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#ikevamp fanfiction
judejazza · 2 months
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HEEEEELLOOOOO! I was wondering if you'd open more requests AND YAY! YOU DID! AHSIUEHSAEAS.
So pretty please with a cherry on top: Ikevamp Isaac + stargazing + sfw! Because sometimes I just wanna hold him close and squeeze him in a bear hug until he's wheezing! 🤍🤍🤍
HELLOOOOOOO I had so much fun writing this, it's so cute, Newt is so cute, and stargazing is ONE OF MY PASSIONS AHHHH honestly, I had wanted to write something like this in a while but I was always hesitant so thank you for giving me the PERFECT excuse to write it!!!
Heart
Isaac/GN Reader ☆ 1616 Words
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If someone had told you months ago that at some point in the future you’d be spending your evenings in 19th century Paris, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of hot tea in your hands while the Sir Isaac Newton set up his telescope, you’d likely have laughed at them.
And yet, here you are.
And here he is, too. His hands diligent and quick, yet careful in their precision as he fits together his invention. It’s cold enough out that his breath comes in condensation and you sip your tea as you watch him; eyes flicking between the intense concentration on his face, and his hands, long fingers and how practiced they are. It’s times like this he truly shines like the stars he admires. When he gets to share his passions with you, when you’re here, willing despite the cold and the late time, to be at his side and listen to him.
“You’re cold, aren’t you?” he frowns, glancing up. Guilt is written all on his face and you shake your head raising the cup of hot tea and wrapping the blanket around you more. “Tell me if you are.”
“I am okay, Isaac,” you say softly, moving closer to him. “You need to drink your tea and stay warm, too.”
He pauses, eyes flicking down to the forgotten mug he’d used to pin down some papers to stop them blowing away any time the wind blew. “Oh. Right.”
You notice his cheeks seem to burn, one of his hands comes up to tug on his hair before he clears his throat, snatches up the mug and downs the contents- “Ah-”
“It’s hot, Isaac!” You say quickly, rushing towards him. “Did you burn yourself?”
“N-no, I’m quite alright, I-” he sticks his bottom lip out, despite his words it must have been unpleasant and his eyes shine with the desire to be looked after, even though he says differently. Always a contrarian. He clears his throat, stepping away and motioning to the telescope. “Here.”
“Isaac,” you pause. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”
“You will,” he replies quickly, gently placing a hand on your elbow to urge you forward. He takes the mug from your hands, his skin brushing yours enough to send warmth to your cheeks. “That’s what I’m here for.”
As you peer through the device you let out a slight gasp. It’s not the first time you’ve seen the sky as he does, but as always it’s beauty astounds you. So many points of light, many more than you could have ever seen with your eyes; and so many colours. Blues, reds, yellows — honestly, you’ve no idea what any of it means, or where to look first but you don’t want to look away at all.
“Like this,” his voice comes gently, perhaps he’s trying not to disturb you — yet if you were to look at his face right now, you’d see a tenderness there, a love shining for you as he watches your face light up in a way which causes his heart to thrum. His hand rests gently on your waist, and you stiffen briefly, before he takes your hand and guides you in how to move the telescope.
“What am I looking for…?”
“Anything that takes your interest.”
“Isaac?”
He clears his throat and removes his hands and you note that you feel colder in the places he had once touched. Right. Stars. Not Isaac. Unfortunately. Honestly, you were content to watch him as he lit up, as he shined and sparkled and came alive with his passions, with the things that made him who he is — but he’s sharing his life with you in a way that somehow feels far, far more intimate than the joining of bodies and skin against skin.
“You’ll never discover a love of science if you’re always looking at it through others eyes.”
You briefly break away to look at him, eyes wide with shock at the rather profound sentence. Isaac looks away instantly, one hand tucked into his pocket and the other tugging at his hair. His gaze is dropped, but when he glances up at you to see if you’ve turned your attention back to the sky, a small smile alights onto his lips which you mirror.
“I’ll give it a go.”
“When you find something interesting, I’ll have a look and explain it.”
In the back of your mind you wonder how that’s actually going to work out; he’s far too intelligent for his own good, and when he gets going you have no idea about half of what he’s saying. Your mind wanders as you look at the stars, stopping every now and then to murmur your amazement. Perhaps you could find a rudimentary book to read while he works, something to give you a basic understanding so you can properly talk with him about the things he likes. You know he doesn’t mind, that if you so asked him, he’d try and explain it as simply as possible — but you can’t help but feel that’s simply a shame. It feels like holding him back, like caging a great lion and still expecting it to be king of the beasts. Isaac deserves to be free in his passions, to talk uninhibited about his work — and you want to understand him. Not just for him, it honestly is fascinating and it’s a once in a life time chance. After all, in the future, cities and towns are so built up that seeing the stars so clearly would never happen unless you went out entirely where civilisation didn’t.
You wonder briefly whether Isaac would like the future or not. He’d have no ability to walk out and simply gaze up from the garden, yet all t he advances in science and technology, all the discoveries and research — you can’t help but imagine he’d be much like a kid in a candy store. He’d have no clue where to start.
“Oh, what’s this?” you ask, stopping on a patch of a beautiful bright blue. It looks almost like an ocean in the sky, and you forget that you need to step aside for Isaac to see, far too enraptured by such a sight.
“Hmm,” he hums beside you, standing so close you can feel his warmth. He absently fixes the blanket around your shoulders, and as you stand up you see him craning his neck up. “That constellation is Cassiopeia,” he points and you follow his finger to the W shape he makes.
“I see it.”
“Good-” he pauses, quickly peering through the telescope himself. It doesn’t take him more than a few moments to let out a sound of acknowledgement. “That is the Heart Nebula.”
“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, trying to find a trace of it in the sky with your own eyes.
“Quite,” he agrees. “Ionised Oxygen and sulphur are responsible for the blue colours you see, and at its core are many hot stars which create stellar winds and dictate its shape.”
So far, you can follow along and you nod, now more intent on watching him as he focuses on his explanation. “It has a partner, look-”
His hand on your waist again, Isaac guides you back to peer through the eyepiece. Instead of blues and oranges, now you find an intense red which again makes your breath catch in your throat. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Yes, she is- it is. It!”
“Should I be jealous?” you ask, a slight teasing tone as you move to look at him.
“Absolutely not,” he says quickly, bristling at the slight pout to your voice. He’s entirely missed that you’re teasing him, and you resist the urge to laugh a little at how indignant he looks. “All the stars in the sky together could never be as beautiful as you.”
Oh.
You hadn’t expected him to say that, and not quite so matter-of-factly — and the way he freezes, his mouth opening and closing and his eyes wide, he apparently hadn’t expected it to fall from his lips, either.
“I-I… what I mean is, I— well… I- that is to say… well,….”
Unable to resist much longer, you wrap your arms around him and place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Isaac. I love you, too.”
“You-” he gasps, and you rather wish it was daytime so you could see how his face turns as red as the object in the sky you’d just been viewing. “I… well….”
“I’ll stop teasing you now, if you want.”
Yet, as you go to pull away, his arm remains firm enough on your waist that you can barely get an inch between the two of you. Not that you mind, any space from him is too much and you always welcome closeness with him. He’s warm, and as you move to look up at him your vision is filled with pink, a colour far more beautiful than anything you could see in the sky, and as Isaac’s soft lips press to yours, you can’t help but feel as if there isn’t a single thing in the world that could come close to being as precious as he is. He’s warm and kind, and you doubt you could live forever and a day and ever feel as loved as you do with Isaac.
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Taglist
@nightghoul381 @celiciaa @chevcore @candied-boys @aquagirl1978 @tele86 @aria-chikage @queengiuliettafirstlady @the-beast-tamer @maries-gallery @natimiles
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candied-boys · 8 months
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If you like Le Comte and sexy times and you have yet to read "It Started with a Dream" on ao3, please go indulge in this top tier masterpiece.
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maries-gallery · 8 months
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Hello! I can’t believe the rude anon the other day!! :( some people are so rude!! But the weekend event is exciting! if you’re still taking requests, would you write quality time with Leonardo? I feel like quality time with him would be so relaxing! Painting or reading together, or one of the other million things Leo can do! Even just napping together would be so nice and chill. Thank you for hosting events like these! They’re always so fun <3
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love languages weekend event
Hi anon! Thanks for the sweet thought <3 Am fine though so no worries, it takes more than that to bring me down!
Honestly I was so excited to see an ikevamp request for this event because it's been a hot minute since I last wrote anything for this :,) So when I saw both Theo and Leo stand in my inbox I was so happy to deliver!
Leonardo is indeed huge on quality time! And thank you so much for sending in a request <3
genre: fluff
warnings: none
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As a pure blooded vampire, Leonardo is aware of how precious time is. Not to him, he has plenty of it. But human life is fleeting, in comparison to the thousand years he’s lived and still has ahead of him. So every tick of his wrist watch reminds him of how little time he has with you. Of how little time he has with you in the grand scheme of things. 
A big part of him tries to forget about this, the idea of a life without you, something he cannot fathom, something he does not want to imagine. For the moment he does his heart plummets down to his stomach and his lungs press to his throat. 
And he knows that dwelling on this wouldn’t do either of you any good. For there is no use in wishing time could stop when time has no other master but itself. 
So Leonardo settles for enjoying every day, every hour, every minute and every second he gets to spend by your side. 
It does not matter what you are doing, as long as he is by your side, as long as he can see your smile and hear your voice, his world lives through your eyes. 
