memory came back from a blond girl holding onto my hand, my other hand was on her wound and she looked like she was begging me to do something.”, a headache starts to form at the memories that you try to find again. Boggs is silent for a moment before looking at you carefully.

“I don’t know how much I can tell you, Doctor Everdeen will decide that when you tell her about this but that was a memory from your games.”, you remember the doctor telling you that you would have memories from games that you were in and that you won, so that must have been one.

“Thank you.”, you whisper after a moment, and he looks at you with a sad smile.

“I’m glad you are starting to remember some things. But we need to go see Mellark.”, he says after a moment and you simply nod, letting him take you with him.

--

The door is locked as you arrive, and Boggs looks at you for a moment while you look at the door feeling nervous.

“If you want to leave at any point, you tell us and we open the door.”, he says with a hard tone, and you simply nod taking a step towards the door.

Boggs tells them to open the door and you enter the room, seeing glass windows where you can’t seem to be able to see anything through. The room is all white, a bit like yours and you can’t help but want to take some paints and make it more colorful.

Peeta is in the middle of the room, looking at you with curious eyes while his hands are tied up just like his legs. He looks as exhausted and tortured as you, his screams come back in your memories, and you have to stop yourself from closing your eyes at the memories.

“You came.”, he whispers, and you can’t help but smile at his words.

“Couldn’t leave you here, could I?”, you whisper back before sitting down on his bed and smiling softly.

“How are you doing?”, typical of Peeta always wondering how others were doing before himself.

“Could be better, after all I lost all of my memories but otherwise nothing new. How are you doing?”, he snorts at your words, and you can’t help but smile bitterly in response.

“Everyone thinks I’ve gone crazy, and I don’t know what is happening to me.”, you can’t help but feel sick at his words, so you take his hand and squeeze it.

“They fucked us up really bad, didn’t they.”, Peeta chuckles at your words before it slowly dies down in his throat.

“I just want to be myself again.”, he whispers after a moment, and you feel tears in your eyes at his words.

“I know, I do too.”, you manage to say while your voice breaks down at the words. The two of you look at each other for a moment with tears in your eyes.

“I have something for you.”, you tell him and Peeta looks at you surprised before you take a picture out of your jacket.

It’s the picture they had given you of the two of you with the half-eaten cake in front of you.

A smile appears on Peeta’s face at the picture, and you can’t help but smile back as you put the picture next to his bed.

“That way you have a bit of decoration in here.”, you whisper softly and Peeta smiles at your words.

“I remember that day. It was just before we were going to do the plan of leaving towards district thirteen. We used to get together every few nights in district twelve when we couldn’t sleep and after your tour Haymitch started joining us. That night we were scared so we found each other at the table and ordered a large cake and the first thing you told me was that my cake was better. We laughed the whole night long and put frosting on each other while Haymitch took that picture.”, Peeta is still looking at the picture and you feel a ton of emotions going through you at his words. Feelings of safety going through you and flashes of yellow cakes and laughter echoing, the images still blurry in your mind.

“These memories, they helped me get through the torture in the capitol.”, he whispers after a moment, and you can’t help but squeeze his hand at his words feeling tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember them well.”, you whisper after a moment and Peeta looks at you with a kind smile.

“That’s alright, they’ll come back. I’ll help you.”, he says, and you can’t help but let the tear fall down your cheek.

“I’ll help you too, tell me what you need, and I’ll be there.”, Peeta smiles at your words and squeezes your hand. 

“Just you being there is already enough, it gets lonely here.”, you know what he means so you stay there for a moment in silence looking at the picture for a moment.

“I just, I don’t remember anything.”, you whisper after a moment while looking at the picture, longing for the memories to come back. Silence surrounds you for a moment before his voice breaks through.

“Your parents owned the butcher shop that was right next to the bakery, which meant we grew up together. I was reaped during the 74the Hunger Games, and you were reaped for the 75th, which you won. We helped each other through the nights filled with nightmares and I felt responsible for you, like a big brother of some sort.”, you look at him slightly surprised at his words, but he doesn’t look done.

“Still, you looked broken, which made sense after the games you went through. The one time I saw you smile again like before was when you met Finnick during your victory tour. The two of you had spent the early hours of the morning talking together and after that you couldn’t be separated when you were together. When we went back for the 76th Hunger Games you spent the most time with him, laughing and letting him in like you had never done with anyone before.”, tears are forming in your eyes at his words, but you listen to him as he talks.

“You came back one morning with the largest smile I had ever seen, Finnick and you had spent the night together and you couldn’t stop smiling that day which made people look at you like you were crazy. You loved him so much and I know that deep down you still do you just don’t remember it yet.”, a few tears leave your eyes and roll down your cheeks at his words.

“Thank you.”, you manage to whisper, and he looks at you with a kind smile.

“You don’t need to thank me, whatever you want to know you can ask.”, you nod slowly at his words before a voice breaks through the silence letting you know it’s time.

“Guess that is my cue.”, you whisper and Peeta smiles at you sadly.

“I’ll see you next time.”, he says, with a doubtful look but you squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“I’ll be back.”, the two of you smile at each other before you leave towards the door feeling slightly lighter.

The door buzzes behind you and as you turn around you see him, Finnick, looking at you slightly surprised. His red eyes make the color of his eyes pop out and before you can say anything you go towards him. He looks at you surprised but he lets you look at him for a moment.

“I know you meant the world to me, help me remember that.”, you whisper, and you don’t know if he heard you before he nods slowly.

“Anything you want.”, he says after a few seconds and you nod quietly, smiling at him softly.

“Thank you.”, you tell him before Boggs appear and you smile one last time towards Finnick before leaving towards Boggs.

His eyes never leave your figure and even though you can’t see it a lovesick smile appears on his face, his heart beating faster.

Taglist: @nobody7102, @universal-s1ut, @wannapizzamymindposts, @ladystratus

[the-colourful-witch]

Hi, Fleur!

I hope you know that I absolutely love and admire your artwork, they are so creative and love how each and everyone of those characters are different in their own way.

You always make me smile when I see you on my dash, and I'm glad that you share your artistic talent with all of us. I hope you never give up on your art because you are so talented.

I have a few questions (Would it be alright if I send another ask?):

I was wondering if you have any HC's about your favorite HP couple (or any fandom)?

What is your favorite part/scene from the HP series?

If you won the lottery, what would be five things you would buy? No responsible answers, feel free to be silly ;)

I hope you have a good night/morning <3

Hiya! I hope you know how much you saying this means to me. Thank you for your support and love and I hope you'll continue to enjoy seeing my work on your dash :) Ask as much as you like! I don't mind at all :)

Let's start with the first question: I do have a headcannon about Ron and Hermione.. I've always imagined that Hermione would carefully pick out novels she thinks Ron will enjoy and give them to him. And he'll complain publicly about how she's trying to get him to study more and be bookish, but they talk about the books together and Ron will ask for another one because she knows exactly what he likes. He will listen to her drone on and on about what she's currently reading and tease her in between breaths. They have a bookish love language :) I also have a Harry and Ginny headcannon... Harry eventually falls in love with Ginny because she is being herself, being cool, fun, and witty. Harry would get a little insecure because suddenly he's not sure he is worthy of her. Because he didn't have a normal childhood, he worries he might be too serious for her, or that they can't have fun together. That's when Ginny takes him outside to play Quidditch, they play matches and let go of their troubles for a bit. Afterwards, they'll lie in the grass, talking and making jokes and Ginny tells him that she doesn't care that he's famous, because she just scored 99/100 goals on him. Harry kisses her because she is one of the few people that can make him feel like a normal person and his worries ebb away.

I might draw those headcannons one day, I'd love to do more story illustrations :) Second question: favourite part of the HP series (book and/or films)... Hmm, that's a tough one. There are so many to choose from. I think, from the films; there's this scene in 'The Prisoner of Azkaban' on the day they arrive back at Hogwarts. The boys are in the Gryffindor dormitory and they're taking those animal candies. I love that scene so much, because of the fun they're having, the rain pounding on the windows outside, and the fact that they're in their pyjamas. They were probably talking about their summers, exchanging stories. It's so wholesome, I love it! From the books, I absolutely love the scene in 'The Order of the Phoenix' where Fred and George escape Hogwarts on their broomsticks. They give a final 'FUCK YOU' to Umbridge and the chaos that ensues after that is just brilliant. With the swamp and the Niffler and McGonagall instructing Peeves on how to untwist the chandelier. It's brilliant.

I love most scenes with the twins. They're so funny :)

And last, but not least! If I won the lottery, what would I buy...? That's such a fun question. Reasonable answers aside, I would buy a ship. A large, beautiful sailing vessel. I would turn the thing into a sailing art studio and just travel the world and write and illustrate books. And I would paint the outside beautiful colours, I'd have a vegetable garden on the deck and a swinging chair to read books in. It would be a little paradise at sea. I love boats and my dream is to live on one :)

[thetormentita]

the last storm

maybe she is being kept alive for a reason.

Pairing: Argella Durrandon x Orys Baratheon (one-sided)

A/n: mentions of violence and suicide.

Rating: Mature (+16)

She has never felt alone, not truly. Despite the corpses of her dead siblings, in her heart she has never felt alone with the children in Storm’s End. She used to play with them, study the maester’s lessons with them, eat with them. There were Androw and Robert in one hand, whom she loved as much as would have done with her own brothers, and also this Trant Girl, Rowan, who had been a confident to her childish secrets.

Now they are gone.

The soldier next to her doesn’t seem to stop talking, but her thoughts are far from that tent. Rowan had been the first to betray her, that is why her bile boils with the mere thought of that damned red-headed. When she needed them the most, nobody could be found inside the castle, and she still regrets it. Androw and Robert were fighting with her father outside, and she did not notice it until it was too late.

Her mind brings her to reality, and it hurts like the deepest of hells.

“Soon a maester will come to take care of your wounds, my lady.”

She is too tired to lift her gaze from the floor. Her eyes, once bright like a sunny sky, only are able to spot the ground beneath her feet and the heavy boots of the man who had killed her father, the fool of a man. Beneath her trembling hands rests a goblet, half empty, and the cold draining weight of the chains and the cloak stained with Stormlander blood had been replaced by a blanket, worn but warm, draped over her shoulders. She finds herself thirsty, her throat parched beyond reason. He seems to notice with a mere look, because he soon pours wine for her to drink.