Sometimes you just sit together in his room or in the library, book in hand and Lumière on your lap, Leonardo’s head resting on your shoulder as you read to him. He doesn’t care about the genre, anything suits him as long as you are the one reading. 
“A fairy tale book, Cara Mia?” He says, inspecting the title and summary of the book you had just retrieved from one of the many shelves in Comte’s mansion’s library. 
“Yes, I often read this book as a kid!” You beam at him, a bright smile that fills his chest with warmth. 
“Okay then, let us begin.” 
And the two of you sit together, Leonardo’s attention swinging between the expressions on your features and the story. 
Sometimes it is him teaching you one of his many skills. Varying from painting, to chess, to repairing things to fabricking new things out of scratch. 
“Gosh I can’t do this!” Your hands fall at your side, shoulders sagging as you stare disapprovingly at the broken watch in front of you. 
Leonardo allows himself a chuckle, gently looping his arms around you from behind and scooping the broken mechanism in his hands, “Now, now, now. No need to get frustrated, Cara. Look.” 
And he doesn’t care how much time it takes for you to understand or get the hang of it, simply happy to share his knowledge with you and watch you acquire new skills by his side. 
“See? Was it worth giving me that pout?” 
Leonardo is all for partaking in your hobbies too, whatever they may be. Even if he is not good at it. If just for a sight of your smile. 
“Santo Cielo, what have I done to deserve such a beautiful smile?”
And sometimes it is just him following you into the streets of Paris to run errands when his time table allows it, which is pretty often. The two of you aren’t doing anything special per se, simply enjoying one another’s presence as you do what you have to do and carry on with your day. 
“Let me carry this for you, Cara Mia.” Leonardo’s hands cover your own as he fetches the bag from your hands, “Now where do we need to go next?” 
taglist: @aquagirl1978 @randonauticrap @poisonpeche (our daddy is back baby)
send me a text or ask if you'd like to be added &lt;3
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alby-rei · 1 year
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The Shy & Clumsy Physicist (IkeVamp; Isaac Newton)
a/n: I haven’t opened the ikevamp app in months, and when I did revisit it the other day, I was hit with nostalgia from the music alone. Decided to tackle an old wip from a retrospective angle, thinking of doing the same to the rest of the bunch. Thus, I present to you a piece of my Memories of the Mansion, talking to Isaac Newton for the first time. 
[Characters]: You & Isaac (ft. Napoleon)
[Word count]: ~1000 words
[Notes]: Pre-relationship, first meetings, can be read as platonic, gender-neutral reader
~*~
In a mansion full of accomplished and renowned historical figures, Isaac Newton was no slouch. If anything, he was among the most dedicated to continuing his previous life's work. He could work for hours on a single contraption without a care for the outside world, never losing patience and or focus. And yet, whenever you walked into the room he was working in or made your presence known to the hard-working scientist, something in him would switch.
He'd stumble on his words and bump his elbow or knee against the nearest furniture. It's like he'd lost all sense of spatial awareness, and his vision tunneled in on you and every shift of your facial expression.
Isaac's demeanor was endearing, to say the least. You may even call it cute. But the longer it persisted, the more you worried about him. He could seriously injure himself soon, if he hasn't already.
One time, you greeted him in the hall on your way to the kitchen as he came down the stairs from the second floor. His foot missed a step and nearly sent him tumbling down if it weren't for Napoleon's quick reflexes pulling his arm back to straighten him.
"You've been spacing out a lot lately, something on your mind?" Napoleon asked.
"No, no. I'm quite alright." You were already gone behind the swinging kitchen door when he looked back.
"I see. It is not something, but someone that is on your mind, hm?" Napoleon nudged.
Isaac whipped his head around. "How did you know?"
"You just told me, with your eyes." Napoleon tilted his head in the same direction as Isaac's gaze a second ago. He smirked. "And your reaction confirmed it."
"Nothing escapes you it seems." Isaac sighed. "But it really is nothing. I just feel so nervous around them."
"The new helper? Why’s that?"
Before Isaac could elaborate on his dilemma, you emerged again from the kitchen, looking much relieved to be empty-handed.
"And how do you do, gentlemen?" You greeted cordially, imitating a guest at a ball.  
Napoleon played along, bowing in response. "All is well, et tu?"
"Much the same, thank you, Monsieur Bonaparte."
You shared a laugh, and Isaac looked between you two like you spoke some ancient tongue he was unaware of.
"Just 'Napoleon' will do, no need to be so formal."
"Right, still getting used to that," you said. You smiled at both of them. Isaac looked like he wanted to say something, but it remained caught in his throat. "I better get to my next task. Sebastian really isn't going easy on me, despite it being my second week! See ya!"
"Do let us know if you ever need help." Napoleon called out to your retreating figure.
"How did you do that?" Isaac asked.
"Do what?"
"Talk with them so...normally, casually."
"How to talk to MC?" Napoleon echoed. "Words are a good start."
"I'm serious!" Isaac's face warmed up, and his friend's laughter wasn't doing him any favors. "It's not that simple."
"But it is. Alright, how about this: talk about your day or your work. I'm sure they'd love to hear about it."
Isaac didn't understand the logic behind it. Would you really be willing to listen to him babble about equations and theories, that even he wasn't certain of yet? No, no. That won't do, he thought, shaking his head. Napoleon patted his shoulder and told him that you two will talk at some point, seeing as you'll be living in the same mansion for an undefined period of time.
Isaac thought it over when he returned to the library to continue his work. He even practiced some conversation starters on his pet hedgehog, Harry, when he fed him.
Later the same day, Isaac walked past the lounge on his way to get Rouge. From the corner of his eye, he spotted you in there, fiddling with a gramophone.
"Ah, that's—!"
"Wah!"
Isaac's outburst startled you, and you almost knocked the gramophone right off of its station. You held it in place while also holding your breath. Safe.
"I'm so sorry," Isaac said. "What were you doing with that?"
"Oh, this? I wanted to see if it played any music." You rubbed your arm sheepishly.
"I'm afraid it won't. I haven't fully reassembled it yet."
"Reassembled?" You echoed.
"I took it apart, yes. It's a hobby of mine, observing how it works and then putting it back together."
You looked at him stunned, and your silence worried him.
"W-what's wrong? Was it something I said?" Isaac’s shoulders tensed.
"I don't think...I've ever heard you talk so much before." You covered your mouth. "Oh no, that was rude. I meant, we haven't gotten a chance to really talk, you know..." You trailed.
"Q-quite right. Well, be sure, I'll have that gramophone fixed in no time," he said.
"Could I watch you while you do that?"
"Pardon?"
"Watch you work, I mean. If you're okay with it, of course."
Isaac wasn't used to having a willing audience. It made him nervous. He tugged at his hair in thought. What should he do? Napoleon's words came back to him. 'Words are a good start.' Yes, words! He passed that first obstacle. And he can do a little better than that. He left to get his tools from the library. When he returned, he found you with a tray of Rouge and sandwiches prepared.
"I'm no expert, but I believe it's not proper to work on an empty stomach," you said.
For the first time since you arrived at the mansion, Isaac smiled. It was a good look on him, you mused, gave him a boyish innocence.
The two of you sat on the floor, and Isaac went into focus-mode. He didn't mind your questions and even talked through his process with you. He sounded more confident, excited even. You helped organize his tools for him as he switched between them. As you looked at him working animatedly, you thought to yourself, he wasn’t so intimidating after all. He’s an introvert, like any other from your time period. But he was also brilliant, the way he carefully handled the project in front of him spoke of his meticulous nature. You looked forward to learning more about him.
Silently standing at the doorway was none other than Isaac’s friend and confidant smiling at the sight before him. Napoleon knew his friend had it in him, he just needed a little nudge in the right direction.
~*~
Back to Masterlist
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leonscape · 10 months
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"Writer's Block"
Pairing: Reader (2nd person) x Le Comte Warning! This fic contains suggestive/NSFW themes. Reader is a romance author. Established relationship with Comte. Note: This is my first time writing for Ikemen Vampire, my first time writing Comte, my first time writing in second person, and my first time writing something on the spicier side I am very scared to post this!
Word Count: 1342
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Without realizing it, you let out your hundredth sigh of the day as you hung the sheets to dry. Sebastian suggested taking a break from writing to allow your mind to refresh itself, but you couldn’t just do nothing. Doing chores around the mansion was relaxing compared to sitting at your desk, hunched over, and having a mental breakdown because you can’t figure out the right words to describe a scene you’ve been stuck on. And it wasn’t like you can press backspace and everything would be erased like nothing happened. Piles of crumpled papers littered the desk and spilled onto the floor.
Another sigh escaped your lips as you hung the last sheet. Standing back to take a look at your work, you weren’t prepared for Arthur’s sudden appearance from behind. 
“What’s with that frown?” Arthur asked. 
“Arthur!?” you blurted. 
“I was on my way to get some coffee but I saw you standing out here,” Arthur said. 
“Oh, I see. Well, let me brew you a fresh pot of coffee.” Arthur followed you back inside and you prepared some coffee. 
“You still haven’t answered my question.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Is there something bothering you? Is it Comte? You know you can always come to me if you ever need a shoulder.” 
“No thanks. And no, it’s not that. It’s writer’s block,” you told him. 
“Why didn’t you say so earlier? As a fellow writer, we should help each other through these things!” Arthur’s smile was bright and mischievous. “Do you want to know how I overcome writer’s block?” 
“Uh… sure,” you agree, hoping that it’s actual advice and nothing stupid. 
“I usually enjoy the company of a pretty lady,” Arthur said. And it was something stupid…
You sighed deeply once more, “This is why I didn’t ask in the first place.”