She wonders about the reason behind that much interest. Easily he can subdue her, but instead, he chooses oddly gentle gestures. Her suspicion is an ever-present shadow, lingering behind every careful move he makes. He could easily make her a prize for his best soldiers to take, sell her to a pillow house —at least she would meet her sweet Alys again, or even claim her to himself and easily take her to death with his own bare hands , but he does none of these things. Instead, he studies her with a mix of curiosity and something that resembles respect.

Respect.

Does the commander of that bunch of beasts have more brains than the rest of the world?

The thought both unsettles and intrigues her.

With steady but careful hands he leads her to the nearest place to sit down, offering her his arm to lean into when her own knees seem to fall apart and highly disappoint her, making herself be seen more than vulnerable, if it is even possible. As she reluctantly leans on him, she feels the strength beneath his robes, and her fear mixes with confusion.

Once she manages to sit on a wooden trunk, feeling the lock against her naked calf, her eyes subtly go to the entrance of the tent, her mind racing with the possibilities of her future. She would try to escape, but that man would easily hinder any possible attempt.

“Nobody will bother you, there is no need to worry.”

The pain in her chest is replaced by a hole. A hole where hope used to reside, now filled with questions and uncertainty. She wants to ask for her friends, for the only ones that have not sold her to the invaders, to the man by her side who carefully tends to any of her needs while a maester makes his way towards the tent, but what terrifies her is the answer she can get.

A thunderclap echoes in the distance, and the light coming from outside tells her that, if they are lucky, the storm will stay by the Shipbreaker Bay.

How delightful would it be to succumb by a lightning in that precise moment.

“Rest now, gather your strength," his voice tinged with an unexpected softness.

“Commander” she tilts her head to look at him in the eye, for a moment getting lost in the blue of his eyes and the quiet intensity they hold. “If you are to kill me, I beg you to do it quickly.”

[mothbart]

twelve days of kolowv: day 12

my baby @theapocryphaofantares's birthday is in twelve days, and because i love him with all my heart he gets a small microfic every day until he gets his big present on his actual birthday.

day 12: note | jegulus | words: 994

Regulus is going to kill James Potter.

He doesn’t know when he���ll do it, or how he’ll do it, but just know that he will do it at some point.

James sits behind him in the one class that they have together, which is some bogus history course that Regulus is taking as an elective. Why James is taking this class? He has no idea, considering that James is in the science program and more than likely finished all of his pre requisites. He tries not to pay attention to James—he ignores him the best that he can.

However, since day one of this semester, James has gone out of his way to throw little pieces of paper at Regulus’ head. It’s annoying, especially when Regulus turns around and sees James with a stupid grin on his face like he won something. Sometimes he’ll do it twice, but usually when that happens, Regulus will choose to not even bother to look back. He refuses to give James that satisfaction.

But today? Today, James does it three times. It’s been two months of this, and yeah, sure, once, Regulus expects it. Twice? It’s rare, but it does happen. Three? That makes Regulus want to rip James’ head off of his body. He turns around while the professor is still talking away about ancient civilization and gives James the deadliest glare he could.

“What?” Regulus hisses at him. “What do you want?”

James leans forward, and that horrible, god awful smirk growing on his face. “Your attention.”

Regulus is baffled, because what kind of answer was that?

“So you throw paper at my head?”

“If you bothered to actually open them up, you’d see that they’re notes.”

“What makes you think—”

“Is there a problem over there, Mr. Potter and Mr. Black?” Professor Slughorn asks, raising an eyebrow. Everyone has their heads turned to them, and Regulus can feel his face growing warm. “Anything you’d like to share?”

“No, not at all, sir,” James replies. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Professor Slughorn takes a few seconds before speaking again. Regulus shifts in his seat, looking around to see if he can at least try and move to a different area where James wouldn’t be able to follow and sit behind him next time. He goes back to taking his notes, scribbling whatever words were coming out of Professor Slughorn’s mouth. The only reason why he stops is because he feels something hit his head again, and he sees the crumbled paper fall next to his foot.

Regulus sighs before picking it up. He carefully opens up the crumbled piece of paper and frowns because he can’t fucking read what this note even says. It’s all shitty handwriting and creases and smeared blue ink. Regulus looks behind him to see James give him a confused look.

“What does this even say?” Regulus whispers, holding up the note to show James.

“It says meet me after class.”

Regulus turns his attention back to the front of the classroom where Professor Slughorn is passionately speaking to a student who had just asked a question. He looks down at the note in his hand and runs his thumb over the words, shaking his head.

* * *

“What do you want?” Regulus asks James once class is over.

They’re standing in the hallway of the lecture hall, trying to stay out of the way of everyone leaving.

“Is it wrong to just want to talk to you?”

“Do you have a reason to talk to me?”

“Do I need to have a reason?” James asks, smiling. Regulus rolls his eyes, because he’s not going to fall for this shit. Absolutely not. He’s not going to fall for James’ toothy smile and how his chocolate eyes glisten in this stupid yellow light from the hallway ceiling and he’s definitely not going to fall for the way that James runs his fingers through his unruly hair. “I just wanted to say hi, check in, see how you’re doing is all.”

“And that warrants you throwing paper at my head?”

“I told you there were notes,” James replies, shrugging. “Not my fault you didn’t bother to actually look at them. There were some important things I said, too.”

“Can you just cut the bullshit and tell me what you want?” Regulus asks. “I don’t have time for this, I have another class to get to—”

“Go on a date with me,” James says, cutting him off. “Just one.”

Regulus is frozen in place, because that’s definitely not what he was expecting to come out of James’ mouth. James Potter, his brother’s best friend, wants to take him out on a date and Regulus wants to refuse. Oh, he wants to see James crumble at him saying no—

“What were in the notes?”

“Me trying to ask you out on a date.”

“Why?” Regulus asks.

“Why not?” James rebuts. “Let me show you a good time. I have it all planned out.”

“What makes you think I’m going to say yes to you?”

“Because you won’t say no.”

“Excuse me?” Regulus asks, baffled.

“You heard me,” James says. “You won’t say no.”

And Regulus hates that James is right. He steps closer to Regulus, bringing his hand on Regulus’ face and tilts his chin up, making eye contact. Regulus can see the determination in his eyes, and he’s practically speechless at this point because he didn’t think that James would be this fucking ballsy. He should’ve known better, though. When James Potter wants something, he won’t stop until he gets it.

“Fine,” Regulus murmurs, pulling away from James. “Just one.”

“Perfect,” James says. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice.”

Regulus watches as James walks away from him, and for Christ’s sake.

Regulus is so fucked.

[jenanigans1207]

Hi, please accept me being weak and sharing even more of this fic that I'm working on because I'm too impatient to hold onto this until the fic is done.

For context, the whole point of the fic is that Dean gets hit with a curse that forces him to tell the truth if asked a question.

(enjoy the angst of me projecting onto Dean Winchester!)

----

“You don’t get it.” Dean grinds out, all frustration and sharp edges, words cutting his own throat as much as they’re cutting Cas.

“Dean—”

“Ask me.” Dean says, throwing his arms out to the side. “I can’t fucking lie so ask me.”

Cas stares at him for a long moment and it’s not hard for Dean to read the expressions on his face. Up until this point, Cas had been very carefully and delicately choosing his words every time he spoke to Dean, careful to not accidentally phrase something in a way that would come across as a question. He has been diligent in his attempt to respect Dean’s privacy and Dean’s wishes, steadfast in his belief that Dean should not be forced to tell them things, but should only volunteer things willingly. Even though Sam had been practically chomping at the bit to finally get Dean to talk about his feelings.

But Dean was giving Cas permission to ask, to force the curse to bring the words to the surface. This was about as willing as Dean got when it came to feelings and Dean could see the exact moment that Cas accepted the permission he was being granted. 

“Why do you always push me away?” Cas asks after a moment, his voice quiet, like he’s afraid of receiving the answer as much as he’s afraid of what delivering the answer will do to Dean.

But Dean doesn’t need the curse to bring up the answer. At this point, everything is such a fucking disaster that Dean’s willing to answer that honestly all on his own.

“It’s easier.” He says, and he notices the way Cas steels himself for whatever else Dean is about to say, as if he’s prepared for repeated blows to the heart. “If you leave because I push you away— because I’m a short-tempered asshole who crosses the line and says shit he doesn’t mean, I can live with that. Because that— that’s my fault, Cas. And at that point, just add it to the list, you know? Everything is my fault— Sam being back in the life, everything that’s happened to him, everything that’s happened to you, the fucking end of the world was my fault! So yeah, if you leave because I pushed and pushed and pushed until you couldn’t bear it anymore, I’ll just add it to the list of reasons I hate myself and cope with it the same way I cope with all the other reasons— too much alcohol and even more denial.”

Cas’s lips part, clearly surprised by the answer he’s getting. “That’s—”

But Dean isn’t done. “I’ve spent my entire life hating everything about myself, Cas. And yeah, I’m not sure I ever hate myself more than I do when I hurt you that— that is a new low, even for me, but it’s still in the realm of things I understand. But if— Cas, If you—” Dean’s throat is so fucking tight that it hurts and the words almost can’t get out. He clenches his jaw, swallows, and decides to put himself out of his fucking misery. “If I asked you to stay… If I told you how badly I always want you there, how nothing is ever right when you’re gone, how I never want you to leave and you— and you left anyway? If I told you the truth and you still chose to leave despite that? Cas, that would kill me. It really would.” Dean can’t look Cas in the eye now that the words are out in the open. “So instead, I push. If you’re going to leave no matter what, at least I can blame myself for it. It at least makes it a little easier to breathe in those lonely moments. Gives me something to do, too, you know? Instead of missing you every second of the day, I spend at least a few of them kicking my own ass for what I’ve done and continue doing to you.”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows the words and Dean honestly doesn’t know how he expects Cas to react.

“And you—” Cas’s voice is as strained as Dean’s had been and Dean glances up at him briefly, unsurprised to find the pain reflected in his face. It’s not like Dean’s unaccustomed to hurting Cas, he shouldn’t be surprised that even his honesty manages to do it. “You think that I would leave either way? You think that I— I want to go? That I would choose to go even if you didn’t push me away?”