“Well, it's better than what Dazai does. He just goes in and out of the windows more frequently. But you missed my point. You should do something that you enjoy doing. Go out, have some fun, and have new experiences,” Arthur explained. 
“It’s not like I don’t have any inspiration. I’m having trouble describing a certain scene and I’m not sure why. Nothing I write on paper makes sense or feels right,” you told him. 
Arthur seemed to be in deep thought but as soon as an idea popped into his head, he snapped his fingers and his face lit up. “Have you tried reading your sentences out loud?”
“Of course, that’s why I feel like they’re a bit off.” You frowned and Arthur mirrored your expression as he wracked his brain for more solutions. 
“Hmm… Maybe you should act it out? If you can put yourself in your character’s situation, then maybe you can have a better understanding of what’s happening and you’ll be able to write it better,” Arthur suggested. “All right, I’ll be your scene partner. So tell me about the scene.” 
You panicked as you stuttered an excuse, “It’s a complex scene and you need lots of context to really understand and I can’t explain it all right now. And besides, you write mysteries so I don’t think that you’d be able to act it out.” 
“Nonsense! I’m not a complete stranger to romance… Unless it’s a scene you can’t act out because you’re too embarrassed.” You didn’t give any response, but the blooming red hue on your face answered Arthur anyway. “Ah, so that must be it. I wonder what kind of naughty scene you’re writing.” 
Again, you didn’t say anything but that gave him all the information he needed to discern the truth. You ignored him and continued to brew the coffee, even though there wasn’t much to do except awkwardly stand there and watch the water filter its way through the coffee grounds. “Then why don’t you just ask your lover? I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem doing dirty things to you so that you can write them down,” Arthur chuckled. 
“I can’t just ask him to do that,” you mumbled. 
“Sure you can, in fact you can ask him right now!” 
You whipped around to see Comte standing in the doorway with a gentle smile on his face. “Is something wrong, ma chérie?” 
“Comte! How long have you been standing there?” 
“Not long. I smelled coffee and I thought I’d ask for some before everyone else does,” he answered nonchalantly. 
Theo strolled into the room too announcing his intentions, “I smell coffee.” 
“It’s not for you, it was brewed for me,” Arthur told Theo. 
“Does it have your name on it? No? Then it’s for everyone.” Theo took more coffee just because Arthur was being stingy. Then he disappeared like he was never there. Comte politely held out a mug and you filled it with a generous amount. 
“This coffee was supposed to be for me,” Arthur sulked. 
“Does it have your name on it? No? Then it’s for everyone,” you repeated Theo’s words. “Besides, you could always brew more.” 
Arthur refused to brew it himself claiming, “You make the best coffee.” 
He frowned and Comte chuckled, “You’re a skilled coffee brewer, mon amour.” Arthur took his coffee to go, grateful for what he could receive. Comte lingered a bit longer, sipping his coffee while gazing at you. “Did you want to ask me something earlier?”
“Arthur and I were just talking and he was just teasing,” you replied.
Comte was not satisfied with your answer and he slid closer to you. “That’s not what I asked,” his voice dipped down into a seductive whisper. “You can ask me anything.”
“Arthur and I were just talking about writer’s block and he suggested I act out my scene so I have a better idea of how to write it,” you explained. 
Comte hummed, “So, tell me about this scene.”
“Well, the male and female lead spend an intimate night together when they reunite for the first time in years,” you told him.
“I see.” Comte smiles. “Would you like to act out the scene with me?”
“Are you saying you want to help me?” 
“Why wouldn’t I want to help you?” Comte closed the space between you two. “I’m at your command. Direct me in any way you need me and I’ll do my best to follow your instructions.” 
“Well, how about pinning me against the wall?” you asked him. 
Without question or a second thought, he pushed you up against the nearest wall. “Like this?” He was gentle and graceful with his movements and with the way he held you.
While it was enjoyable, it didn’t really capture the emotion of the scene. “It was good, but shouldn’t it be more… rough?”
He took a few steps back and you took a few steps forward. This time, he was a bit more rough and assertive. You were sandwiched in between the wall and his body while his hand hit the wall with a dull thud. An unexpected kabedon was a pleasant surprise, but it just didn’t feel right? “ I’ll just take this scene out because I’m not good enough to write that kind of scene,” another sigh escaped your lips. “Thanks for trying to help.”
You walked away from Comte feeling defeated. But he wasn’t about to let you go just yet. He grasped your wrist and pulled you back toward him and suddenly you were back against the wall. His frame eclipsed your own as his forearm leaned against the wall and his leg blocked your path. “You shouldn’t say that about yourself,” he whispered in your ear, “you’re an excellent writer. Don’t limit yourself, believe in yourself. You are enough and your skills are enough.” 
His smile is encouraging and his golden irises are burning with love and passion. “Thank you.” You smile back at him. 
“Now say it. Say you’re good enough to write this scene.”
“I’m good enough to write this scene,” you repeat. 
“Good, because when I’m done with you, you’ll have no problem writing the scene, ma chérie.”
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spoopy-fish-writes · 2 years
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—Kisses and giggles
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Suitor(s): Arthur
TW: None
Genre: Fluff
Notes: Gender neutral MC || Even I couldn't help smiling and giggling while writing this help || A little thingmbob for @mcofthemansion to feed your very Arthur mood 😌💜
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"Can I kiss you?"
Arthur looked down at you who was laying on his chest, eyes cast slightly off to the side and not looking at him while you spoke. It wasn't embarrassment nor shyness but simply the comfort of it being something that you had become used to asking that you no longer felt the need to make a big deal about it.
He moved one of his hands out from under his head and brushed it lightly on your head with a smile, none of his usual flirtatiousness or teasing in his words; just pure unabashed affection which twinkled in his eyes and showed itself in the warmth of his smile and the lines that formed at the corners of his eyes along side it. "Sure you can, luv. I'll rarely say no to you."
You match his smile and shuffle to be able to reach his lips. It's just a little peck but he still moves to sit up on the bench, moving you with him so that you were situated on his lap.
He can't help but move in for another, and another, and another, his smile so prominent on his lips that it almost hurts, giggles leaving your lips as well as his which you can feel against your skin as he begins to kiss at other parts of your face: cheeks, forehead, temple: none of your face goes unkissed and you have to push him away a little bit, your cheeks warm with how much you'd been laughing in between his kisses and you try and catch your breath while he does the same, a few airy giggles still leaving both of your lips every few moments before you both manage to level your breathing.
He gazes at you with eyes so so warm and bright, like sapphires, and you hope that your own expression shows the same level of adoration.
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Tags: @a-chaotic-dumbass @otome-scribbles @laito---sakamaki @kaeyas-beloved @shad0cat @alby-rei @rurifangirl @daisiesandshakes @lucyw260 @simplycuriouscourage @namine-somebodies-nobody @shameshomalo @ikesenfangirl @your-local-ikemen-simp @wtf-0w0 @notapinklasagna @chaosangel767 @grumpybunny14 @fangirlinindia @obeyme4life @entidy13 @skatercashew @cilokgoang @roses-of-rosalie @character-design-who @ikesimp100 @kisara-16 @aceuuuuu @alureasoley
If you want to be added or removed from my tag list, dm me, send me an ask off anon or fill out this form
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Do not repost or claim. Only reblog 💜
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lucyw260 · 2 years
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The Mailbox With The Pink Flower - Leonardo
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I’ve had this idea since 2021 and finally wrote it out. This is set in the modern day but it isn’t an AU. It’s crazy to think that the guys could see MC in the modern day after already spending a lifetime with her but she’s still got her life with them ahead of her. I often think about stuff like this. Please read and tell me what you thought about it!
Words = 1.3k
Excerpt = He wasn’t necessarily here to look for her but if by a miracle he could chance upon her then he’d take that opportunity to see her again
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The year was 20XX, it had been over 50 years since Y/n passed away and left Leonardo. He moved to Japan a few years ago to be closer to Y/n, he knew she had already been born into this world, a younger Y/n that hadn’t yet gone back in time. He wasn’t necessarily here to look for her but if by a miracle he could chance upon her then he’d take that opportunity to see her again.
It was a Wednesday afternoon; Leonardo had just exited a client’s house that had hired him to fix their grandfather clock. He’d been doing this same ‘renaissance man’ job for centuries but it still filled him with the same joy as it had the first time.
He walked the streets of the clean middle-class neighbourhood, now his final job of the day was done, he was intent on going back to the place he called home in this foreign country. Gazing up at the clear blue sky, he idly wondered how the others were doing back at the mansion.
A school bus pulled up on the opposite side of the road and broke his chain of thought, a few young children got off the bus and waved as it drove off. As Leonardo carried on walking, he couldn’t help but think that perhaps somewhere Y/n was also coming home from school.
His gaze drifted back towards the young children skipping down the road. The children were parting ways and only one was left walking on the street next to Leonardo.
To the world, a grown man staring at a young child would look very suspicious but Leonardo couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help but see his beloved Y/n in the honey-coloured locks cascading down the young girls back.
The girl was bouncing a ball as she walked with a smile on her face. It was such a familiar smile, Leonardo thought.
Suddenly the ball bounced off the curb and into the road towards Leonardo’s direction. The child giggled before stepping into the road to retrieve the ball.
Thank the lord that Leonardo was watching her so intently, else he might have been too late to notice the silver car speeding around the corner. The tires of the car squealed against the concrete at the sheer velocity of the vehicle. The girl turned in surprise in the middle of the road, she shrieked and her eyes went wide as the car got closer.