It’s several questions all jumbled together, but it doesn’t really matter because they all have the same answer anyway. “Yes.”

Dean had hurt Cas a lot of times in the past, he knew that. He wouldn’t say he’d come to terms with it, wouldn’t say that each and every time he had said something intentionally harsh, cruel, or uncalled for wasn’t tied for number one on his list of reasons he hated himself more than any other creature on earth. But still, he knew that he had done it and he often replayed it in his head, hurting himself with the memory of hurting Cas. But despite that, nothing prepares him for the way Cas’s face crumples at his answer, for the way he looks more dejected, more hopeless Dean has ever seen him. Suddenly every other time Dean has hurt Cas barely even makes the list of reasons he hates himself because this— this just took every spot in the top one hundred.

Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get the image of Cas’s broken, faithless expression out of his mind.

Dean almost expects Cas to try and school his expression into something a little more neutral, something to disguise the hurt in his eyes. He usually does, just to spare Dean the pain— or maybe Cas thinks it’s the satisfaction— of knowing that he’d landed another winning blow. But Cas doesn’t do anything to cover up the agony in his expression, doesn’t even attempt to pretend that he’s not breaking to pieces right before Dean’s very eyes.

Dean fucking Winchester, the man cursed to save the world that does not love him and to break the only actually precious thing he’s ever been given.

“Why?” Cas finally chokes out. “Why would you think that?”

Dean answers his question with a question, “Why would you stay?” Cas stares at him with eyes that are impossibly blue and unfathomably sad. For someone who knows only disappointment, Dean’s surprised to find that it hurts so much to find it reflected in Cas’s eyes. “I’m not— I’m not a fucking joy to be around, Cas. I’m not shining sunshine out of my ass, I’m not Mary freaking Poppins. I’m an asshole— clearly— and I… Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking disaster, a basket case. There’s more wrong with me than there is right. Me constantly pushing you away is an example of that!”

“Dean, if you’d let me, I would—”

“Let you?” Dean repeats, somehow incredulous despite the absolute trainwreck of a situation. “Let you? Cas, I may push you away, but I don’t physically shove you out the door. And I’ve never once locked it behind you, never once stopped you from coming back. You get that, right? I may push and push and push but you? Cas you leave.”

Somehow this is getting worse by the second and if Dean weren’t so unbearably miserable, he’d be impressed that he’s managing to fuck everything up further with every word that comes out of his mouth. Looking at Cas now, he’s honestly not sure which one of them hates the situation they’re in more, which one of them feels worse. Cas looks like he’s about to collapse in on himself, like the only thing he’d ever been fighting for just gave up and surrendered the battle. He looked like his entire purpose had just been ripped away from him. 

“I don’t ever want to leave, Dean.” Cas says brokenly. 

“Then why do you?” Dean asks, just as broken, just as quiet, just as desolate. And when Cas doesn’t immediately answer, biting back a reply that he clearly knows, Dean laughs, bitter and humorless. “Right, ‘course. Forgot, I’m the only one who has to be honest, here. Fucking fantastic, Cas, that’s just great.”

Cas takes a tentative step forward. “Dean—”

Dean has always hated how much he loves the way Cas says his name. Cas, a former Angel of the Lord said Dean’s name reverently, like a prayer, like it carried some sort of holy meaning or importance. Cas said his name like it was a blessing to be able to speak it at all, like it was the only name he ever wanted to say again. 

And Dean can’t take that right now, can’t let Cas say his name like that while refusing to meet him in the middle on this. “No, just—” He’s breaking, he’s breaking, he’s been broken for so many goddamn years at this point and yet somehow he’s still breaking. “You— you were supposed to fight, you asshole. You were supposed to come back and see that the door was still open. You were supposed to— to try. And you never did— do. You never do. So I keep pushing and you keep leaving and it’s easier for me to blame myself than it is for me to blame you but god, Cas, it doesn’t matter whose fucking fault it is because it hurts every time you go.”

Dean doesn’t know if angels cry. But if they do, he’s certain that Cas would. If there were only ever one angel in all of history that cried, Dean would know with absolute certainty that it was Cas. And Cas isn’t even an angel anymore, technically. He’s just a stupid human with stupid human emotions and the even stupider human inability to deal with them. But he looks like he might cry, like he might prove to Dean to that all of his celestial holiness was just a rouse and that he’s always been harboring this deep seated sadness underneath. 

“I—” Cas starts to say, but whatever response he had is lost to the sound of Sam opening the door finally.

“Hey,” Sam says hurriedly, and there’s a smear of blood on his cheek. He stumbles into the room, the hand on the doorknob stopping him from toppling over completely. Once he makes it in the room he pauses, seeming to notice the tension that’s suffocating them. His eyebrows rise as he glances between the two of them. “You guys good?”

“No,” Dean answers immediately, the curse beating Cas to the punch. “We’re not.”

That seems to catch Sam off guard and his hand slips off the doorknob as he regards Dean. He probably wants to ask some question that would make Dean rehash this entire thing, probably wants to do something stupid and sentimental like sweep him up into a bear hug and tell Dean that everything will work out. But he seems to sense the severity of the situation, the levity of the expressions on both of their faces. He shuts his cakehole.