An urgency flared throughout Leonardo’s body and he was moving faster than any human could to pull the child towards him and away from the oncoming car. He bypassed the ball as it bounced harmlessly passed him.
The car whizzed by seemingly not caring about the speed limit. Leonardo looked down at the child that he was holding onto, he scanned her for injuries before letting her go.
Now they were safely on the street, he stepped back from the child and the girl burst into tears. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want to scare the child more when she was still recovering from the shock. He offered her a gentle smile and her sobs turned into quiet sniffles.
He picked up the ball that was behind him and held it out to the young girl. She stared at him warily.
“I’m not going to hurt you; this is your ball, isn’t it?” he informed her kindly and the girl nodded her little head slightly. She held her hands out for the ball and he placed it in her palms gently.
Her expression calmed and she looked up at him. “T…thank you for saving me, mister”. The full force of her eyes hit him then, her eyes were so similar to the eyes of the woman he loved.
“No problem, you be careful on these roads from now on, cara mia” he spoke in a light scolding tone. It was only after he’d finished speaking, that he realized that he’d called the child ‘cara mia’, why did that slip out, he thought.
The little girl nodded at him with a wide smile and looked left and right before crossing the road. Leonardo watched her make it safely across the road. She turned back around and waved goodbye to him before skipping off further down the street.
He was a second too late waving back, she’d already turned around before she’d seen it, since when was I so slow, he thought.
It felt like his brain was trying to connect dots, his heart was beating faster than usual but he brushed it all off and continued on his way. Just before he turned the corner, he heard a distant voice.
“Did you have a good day at school, Y/n?”
Upon hearing that name, Leonardo spun around quickly and his eyes zeroed in on the same child he had just saved, she was at the front of a door step.
“Yes mommy, we learnt there are all sorts of languages in the world, it was so cool”
Leonardo’s heart was beating too fast now. His brain was trying to rationalize with his heart telling him it could just be an incredible coincidence that the child that reminded him so much of his cara mia was also called Y/n.
It was at this moment that Leonardo recalled a memory from his time with Y/n.
“Tell me something about your childhood” he had suggested to her
It was late at night; she was lying on his chest as he carded his fingers through her soft hair.
She pondered for a moment before speaking. “Ah, I thought of something, so when I was about 6 years old, my parents and I painted our mailbox, I painted a pink flower right in the middle and I was so proud of it, the last I saw of it, the paint was all faded and you could hardly see it”
At the time he had hummed at her story and imagined her as a child, laughing with her family with paint on her cheeks.
He snapped out of the memory with a start, his eyes scanning the garden for a mailbox, he wasn’t sure if he was hoping it really was her or not.
Then he saw it, right at the front of the fence, a white mailbox with a freshly painted pink flower in the middle. His breath caught as he stared at it with wide eyes. The girl had long entered her home and the door had long closed.
It was her; he was sure of this now. The young girl he just saved was his cara mia long before she met him. He stared at the house for a few more long minutes before prying his eyes off it and turning around.
It was hard to not turn back around but he continued down the street. He’d been in her life before they even knew each other.
He was never necessarily looking for her but now he’d found her all his morals dissipated and at this moment he knew that there was no doubt he wouldn’t end up walking down this street again one day.
Talking to her again though was out of the question, as much as he might want to. He didn’t want to accidently change history. He’s missed her so much for decades now and when she got older, he could love her in this time instead and get to be with her again but he wouldn’t, it would ruin everything they built together because if he did that then their time together in the 19th century never would have happened.
He'd walked far enough now that the house was no longer in sight. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to carry on living without her for all eternity.
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Please don’t repost, edit or steal. Reblogs are more than welcome though!
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delicateikemenmemes · 2 years
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(PART 1) one single thread of gold tied me to you [ikevamp napoleon x f!MC]
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♡ summary: an encounter in a seedy side-street brings a teacher doing his best at his job and a makeup artist with a (secret?) youtube side hustle together. mere chance meetings or the invisible string of fate working overtime—call it what you want, but either way they still ending up falling in love.
♡ word count: 8.6k words 
♡ warnings: sexual harassment at the beginning / brief mention of skipping meals & implications of eating disorders / brief mentions of bullying & fat-shaming 
♡ other tags: modern AU / strangers to friends to lovers / fluff (LOTS OF IT) / humour / pining 
♡ notes: @kissmetwicekissmedeadly​​​ here’s your tag, as promised 💖 also since JP ikevamp twitter has announced that MC’s canon name is mitsuki after conducting a poll, that’s her name in this fic and future suitor x MC fics
♡ AO3 link
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part 1: enchanting encounters
He really was just hoping for a quick, quiet, and uneventful journey back home after the dreadfully long day he’s had at work. Between breaking up a fight between a bunch of rowdy sixth-year boys, attending to a student who threw up in the middle of class (seriously, how many times has he told those rascals not to run around immediately after eating?), and dealing with angry parents on the phone during what was supposed to be his lunch/nap-time, he’s ready to just dissolve into the embrace of his warm loving bed and become one with the sheets. Ugh, and not to mention he still has homework to mark (even after graduating with his teaching degree and license he still has to do homework), and he needs to find a video for his class tomorrow because his sixth-years’ grammar is atrocious and he’s starting to think he needs to tackle this issue from a different angle.
But when he spots a leering, more-likely-than-not drunk man bothering a young woman—well, he can’t exactly turn a blind eye to that, can he?
“I believe your presence isn’t welcome here,” Napoleon says coldly, seizing the man’s grimy wrist just as it was about to grab the woman somewhere his hands have no business touching. 
“What? You her boyfriend or something?” the creep slurs. Napoleon just barely refrains from recoiling at the stench of dated alcohol on his breath.
Behind him, the woman squeaks, but Napoleon keeps his voice even as he replies, “Yeah, and what kind of guy lets other guys bother his girlfriend? Least of all a drunk creep who smells like he hasn’t showered in a week.”
(It saddens him that he has to resort to pretending to be this woman’s boyfriend just to get some sleazebag off her back all because scumbags like this guy take more seriously another man’s ‘territory’ than a woman’s “no”. He makes a mental note to incorporate more lessons on respect, consent, and the meaning of “no” in future classes.)
“Ha, you let your girl leave the house looking all slutty like that? In such a short, tight skirt? She was obviously fishing for attention—how did you expect me to control myself, huh?”
Hot anger sears through Napoleon, and his grip on the man’s wrist triples. “So I suppose can I take that to mean you don’t care what becomes of your wrist? Keep the attitude up, and your fingers might be next.”
Finally picking up on the threat laced in Napoleon’s voice, the man wrenches his hand away with an air of contempt. “Whatever, I thought she was ugly anyway. You two make a good couple.”
Although Napoleon is tempted to point out the logical contradiction between that “ugly” comment and his previous actions, what matters more than his ego is the woman’s safety. Not bothering to waste any more breath on the creep, he takes the woman’s hand and guides her out of the seedy side-street to somewhere with fresher air. Once they’ve gained a good amount of distance, he releases her hand and turns around to get a proper look at her; he needs to check for injuries, dirt, or any signs of panic. Nothing major, fortunately, other than a paleness in her expression and trembling hands, but he supposes that’s to be expected.
(He tries not to think about how pretty she is, especially now that they’re out of that dingy little side-street. Long brown hair, doe-like eyes, soft skin—no, now’s not the time. He has to make sure she’s okay first.)
“Sorry about all that,” he sighs. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, thanks to you.” The woman looks up at him with a small, if shaky, smile. “If you hadn’t been there, I would’ve been… I wish I could do what you did. You were so cool and brave.”
He shrugs. He didn’t do anything worthy of praise; it was just the right thing to do. “It’s easy to be cool and brave when I’m not the one in danger. What matters is that you’re safe now. Though, I do have to ask: what were you doing in that side-street?” 
It’s secluded from the main part of the city, making it a prime place for unsavoury characters to loiter around at. That’s his usual shortcut on his route from home to work and back, so he’s used to seeing drunkards there. They don’t usually bother him if he keeps a confident posture and doesn’t make eye contact. But it’s definitely not a place he would want his little sisters—or any girl or woman, for that matter—to be walking through alone.
At that, her head droops low. “I know it was stupid and dangerous. People are always saying, ‘Don’t walk through suspicious-looking alleys and streets alone.’ But I just had an idea for a project I’ve been stuck on for ages and I wanted to get home as soon as possible to work on it, so I was hoping I could at least outrun the creeps or something.”
Not that he doesn’t sympathise with the reason—he himself has a whole load of work to do for his classes tomorrow—but still. “You’re a real nunuche, you know.”
“Hey! Who are you calling a nunuche?!”
“You, obviously, who else am I talking to? What kind of nunuche prioritises a project over her own safety? If you don’t even make it back home safe, how do you expect to work on that new idea?”
Her head hangs even lower, like a chastised puppy. “Yeah, I guess you do have a point. S—still, I do have a name, you know! A name that is not ‘nunuche’!”
“Oh?” He leans closer, though he’s mindful to keep a polite distance between them. “Then as thanks for rescuing you, how about you tell me your name?”
A blush permeates her cheeks, and it’s only then that he realises how forward that must have been. Dammit, that playboy-novelist housemate of his is really rubbing off on him, much to his slight annoyance. He’s about to wave it off as a joke, but—
“M… Mitsuki.”
“Cute name for an airheaded nunuche,” he teases, though it’s a somewhat half-hearted attempt to dispel thoughts about how fitting it is for a pretty woman like her to have an equally lovely-sounding name, even if he has no idea what it means. It sounds Japanese—maybe he can ask Sebas about it.
She huffs, affronted. “You could address me by my real name instead, you know. Anyway, I don’t know yours either. I think it’s only right that I know my rescuer’s name, so I can thank him properly, even if he does insist on giving me a weird nickname.”
And perhaps it’s at this moment that all those little happenstances start falling into place, guided along by the pulling of an invisible string, as Napoleon grins at her and says, “The name’s Napoleon. Nice to meet you.”
———
After accompanying Mitsuki to her station at his insistence (“Can’t let a Nunuche like you get into any more trouble.” / “I have a name!” / “Yeah, I know, Nunuche-Mitsuki.” / “Ugh, you’re insufferable.”), Napoleon returns home and promptly flops onto his bed. Surprisingly, despite the minor altercation at the side-street and the detour he took, he’s not as exhausted as he thought he would be. In fact, he actually feels more energised than before, for reasons that elude him.
Might as well put that newfound energy to use, then, before he wastes it away by napping before dinner. Remaining sprawled on his bed, he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through YouTube in hopes of finding some educational videos about French grammar.
… It really is true what they say about the YouTube rabbit-hole. While he did manage to find several suitably educational and entertaining videos for his little rascals, his finger slipped and he somehow ended up watching five cat videos, two TikTok compilations, and a forty-minute video essay about some game that’s currently all the rage with his students. The next suggested video—well, he isn’t really sure what it’s about, honestly; his eyelids are starting to feel heavy. The thumbnail is well-edited, the woman looks cute, and the title has something to do with food, so he lets his auto-play run and permits his eyelids to give in to gravity.
But when the video finally loads, he instantly shoots up in bed, surprise and disbelief coursing through him.
No way, is that—
There’s no mistaking it. The woman talking looks pretty much the same as the one he’d met earlier, and she even introduces herself as ‘Mitsu-chan Chats’ (he’s been around Dazai long enough to know that ‘-chan’ is a Japanese suffix attached to names). Huh. Now that’s one hell of a coincidence. Or perhaps an odd twist of fate? Even if he’s not one much for leaving things up to fate and chances.
He had only been paying half-attention at best to the TikTok compilations and video essay earlier, but now all he’s laser-focused on this Mitsu-chan as she explains the history behind chicken karaage, how to prepare it, and the best dishes to pair it with. Sure, the content is interesting—who doesn’t like food, right?—but what he’s more intrigued by is the energy and expert enthusiasm she’s speaking with. So different from the meek, scared woman in that side-street, yet the sparkle in Mitsu-chan’s eyes while talking about chicken karaage matches the blaze in Mitsuki earlier as she fired back at his teasing. He’s well aware that people do tend to carry themselves differently in different circumstances—he would know, his teacher persona is different from who he is at home—but the difference between the Nunuche-Mitsuki he met earlier and this Mitsu-chan isn’t all that big. She’s just more out-there on-camera, which is to be expected of a YouTuber.
Or at least, he thinks the difference isn’t so jarring, but the reality is that he simply doesn’t know her well enough to really tell. Besides, the odds of meeting her again are so infinitesimal they’re barely worth trying to calculate. It’s a big city, after all. There’s no guarantee she would recognise him even if they did come across each other again. How many people has he passed by as he went about his daily life, and how many of those people were the same people he’d encountered before and he just hadn’t bothered committing their faces to memory? Just as it was with them, she too will probably just dissolve in a sea of faces once-seen and never recalled again.
(Oh, how little does he know now. The gears of fate—or ridiculous, mathematically impossible strokes of luck—are already in motion, and there’s nothing he can do to stop them.)
———
It’s a thought he has frequently entertained ever since he had started teaching a couple years ago, but adults really are hypocrites. He has preached to his students time and time again the virtue of self-control and restraint, yet he’s spent the better half of the weekend binge-watching Mitsu-chan Chats’ videos (to give credit where credit is due, he did get some work done, though he needed to remind himself that he had worked too hard to earn his degree and license to waste it away spending his non-working days on YouTube videos). And what an eclectic yet charming channel she has. It’s neatly organised into several distinct categories: food-related content, reaction videos to new music releases, travel vlogs, story times, Q&A’s, archived livestreams, and many, many beauty tutorials. He figures the last item is probably the main thing she does, given that it has more videos than three of her other playlists combined. He doesn’t really have a reason to watch ‘how not to smudge your eyeliner when you’re in a rush’ , but he tells himself it’s research about the kind of content his students are likely interested in, that’s all there is to it.
If he stays at home, he knows he’s just going to keep scouring her channel for content instead of getting any actual work done. With grit and determination, he eventually manages to peel himself away from his soft bed, takes the assignments that desperately need marking, and heads out to a café he doesn’t have the WiFi password to (as a failsafe to make sure he doesn’t give in to temptation again).
Fortunately, this strategy works. As a good teacher should, he buckles down on marking his students’ work, only pausing for a sip of coffee (and to find the will to carry on in his career, and that he’s too young to already start thinking of retirement plans, because dear God some of the brats clearly weren’t paying attention during class). He isn’t sure how much time has passed; he barely hears the chatter of other patrons and the baristas and the gentle tinkling of the bell over the entrance, until—
“Napoleon?”
He manages to preserve enough of his dignity by not spilling coffee all over his students’ work, as he looks up and finds—
“Nunuche-Mitsuki, was it?” He tries for a smirk to cover up the sudden spike in his heart-rate. Caffeine—it’s the caffeine, for sure. 
He’s greeted with a pout, though it fails to conceal a smile. “I guess that’s one way to know I got the right guy.” She glances down at the messy stack of worksheets on his table, and takes a hasty step back. “Oh, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were in the middle of something. I probably shouldn’t bother you anymore—”
Before his mind catches on to what he’s doing, his hands are pushing the stack of worksheets to the side and his mouth is moving again. “If you’re not doing anything or meeting anyone, join me. I was just about to take a break from marking, anyway, so I don’t mind the company.”
A small spark goes off in his chest when she accepts his offer and slides into the cushioned seat opposite him. But just as she continues to just… sit there… staring at him, that sparks dissipates, replaced by a growing feeling of awkwardness. Come on, what’s he doing getting all awkward now? He’s never had much trouble striking up small talk with anyone before, even at boring university networking events that he hadn’t particularly wanted to attend. Besides, this is a good opportunity to talk to her and get to know her better, instead of just watching her on his screen. Yet something about this whole encounter—the suddenness of it, perhaps how cute she looks in that red blouse (he vaguely recalls it made an appearance in one of her unboxing videos), or the fact that it’s even happening at all and isn’t a mere figment of his imagination—has his tongue all knotted up.
As if picking up on the atmosphere, Mitsuki clears her throat. Her eyes dart around everywhere from the art on the walls to the people passing by the café, determined to look at anywhere but him. It’s so comical yet oddly endearing that—
“Heh, snrk! ”
“Hey, what’s so funny?”
“You, of course,” he snorts. “You sat down here and put your drink down like it’s your table, and now you go all shy on me?”
“Don’t forget you were the one who invited me to join you in the first place,” she huffs, folding her arms. “I thought you had something you wanted to talk about but then you didn’t say anything, so obviously I was gonna feel awkward.”
“Yeah, you have a point. Pardonne-moi. ” With a low chuckle, he leans forward and puts his drink to the side of the table to join hers, leaving nothing but the table between them. “Let’s start over. So, Nunuche-Mitsuki, what brings you here?”
She rolls her eyes at the nickname but obliges. “Just finished work for today. I’m a freelance makeup artist, you see. The clients I’m working with—their photoshoot ended earlier than expected, so I thought I’d pop by here for a quick pick-me-up before heading home to edit some vid—uh, work on some other side projects—and that’s where I bumped into you.”
Makeup artist, huh? That explains the trove of beauty-related videos on her channel. Though, seeing the way she awkwardly cut herself off there, he figures he should keep that to himself.
“What about you, Napoleon? You said something about marking just now. I guess that means you’re a teacher?”
“Yeah, I teach a sixth-year class at the primary school near the central part of the city. I was working on their History homework before you came along.”
Her eyebrows—not as penciled as they are in her videos, he notices—raise, and she leans forward too. “Huh. You don’t give me, like, teacher vibes.”
He snorts again. “What do ‘teacher vibes’ even look like, Nunuche?”
“I dunno! Maybe, like, a strict yet nurturing demeanour. Constantly tired. Cramped hands from marking homework. Maybe some reading glasses?”
“You have a really pessimistic view about the teaching profession.” Though he will concede that at the rate he’s going, he might need reading glasses in the future. “Do I really look that haggard to you? I’m only a couple years into my career, you know.”
“Ah, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean any offence!” Frantically, she waves her hands around, as if trying to swat the words she’d already spoken out of the air. Before he can reassure her that he was merely teasing, she carries on. “What I meant was that—well, I’m no teacher, but I’m aware that the job is no walk in the park. While I didn’t particularly like going to school and studying when I was a student, I know the other side of it isn’t easy, either.” 
Oh? He wasn’t expecting this suddenly solemn twist, but he decides to hear her out, listen to what she has to say. This isn’t something he can find on her channel, after all. And even if he could, he’d rather listen to it in person rather than through a screen.
“The kids you’re teaching are really young, too, just on the cusp of their teen years. So on top of teaching them standard curriculum stuff, you also have this responsibility to help shape them as people, help them realise their potential and deal with the challenges of growing up. Not to mention, to even become a teacher in this country in the first place is an incredibly rigorous and competitive process. So just thinking about the weight of all that responsibility, and that you chose to do it—I think it’s pretty admirable.”