“No,” Cas agrees after a moment, and his voice is thick with emotions and whatever words he was forced to swallow back down when Sam barged in. “But we will be. Right, Dean?”

Even the curse doesn’t have an answer to that one, leaving his throat completely dry as he tries to swallow, letting him give whatever kind of response he wants. “Yeah.” He chokes out after a moment, not meeting the gaze of either of them. “We always are.”

[eventinelysplayground]

Shattered

This is my second last fic for my 50 follower event and was requested by the delightful @fang-and-feather whose ask I put up on Tuesday if you want to take a look. This fic was hard to get the idea for but then I ended up getting an element I wanted and built two different ideas around that that weren't working so I dissected them and took parts of both along with the element and here it is. I had a lot of fun with this one, it felt like I could be a bit more daring with it in a way. I also switch pov at the end but it's mostly in Comtes. I hope you enjoy the fic Fang and thanks so much for the congrats and all your support especially when I first started out you have no idea how much it meant to me. An outing, a memory and one bad action tempt Comte. Mentions of alcohol, suspected infidelity, pregnancy and blood, WC approx 1929.

The night was warm with the subtle scent of flowers carried on the wind as the moon danced in and out between the clouds. Comte stood alone on the balcony, a glass in one hand and a half empty bottle of whiskey on the top rail. He had managed to outrun his thoughts since this afternoon but now in the stillness of the night he was at their mercy.

She looked absolutely stunning this afternoon, her smile was so radiant.

Comte took a long sip from his glass then let out a short self deprecating chuckle.

Really, this is unbecoming of me. It was all my own choices, I have no one else to blame. It's for the best anyway I would only have ruined her life.

When he had first started to notice that Mitsuki and Arthur were developing feelings for eachother he said nothing, believing his own feelings for her nothing but a passing desire that would be quickly forgotten. He'd had more than his fair share of romances just like that in even his long lifetime and yet…yet as time continued forward he realized just how wrong he was.

Mitsukis appearance at the mansion had brought a light and joy to their lives. She had touched all their hearts but only Arthur had been able to touch hers. Every time he witnessed them together, their happiness, devotion, love for one another, the warmth he felt to see her so happy warred with an ugly darkness in his heart. The darkness only grew as time went on and Mitsuki got even closer to him.

She certainly did manage to work her way past all my walls without even trying. She's always reached out and tried to see the best in everyone even then….

‘What were you thinking!?’

‘I knew you were a filthy klootzak but this is low even for you.’

‘Didn't think you'd be the type to settle down but I hoped for cara mias sake that I was wrong.’

‘How did you not even make it six months!?’

‘Newt, What the bloody hell are you all going on about!?’

‘You're going to play dumb?’

Theo had moved to grab Arthur by the lapels and Comte had been the one to stop him.

‘Calm down all of you, let's see if Arthur has anything to say at least.’

‘Anything to say to what? I don-’

‘You better think of something better than that after the way cara mias been crying.’

‘Wait, Mitsuki is upset? What happened?’

‘Like you don't know.’

‘Arthur enough games-’

‘I swear Comte I'm not playing any g-’

Arthur's eyes had gone wide with a sudden revelation.

‘Mitsuki!’

Arthur went to run past them up the stairs but Napoleon caught him by the arms.

‘Damn it all, let go Leon! I swear to all of you this isn't what you think. That bird was-’

‘Choose your next words very carefully Arthur.’

Comtes eyes were cold and voice commanding.

‘That bird was someone I had spent a few nights with years ago before Mitsuki ever arrived. She had gone overseas, family issues or something I honestly don't remember but she's been gone for years and just got back and-’

‘And she's been gone long enough she had no idea.’

‘Exactly! I was coming back from my publishers when she just bloody well threw herself into my arms and started kissing me. I mean do you all really not know me better than that? I've answered enough of your questions, I need to see Mitsuki.’

‘Let him go Napoleon but Arthur, you best be telling the truth, for your own sake if not for hers.’

Comte recalled that the whole mansion was tense that night and they all took turns keeping an ear out for any hint of trouble from a respectable distance. After a few hours Leonardo had come down smirking and declaring that ‘any screaming now wouldn't be from anger’. It had only been about eight months prior and the emotions that just the memory of that incident brought forward caused Comte to smash his glass on the top rail littering it with glass.

She's too good and pure for him. Forgiving him after hurting her like that even if it was unintentional, and now be giving him a child after it all.

Comte sighed and looked down at the broken glass.

Well now, that wasn't very mature of me. I should be happy that she forgave him and they're able to continue to be so happy…

Comte lifted the whiskey bottle to his lips, drinking back the last of its contents. He looked up into the night sky smiling as his thoughts returned to the afternoon.

‘Don't you think that this is all a bit much?’

‘Whatever do you mean?'

‘I mean you've bought multiple things from every store we've been in today! I didn't need those new dresses and on top of that you're also spoiling this baby before it even gets here!’

‘Nonsense Cherie, I could never dote on you or the child enough to ever come close to spoiling either of you. You deserve all of it and more.’

‘Really I-'

Suddenly they had both heard soft laughter from nearby. When Comte turned around there was an older woman standing there smiling fondly at them.

‘Just let him do as he pleases dearie, if your husband's anything like mine was nothing you say will deter him.’

‘Oh but he’s-’

‘Listen to her words of wisdom ma Cherie, plus have you ever been able to convince me before?’

‘Well no…’

‘If it makes you feel better dear , think of it as payment for the hard work soon to come.’

‘Who are you bothering now?’

The older woman clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

‘I’m not bothering anyone, I was just telling the young dear here to accept as many gifts as her husband desired to provide her and their child with.’

The old gentleman who had approached quickly cast an appraising look over Mitsuki then Comte noticed his lips turning up into a faint yet fond smile.

‘A word of advice son, pace yourself unless you don't mind spending all your wealth spoiling them.’

‘See he agrees with me, you're spoiling them already.’

‘I still say you should let him.’

‘Hahaha of course you would, come my dear leave the young couple to enjoy themselves.’

‘If you insist, oh but wait! Congratulations to you both.’

‘Comte, why didn't you correct them?’

‘Hmmm? Is the thought of being married to me that horrible?’

‘No, of course not! I didn't mean-’

‘Haha it’s alright cherie, honestly they just seemed happy and besides it didn't cause any harm’

‘I suppose not.’

It was nice to dream if only for a brief moment. If I hadn't dismissed my feelings, not been afraid to lose what we did have then maybe…

“Comte?”

The sudden voice startled Comte and he turned towards the door.

“Cherie, what are you doing up so late?”

“Sleeping is becoming incredibly difficult lately and this heat isn't helping. What about you, could you not sleep?”

I wish it were that simple.

“Something like that, come let me take you back inside.”

“No, I'd prefer to stay out here. The breeze is really cool and-”

“Cherie don't-”

“Ouch!”

Comtes warning came too late as Mitsuki placed her hand on top of the shards of broken glass. Blood began to trickle down her palm and fingers momentarily freezing him to the spot.

“I'm so sorry, Comte! I should have been more careful.”

Comte said nothing, his gaze fixed on the trails of blood while the rest of him desperately fought the intense burning in his throat.

“I should go and get-”

“No!”

“Comte?”

Comte closed the small distance between them staring down at Mitsukis bloodied hand for a moment before lifting it upwards.

Maybe it wouldn't have to be a dream.

Comte lifted Mitsukis hand higher to his lips and lapped at her blood before sinking his fangs into her soft flesh. The taste of her blood on his tongue as it passed over it and down his throat was heavenly and sweet. He felt her knees begin to give and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist as he-

“Comte!?”

Comte shook his head slightly as he was pulled back to reality, he held Mitsukis hand dangerously close to his lips. She was looking at him with wide eyes filled with fear and confusion.

I just need another minute... to compose myself.

Comte took his free hand and removed a shared of glass from Mitsukis palm before removing a handkerchief and pressing it into her slightly trembling fingers.

“There doesn't appear to be any more glass in the wound.”

“Thank you for checking.”

Comte could tell Mitsuki was relaxing again and so he released her hand and started walking towards the door.

“Wait here cherie. I'll go and fetch a first aid kit and send Arthur or Sebastian out with it. We wouldn't want you to wander into any of the other residents like that.”

“Alright.”

Comte left the balcony without another word or a backward glance. His throat was burning out of control and his mind was racing.

That was too close, how could I have scared her like that! She looked so frightened and-

“Luv? Oh Comte, sorry old chap I thought I smelled-”

Comte looked down at his hand and noticed he had traces of Mitsukis blood on him.

“She's fine Arthur, just a bad cut. I was actually on my way to get a first aid kit then find you or Sebastian.”

“Where is she?”

“On the balcony.”

Comte watched Arthur head off down the hallway towards the balcony for a moment then continued on to his own room where he locked the door behind him.

Arthur found Mitsuki standing on the balcony cradling her hand, one of Comtes handkerchiefs pressed against it.

“What happened luv?”

“Arthur! I just cut myself on some glass that's all.”

Arthur took in the scene before him and put together with what Mitsuki told him of her and Contes outing and the way he looked it made his eyebrows furrow.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

“Yes, Comte took the shard of glass out and then gave me his handkerchief.”

Arthur let go of a breath he wasn't aware he was holding as he inspected Mitsukis hand. Finding no shards he began to wrap her palm.

“Once the bleeding has mostly stopped I'll clean and wrap it properly for you. It shouldn't take long, now come here.”

Arthur pulled Mitsuki towards him, placing a kiss to the top of her belly before turning her away from him and wrapping his arms tightly around her. They stood there in silence for awhile when Mitsuki suddenly tilted her head upwards.

“Was Comte ok?”

“Why do you ask luv?”

“He seemed….hurt.”

Arthur sighed remembering the fevered look in Comtes eyes and glimpse of his fangs he had caught during their brief exchange.

“It's nothing that won't heal with time.”

“Are you sure?”

Arthur looked down at Mitsuki and saw the concern in her eyes. He wasn't sure at all but he couldn't bear to tell her that so he smiled and kissed the top of her nose.