Well… It’s not like he has never thought about the heavy responsibility he bears as an educator. Quite the opposite, actually. The stress and anxiety—especially when he had first started out—keeps him up at night sometimes, which is how he knows it’s serious because usually nothing can get between him and his dearly beloved sleep.
So what’s this strange warmth in his chest? And why is it spreading so quickly to the rest of his body?
Then he considers the angry parents on the phone, questioning his competence as an educator and accusing him of bringing shame to France’s prestigious education; the students who fall asleep in his classes and talk back when he calls them out; the colleagues who smile at his face one moment and try to stab him in the back in the next—and he realises why.
“Yeah, it can be a pretty thankless job.” He gazes down at the table, where condensation from Mitsuki’s iced coffee drips down to form tiny droplets on the polished beech surface, as memories from his past flash through his mind like a sped-up presentation. “But, well, I don’t need thanks, because I know I’m doing something right. At least, I hope I am.”
In the reflection of the crystalline condensation, he sees Mitsuki’s head tilt to the side. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t come from a particularly well-to-do family. Since I was the eldest, it was my education that my parents invested the most in, with what little they had to spare. The quality of education my siblings got—it can’t compare, frankly speaking. Most of my memories of when I was in school were coaching my siblings through their studies so they could at least pass and graduate—never mind winning accolades or scholarships—while keeping them out of trouble.” Those rascals really gave him a hard time, but seeing them all grown up now—he knows he did the right thing. You don’t leave family behind, after all, especially if they’ve given you love and warmth. “My parents weren’t the happiest about my choice to get a teaching degree at first—they thought it was a ‘waste of my talents’—but they’ve come around to it. And more importantly, in my heart I know it is what I want to do. I want to give as many kids as possible the kind of education my siblings didn’t get. And I want to teach them skills that will actually help them survive in this harsh, ever-changing world. Seeing each child grow and become stronger, smarter, savvier—that’s enough thanks for me, truly.”
He looks back up from the table, only to be met with an utterly gobsmacked look on her face—wide eyes, slightly parted lips. He would tease her about it, but the sheer amount and weight of self-disclosure he had suddenly dumped on her out of nowhere starts creeping up on him, making fire ants crawl under his skin. What the hell was he thinking, over-sharing like that? It’s really not like him to be telling his whole life story to someone he’s only met for the second time. It’s weird, and it’s not like she asked for it, either.
“You know, I was about to apologise for going on that tangent earlier, but I don’t feel so bad about it now,” she laughs. “Besides your origin story, I also learned that you’re a pretty verbose guy for someone whose only nickname for me is Nunuche.”
“Getting sassy on me, hm?” he retorts, though he relaxes in his seat (huh, he didn’t even realise how much his body had tensed up while he was talking, until her mellifluous laughter dispelled it all). “I might have to start coming up with new nicknames for you, if you’re unhappy with the one you already have.”
“No, I object! ‘Nunuche-Mitsuki’ is more than enough weird nicknames for me, thank you very much!”
Their eyes meet across the table—green into brown, over abandoned coffees and drops of condensation and the work Napoleon has long since forgotten about—and burst into laughter. It’s ridiculous to think how awkward and stiff they were just moments ago, because now laughing with her feels so incredibly natural. About as natural as snoozing his morning alarm and snuggling deeper under the blankets, he might even dare to say.
With that same easy air between them, hours fly past as they chat about pretty much anything that comes up. He learns that she came to France nearly six years ago to study at a cosmetology school, and she chose to stay instead of returning to Japan because she’d made many friends and connections here and liked the culture here. Besides makeup, she had also considered being a translator due to her proficiency at picking up new languages. She’s fluent in Japanese, French, English, Chinese, and is currently learning Italian in her spare time. Owing to his upbringing in Corsica, he offers to help her in that endeavour, which she accepts. When she’s not doing her day job as a makeup artist or learning new languages or drinking coffee, she spends her free time editing videos “for a friend” (the “for a friend” excuse is as see-through as glass and as flimsy as wet tissue paper, even if he didn’t already know about her channel, though he elects not to bring it up).
But with how smoothly and pleasantly things have been going, of course life would have it that Isaac would suddenly call him in a frenzy. He goes on at a million words per second about Sebas suddenly falling ill and the only ones at home are himself, Dazai, Vincent, and Jean—and the latter two have very graciously (and very unfortunately for everyone else) taken it upon themselves to prepare dinner in Sebas’s stead. Why they simply don’t order food in—Comte’s credit card number is pretty much an open secret at this point—eludes Napoleon, but with how distressed Isaac sounds and how dire the situation is he thinks it would be better not to point that out. Vincent and Jean attempting to cook is graded as a Level Nine emergency (ten being imminent and grievous bodily harm, destruction of the entire mansion, and/or death). As such, this means he unfortunately has to cut things short with Mitsuki and hurry back home before there is no home left for him to return to at all.
Thankfully, no real lasting damage has been done to the kitchen when he arrives back at the mansion to assess and de-escalate the situation. Just a broken spatula, a dislodged lightbulb, the putrid smell of disastrously burnt chicken mixed with some bubbling viscous… thing he thinks he shouldn’t inquire about for the sake of his sanity, and several large scorch marks on the wall. At least these ones are smaller than the ones that had been left in Jean’s wake after his first (and last) attempt at preparing beef stew, even if by a small margin. It’s, as they say, all about the little miracles. As kindly as possible, he puts Vincent and Jean in time-out in the dining room. He lets Dazai stay because he trusts him to at least not explode the recently repaired stove while making tofu, as well as Isaac because he figures his poor friend could use some emotional support after the disaster they had just barely managed to avert.
“Hm?” Dazai hums, leaning in closer to Napoleon. “Is that the smell of a woman’s perfume on you, Napoleon-kun?”
“Oh, is there?” Napoleon asks as he continues cracking the eggs without batting an eye. “I noticed the perfume on her, though I didn’t think it was strong enough to rub off onto me.”
Dazai’s eyebrows raise suggestively. “Oh? Rub off onto you, you say?”
Isaac could set a world record with how quickly and how red his face flushes, like the colour of a fruit he loathes to be likened to. “O—oh, I’m sorry, Napoleon. Did I interrupt something I shouldn’t have?”
The implication of their questions hit Napoleon, and he snorts in disbelief. “No, it wasn’t anything like that. Do I look like Arthur to you? I had met her by chance last week, and we met each other again earlier at the café, so we were just talking.”
Isaac visibly relaxes, while Dazai’s eyes crinkle into an elusive smile. “Even if it was a chance second encounter, it’s a shame that it should be interrupted. Such moments are as fleeting as the cherry blossoms wisping in the wind during the spring bloom, and should be similarly cherished.”
“Do you have a way of contacting her again, at least?” Isaac asks. “I mean, I figure your conversation must’ve been interrupted, so you’d like to pick up from where you had left off.”
“Yeah, I offered to teach her some Italian—”
But as Napoleon replays the events leading up to his offer, followed by Isaac’s emergency call, his words fade away and dissolve on his tongue.
“… You didn’t ask for her phone number?” Jean’s voice drifts in from just outside the kitchen, his normally bland tone betraying a hint of surprise.
“Guess I forgot—there were a lot of things going on at the same time,” Napoleon admits with a resigned sigh.
“Aww, that’s a shame.” Vincent, bless his soul, sounds equal parts sympathetic and guilty for being the cause of the aforementioned “a lot of things going on at the same time”. “You must have had lots of fun chatting with her, since you spent all afternoon there.”
“Don’t mind, Napoleon-kun,” Dazai chimes in, still with that elusive smile. “Two chance encounters within a week don’t seem like mere coincidences to me. Call it an author’s intuition—”
“Is that even a thing?” Isaac mutters under his breath.
“—but it could even be the red string of fate at work, bringing you and her together. Unless, of course, you happen to know of other ways of reaching her?”
And that’s the thing, Dazai is right. Napoleon does, in fact, have a means of contacting her. But whether he actually wants to use it is another thing altogether. It was evident from how she said she edited videos “for a friend” that her ‘Mitsu-chan Chats’ persona is not something she wants to disclose, at least not to someone she’s only spoken with twice now. If he messaged her through her Mitsu-chan social media accounts, he might come off as a creep and put her off. Or she might start thinking she has to act a certain way to fit the image of Mitsu-chan Chats, rather than simply being her usual Nunuche self. Not that there’s anything wrong with her YouTube persona—she’s lively, energetic, brimming star-like confidence. But the one he spent his afternoon with was Mitsuki, the woman who gets awkward after a few seconds of silence, pouts at him when he teases her, fires back with a sassy retort of her own, and has a unique way of bringing to the forefront truths and feelings that were previously unknown to even himself.
Besides, as Dazai said, two chance encounters in a city as big as this one within a week may very well not be mere chance at all. So he’ll keep this card to himself for now. The next time they meet—and he has a strong inexplicable feeling they will —he’ll be sure to get her number.
———
The weeks go by as they always do. Exam season keeps Napoleon busy and drained to the bone from invigilating students, grading their papers, and providing emotional support to more than a handful of disheartened students when they saw their grades. Not that he can blame them—the sixth-years’ history exam had horrified even him when he had a chance to look through the question paper, and he’s a trained educator. But he wasn’t the one who had set the paper, and neither is he in a position to negotiate with the one who did to take it down a notch, so all he can do is do his best to encourage his demoralised students and help them learn from the mistakes made.
Perhaps it’s because of how busy the exam season has kept him that he hasn’t had a chance to see Mitsuki again. If he’s not in the classroom, he’s in the staff room buried up to his ears in backload work. And if he’s not in the office, he’s either at his desk in his room trying to complete the work he didn’t manage to at school, if he’s not already passed out in bed. Or maybe it really was just a ridiculous stroke of luck that he had managed to have two chance encounters with her and even accidentally discover her secret YouTube channel in the span of a week. The promise he’d made to teach her Italian weighs heavily in his chest like a stone. He’s not a naïve schoolboy anymore; he knows they’re both adults with their own lives and careers in this big city. Perhaps it’s enough to have met her twice and enjoyed her company for that one sunlit afternoon in the café; a fond memory he can look back on, as bittersweet as the thought is.
He can’t say he’s not grateful when his boss assigns him to scout out a history museum for a potential field trip to send the sixth-years on. It could help to take his mind off the lingering scent of coffee and the after-images of a sun-soaked smile, while also doing something that’ll make him feel like he’s actually helping his students.
The museum isn’t particularly busy, probably because it’s a weekday, so he wraps up his mission in good time. He’s about to head for the exit, but then a glint of brown hair near a display catches his eye, almost like an apparition of his recent musings.
“Nunuche-Mitsuki?”
“Ah!” It’s her, alright, evident from the way she visibly jolts before whirling around to face him. Upon recognising him, her expression relaxes briefly into a smile which then morphs into a mock pout (and maybe it’s just the lighting, but he swears she looks even cuter than he remembers). “Jeez, you startled me! What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have work?”
“It’s a school holiday, though I was here for work. You?”
“No clients to meet, so it’s a free day for me. I—” She glances down at the floor, nibbling on her lip, before raising her gaze up to his with a look he almost wants to call shy. “You did startle me just now, but I really am glad to have run into you here. Or, well, that you ran into me.”
“Oh?” He leans against the wall, trying to get his suddenly racing heart under control. The fact that she feels the same as he does—just the thought of it plants a seed of warmth in his chest. “You mean to say you were looking forward to being called a Nunuche again?”
“Ugh, I was hoping you’d forget about that. But really, I’m glad you’re here, ‘cause I’d feel kinda silly wandering around a museum alone.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that—I came here alone too. But I’m guessing you were supposed to meet someone here?” Why else would she feel silly about being alone at a museum when she seems to be here out of her own volition?
She takes a rather sudden interest in the display she’d been standing in front of for the past who-knows-how-long before he spotted her. “Um, well, yeah. A date, you could say.”
Something cold and sharp squeezes around that seed of hope, threatening to crush it. Immediately, Napoleon chastises himself for it. Jealous? What does he have to be jealous of? She’s free to go on dates with whoever she wants; she’s an adult and her own person. Plus, it’s not like he has a monopoly on her time—he’s just an acquaintance to her. A friend, if you’d like to stretch it.
“Looks like you’ve been waiting here for a while, though,” he ventures. “Did they say they’re running late?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, I think I’ve been stood up. Don’t worry, though, it’s really no big deal,” she hastily adds upon spotting his frown. “He’s just some guy my friend wanted to set me up with, but I didn’t feel much of, well, anything when I was texting him. I was hoping maybe meeting him in-person would change my mind, even if it’s just to make my friend happy, but—maybe it sounds mean, but I’m actually kinda relieved he didn’t show up in the end.”
Oh. Napoleon relaxes, though he really had no reason or right to be tensed up in the first place. “I know I’m not the guy she tried to set you up with, but since we’re both here we might as well chat for a while. It’s a nice museum, and I’m done with my work too.”
Her eyes light up and she immediately takes him up on his offer—and, well, he’d be lying if he said that didn’t boost his ego even a little bit. Who can blame him, though? After weeks of replaying that afternoon in the café in his mind and wondering if he would ever see her again or if he’s better off treating their time together as a pleasant but by-gone memory, coincidence or fate would have it that their paths crossed again. And this time, he’s not going to mess up.
Having just scouted the place, he takes her on an impromptu tour around the various displays. It’s cute, the way she absorbs his explanations regarding each piece exhibited, nodding along with sparkling eyes; the way she presses her nose up against a glass display of a sword, only to flinch and meekly apologise like a chastised schoolgirl when a staff member tells her off. This childlike innocence is so different from the confident, mature air she exudes as Mitsu-chan, yet he doesn’t mind. Anything new he learns about her is a gem comparable to the artifacts on display.
“Oh yeah, I didn’t ask earlier,” she pipes up when they take a rest on a bench, “but what kind of work would a teacher be doing at a museum?”
“The head of department wants to send the kids on a field trip, so I’m here to scout out this place.” Just thinking of work is enough to dampen his mood. He sighs as memories of his students’ dejection play through his mind like a film-reel. “It doesn’t have to be here, specifically, but I do want to make it a reality. The trip, I mean.” 
“I’m guessing it’s something the students are really looking forward to?”
He shakes his head and gives her a brief rundown of the history exam fiasco and its aftermath. “… As their teacher, I bear responsibility for how demoralised they’re feeling. And they may not always say it, but I can tell that a lot of them don’t understand why they’re learning history in the first place. They think it’s stuff that happened in the past and all they have to do is memorise the textbook’s content to regurgitate during exams. I don’t blame them for that—the way the syllabus is structured, it does make it seem like that’s all there is to history. I try my best to relate what I’m teaching to the current reality, but they’re not old enough to understand or care about the more complex implications of history in the present since that requires knowledge of current affairs and politics, and most kids their age think all that’s just ‘boring adult stuff’. So the best I can do for them right now is just… bring them out of the classroom, get them to actually see history for themselves instead of just reading about it in their textbooks, and hopefully that’ll ignite a true spark for learning in them. If I could go and restructure the whole syllabus, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but right now this is all I can manage for them.”
A long breath he didn’t realise he was holding leaves him, and it’s only then that he realises what he did.
Seriously, what’s wrong with me? Dumping about my past during our previous meeting, and now complaining about work when she came here to enjoy her day off. Plus, I doubt she particularly cares about the complicated intricacies of teaching history to a bunch of eleven-year-olds… 
Sheepishly, he turns to her, but his apology dissolves on his tongue when he spots the soft, somewhat longing smile on her face.
“I’ve been thinking this since that day in the café, but you really do care about your students,” she muses, leaning ever so slightly towards him. If she came any closer, her hair would brush up against his arm. The mere idea of it sends inexplicable but not unpleasant thrills to his stomach. “It’s super sweet. Kinda makes me wish I had a teacher like you when I was in school.”
“I—I mean—” Dammit, he hopes she didn’t notice the way his voice cracked, or is at least kind enough to ignore it. He’s feeling too raw and vulnerable right now, like an exposed wire—he needs to deflect, lighten the mood somehow, take the attention of himself. But before he manages to think of something, she continues.
“It’s just that, listening to you talk about your job as a teacher is kinda reminding me of my school days. Not good memories, though.” A soft sigh escapes her, and she tilts her head back so she’s gazing at the clock hanging from the ceiling. The moving of its hands seems to slow as she continues. “Growing up and being educated in such a rigid and institutionalised way, I just felt… awfully stifled. I mean, I did okay in terms of grades, but I never really understood why I was learning multiplication tables and algebra and what the different parts of a cell were called. I was just absorbing the information for the sake of passing exams, to move on to the next set of classes to attend and exams to pass, and the cycle just kept going on for years. And I guess I thought I was destined to be confined to a stuffy desk job, punching numbers and sending emails and fetching coffee for my superiors five days a week for 40 years. Not an idea I was fond of, I can tell you that. Of course, that’s not the case now, but how was I to know back then?
“But I digress. Point is, I think you’re doing right by your students. You understand how they’re feeling, which I’m sure I would appreciate it if I were a student. And in the position and circumstances you’re in, you’re doing your best to help them. Even just having that wish to make things better for them, and doing everything you reasonably can for them—it’s admirable. I think… I think if there were more teachers like you, future generations of students would have a more meaningful education experience. Not that it’s that simple, of course, but it’d be a step in the right direction, at least.”
… Honestly, how does she have the power to do this? To reach into the deep, raw, vulnerable parts of his heart, and hold whatever she finds so tenderly? It’s hard to believe it has only been three coincidental meetings, yet it somehow feels like he has known her longer than that, with how safe and comfortable he feels speaking his mind around her with no need for restraint. He doesn’t need to be the Maître he is in the classroom, or Napoleon the diligent and reliable colleague, or one of the few somewhat level-headed residents in the chaos of the mansion, or the infallible older brother who’s always there with a smile and a hug, storing away his own backlog of fears and pain so he can protect the little ones from theirs. Like a mirrorball, he turns and changes to be what the people around him need. But with Mitsuki, he can metaphorically strip away those layers and just speak as the man he is.
Still, it doesn’t sit right with him to keep talking about himself when she has already been kind enough to listen and even offer her own thoughts. Besides, all he’s been longing for the past few weeks is a chance to see her again and talk more with her, so he isn’t going to waste this opportunity away.
“That’s enough about me. You haven’t told me much about yourself, Nunuche.” He can tell the abrupt shift in topic startles her, but thankfully she plays along. “I didn’t ask this before, but why did you choose to become a makeup artist of all things?”
“… My so-called origin story is nowhere as deep or interesting as yours,” she mumbles sheepishly. “It started out as a fun hobby when I was fifteen, just messing around with the colours and palettes and brushes. I won’t bore you with the details of all of makeup’s ins and outs—I doubt you’d be terribly interested in that—”
(He tamps down the urge to confess he has, in fact, watched several of her makeup videos—initially out of curiosity, but he stayed because the enthusiasm she spoke with had him completely enspelled.)