“The old chap is stronger than he looks so don't worry about him, just focus on this right now.”

Arthur moved his hands to caress over Mitsukis belly and she laughed.

“Alright Arthur, I trust you.”

I really do hope his willpower holds out but regardless… I know we'll both do what we need to do to keep you safe.

[licncourt]

Do you think Louis is "good with emotions"? What I mean is is he consciously aware of how he feels about what's happening around him, does he have a handle on emotions or does he have.. Issues with translating what he's feeling, therefore he is oblivious to his own emotions. Does he fine tune emotions in a conscious funnel that gives the reader an impression that he's quite adept at being a person you can go to with your problems. Does this make sense? I guess what I'm asking is would he be the best friend you can count on to have a deep talk with or is Louis so repressed he needs to write out his thoughts in a journal before he can give advice. Does he give terrible advice. Would he make a good therapist? I think he's a bit too mentally lost himself to be the person to depend on for advice even though compared to Lestat he's more emotionally mature, but (I'm sorry this is so winded) is Louis aware of his emotions enough to make good life choices, and is Louis able to distinguish emotions or does he struggle with them enough to be that person everyone goes to for advice (hypothetically). I hope I'm making sense.. I'm not too keen on the side of fandom that leans on Louis being the "sane" one while Lestat is the "insane" one, but in my short time in this fandom, that's been my experience 🤷🏻‍♀️ Everyone wants to lean on Louis, and they want him to be the family friendly one. It doesn't give room for him to flesh himself out. Why does Lestat get all the fun stuff. Louis started the shenanigans and he is obviously very unhinged. I don't think it's fair is all. But please give me your thoughts on this very long ask.

Oh God that's a hard question, but my answer is no, he isn't really. He's emotional but I wouldn't say he's good with those emotions or those of others (especially not those actually). In general he reminds me of when you meet a guy who sucks but they call themselves an empath.

Even Lestat says in one of the books that Louis is oblivious to the suffering of others in a lot of ways and I think that's true. He sees human misery when it supports his internal beliefs because he's actively looking for it, but he's not in tune with people in general, especially not when other people's feelings contradict his world view (ie owning slaves while acting like he's some kind of hero for the downtrodden because he eats rats).

I think the fact that he feels his own emotions so intensely is part of what makes him so selfish. He's incredibly caught up in what HE'S feeling, so the inner world of someone else is not really being considered, nor would it occur to him to consider it. That happens a lot in IWTV where, at least the way Louis portrays it, the only explanations he can come up with for Lestat's behavior are that he's stupid or he just has a bad personality.

There's always the implication that their relationship was deeper than Louis made it seem, but I also don't think he was interested in exploring Lestat's deeper motives for his behavior. He got his feelings hurt and therefore whatever Lestat had going on was irrelevant to him. There was no effort to understand and empathize when it was hard and he faced resistantance.

At the very least, be seems to be hellbent on strong-arming his own emotions to suit his will. He's very externally adamant about his chosen narrative, but he spends enough time just Having Feelings that at least deep down, he knows for himself what the truth is most of the time when it comes to his inner thoughts unless he's in true denial. He just chooses to be stubborn and force his way through life ignoring those feelings if he thinks they shouldn't be that way.

His thoughtfulness and how carefully he chooses his words does give the impression of some kind of emotional intelligence, but I think a lot of that is artificial, like when he's talking in IWTV about how his objections to killing are about the principle and the aesthetics. There's a lot of convoluted thinking and justifications, but not much consistent or reasonable logic to suggest that he's tapped into something grounded and honest within himself or the world.

Another indicator of whatever emotional imbalance he has is the way he cycles between being so rigidly repressed and then snapping. That's not the hallmark of someone who's processed or is capable of coping with any hard feelings, much like an addict who never gets treatment but manages to white knuckle their way through stretches of time before losing control again.

I suppose he is more emotionally mature than Lestat in his ability to exercise restraint and be calculated (in good and bad ways), but that doesn't always translate to an emotionally intelligent mindset that influences larger choices or patterns. No matter how good he is at it, his semi-frequent, massive lapses in judgement and self control kind of negate how helpful those skills can be.

This comes across in subtler ways too. He was more the family man than Lestat, but rather than responsibly parent Claudia through her adult challenges, he allowed and fostered an emotionally incestuous dynamic that was incredibly toxic for both of them. Other times he played calm and collected in the face of Lestat's outbursts, but he didn't actually work to resolve anything, just to keep the upper hand through his performative apathy. It's all very surface level and hardly ever productive.

The one credit I'll genuinely give to him was his willingness to let Lestat get whatever all that was out of his system in the 90s and 00s. He was very patient and honest about his feelings and finally had enough softness and genuine care for Lestat that he was able to see objectively the pain, confusion, and trauma those behaviors were born from. It's definitely growth on Louis' end compared to IWTV so golf clap for that.

I will say though that I definitely think he's too self-absorbed and judgmental to make a great listener unless he REALLY cares about the person talking to him. If he thinks he could've handled whatever the problem is better, it's going to show it accidentally even if he's being polite. The truth is he would not have handled it better most likely. Differently maybe, but not better. You had a freakout? Well. He simply would have repressed those feelings and then acted like a bitch later over nothing.