“—but basically it was a way to cut loose and be creative in a way that I wouldn’t be graded on. I had the tools in my hands, and my face was the canvas.” She lets out a short, self-deprecating chuckle. “But then I realised I was wrong. You do get graded on how you present your appearance to the world. Beauty standards, you know, especially in East Asia. You need to have smooth fair skin, double eyelids, big eyes, a small face, and a slim figure to qualify as good enough. I didn’t like it one bit. I didn’t like how there was—still is—this single narrow ideal of what made someone beautiful, when there’s so much beauty to be beheld in this world. Beauty exists in all shapes, colours, sizes, and forms, too much to be pigeonholed into a single uniform standard.”
Napoleon listens quietly, letting her words flow into him. Everything she’s saying—he can’t dispute it. At school, he sees the effects societal beauty standards have on his students. Just a couple weeks ago, he had to talk to a girl in his class who was skipping lunch because her classmates were bullying her for her size. When he returned home that night, it was all he could do not to cry in the shower thinking of how deeply she had internalised those words, and the toll they had taken on her. 
“So it’s this line of thinking that set me on the path to becoming a makeup artist after I graduated from high school,” she continues. “I don’t want to make people beautiful, per se, but rather to help them recognise their natural beauty and bring it all out. That’s why I make it a point to ask my clients what they’d like me to do, what would make them feel beautiful while being in-line with whatever theme they have in mind, what they think their best features are. Then I help them highlight and enhance whatever they already have. For people who are confident and comfortable with their looks, makeup is an accessory for them—something they put on for enjoyment and to give them that additional boost of confidence. For those less confident—makeup isn’t a long-term solution for self-esteem issues, of course, but if it helps them feel happy and confident for even a while, I’m glad to help.”
… Funny that all this talk about beauty is starting to get to his head, because right now he can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. The more she speaks, the deeper he finds himself falling headfirst into whatever enchantment she’s cast.  She’s positively glowing with determination and pure sincerity, and he has this sudden thought that he wouldn’t mind just gazing at her forever, hanging on her every word.
“Oh, gosh, what am I doing?” Mitsuki gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth and breaking the spell. “I said I wouldn’t bore you with the details, but there I go, rambling on and on again. Ugh, and since this is real-life I can’t just edit that out—uh, I mean, I can’t take it back, y’know, like—”
It begins as a small, innocent chuckle. But once that small innocent chuckles escapes, the rest soon crash out of him like a tidal wave. He doesn’t know how many stares he’s attracting with how hard he’s laughing, nor does he care. Honestly, how does she keep getting cuter and cuter?
“Oh, jeez, you’re embarrassing!” she hisses. Her hand lands on his arm with a light, half-hearted attempt at a whack, but if her aim was to curb his laughter then she has failed. If anything, it makes him laugh even harder. “We’re in a museum, Monsieur de Wahaha! Keep it down!”
“‘Monsieur de Wahaha’?” he echoes incredulously. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“Sorry for only knowing enough French for work and other everyday stuff, and not being aware of other lucrative nicknames to call a guy who can’t stop laughing like a hyena in public. I can’t believe you! I tell you my serious opinions about social issues and the reason why I started on my career—which you had asked for, might I remind you—and your response is to laugh?”
Oh, it seems he’s messed up. “Pardonne-moi, that wasn’t what I meant.” Clearing his throat, he manages to get the rest of his laughter under control. He closes the gap between them, his shoulder brushing against hers. “The thing you said earlier about your quote-unquote ‘origin story’ not being as deep or interesting as mine? That’s something only a Nunuche would say. The essence of it is that you want to make people happy, isn’t it? I think—” He pauses, trying to find the most fitting word to describe what exactly it is he’s thinking—because he does have many thoughts, but it’s expressing them properly that poses the greatest challenge. Perhaps he can borrow a word from her vocabulary? She seems to be much better at putting feelings into words, after all. “I think it’s admirable.”
At his words, a pretty pink blush spreads through her cheeks. The sight of it ignites a peculiar urge in him—to know what it feels like against his palm, and to keep her looking at him like that. He thinks he knows what this means—but no, he can’t. Instead, he curls his fingers tightly into a fist, trying to block out that ever-so tempting siren’s song.
“It’s odd, hearing such nice words from you,” she mumbles. “But, um… Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Mm-hm, sure.”
Despite the conflicting feelings arising in him, the exchange nonetheless leaves a pleasant, almost weightless warmth in his chest as they resume their tour around the museum. Turns out they’ve covered more ground than he realised, so it’s not long before they’re leaving the museum. He insists on walking her to her station like he did the first time they met—concern for her safety is, obviously, the main reason. If there’s a bonus and that bonus just so happens to be spending more time with her—well, he has no reason to turn it down, does he?
As they approach her station, however, he finds his footsteps getting heavier and heavier, as if gravity is trying to keep him in place. Almost like clockwork, Mitsuki’s pace slows down too and her stride shortens, until they both stop at the same time. There’s a brief pause as they pointedly stare away from each other step, the atmosphere thick with an emotion he doesn’t think he should give a name to yet, before at last she clears her throat.
“Guess I should get going, then, before the evening rush crowd floods the station.” And is it just wishful thinking on his part, or does she sound as reluctant as he feels to part ways? “Thanks for today, I had lots of fun.”
He plasters a nonchalant smile on his face, hoping it’s sufficient to disguise the creeping disappointment in his chest. “Yeah, sure. You should go, the train’s not going to wait forever for you.”
“Yeah, I know. Well, next time then—”
Just as she turns around, a thought occurs to Napoleon—something he shouldn’t let slip away again like he did last time.
“Huh, Napoleon?” she gasps as his fingers curl around her wrist, turning around again to face him. “Is something the matter?”
How can he explain to her the way their past few chance encounters have made him feel? How he doesn’t want to keep relying on the infinitesimal odds of coincidences to bring them together—because even if Dazai is right and there is some thread of fate connecting them, a thread can still wear out and snap. So whatever this string of fate is, he wants to take it into his own hands and see where it takes him. Well, he supposes the best way he can put it without coming off too strong is like this.
“About those Italian lessons—we can’t exactly have those if we don’t have a way to contact each other, right?”
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LINK TO PART 2!!!!!
other notes i didn’t include at the start bc i didn’t want the part above the cut to be too long!
1. if this premise looks familiar, it’s bc i’ve had this idea of youtuber!MC x suitor for a while now so i sent my friend @writer-akihiko​​ a request (his HCs can be found here!), and i’ve finally found the inspiration to properly expand on this.
2. artistic license—french education system. i did a bit of research to figure out napo’s age and how students address teachers in school but that’s about it. i made the rest up for the sake of the story. also the gratuitous french is partly based on what my french-speaking friend told me and partly based on good ol’ google. the answers on this quora post about how students in primary schools address their teacher is a bit of a mixed bag but what i’m getting is either “monsieur/madame/mademoiselle” (sometimes with the surname included) or “maître/maîtresse”, so that’s what i’m going with. apologies if i got anything wrong, i’m doing my best with google here!
3. i know MC’s canon job (before arriving at the mansion) is being a travel agent and that’s cool. but i made her a makeup artist bc it fit better with the way i envisioned the story. my AU my rules ✨
4. i don’t remember if canon napo knows italian? but apparently IRL napoleon did, so at this point i’m picking and choosing things about the suitors’ IRL selves to deem as canon 😂
5. this was intended to be a one-shot, but during the actual writing process the fic decided it no longer wanted to be a one-shot, hence why i decided to split it into 2 parts (i was considering just making it one super long one-shot but then i conceived the idea of making it 2 parts and giving each part an alliterative title for the ✨ aesthetic ✨) so yeah!
6. the title of the fic is from invisible string by taylor swift! it’s about how little seemingly unrelated things and coincidences somehow end up leading you to The One, which i thought was fitting for this fic <3
okay that’s enough rambling from me. as always, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated 💖
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shookspearewrites · 2 years
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Good evening my ducklings! As you may know, I have been taking writing commissions lately (I still have 2 slots open if you’re interested - Just PM me!) and I had the absolute joy of writing for @catherinec35 and I thought I’d share it with y’all~ 💛 
I hope you enjoy it, I did have an absolute blast writing it ^^
Warning: Contains explicit content of a sexual nature. Do not read if you are under the age of 18 or if you could be uncomfortable with such content. (Minors DNI)
Tagging @scummy-writes and @crystal13unny because they asked to be tagged, if you ever wanted to be tagged in my works, please just let me know ^^
- JJ x
___________
Theodorus van Gogh x Kathryn (OC) x Isaac Newton:
With every step she took, Kathryn turned heads at the lavish party she and her boyfriend Theodorus had been invited to. A far cry from her regular casual and comfortable attire, she was dolled up to the nines with absolutely no expense spared on Theo’s part to make his woman feel like a princess; A maroon velvet cocktail dress hugged her delectable figure, the off-the-shoulder straps framing her shoulders and collar bones so beautifully Theo swore she could be a painting. Kathryn’s hair, just a shade slightly more purple than her dress, was curled in neat ringlets and her face had been painted by a makeup artist - that Theo had insisted he hire for her - to highlight and accentuate her beautiful natural features. Although stunningly beautiful, the young lady felt a little out of place at such a fancy event without her lover to cling to as he was too busy speaking with clients. Her heart sank a measure when she reminisced on parties of the past in which Theo had drunk a little too much champagne and ended up escorting her to a quiet corner to lay his heart, and his body, bare to her.
Kathryn smiled smally as she sipped her champagne, more bubbles than flavour, hovering just behind her boyfriend who liaised with some fancy client in a suit who she didn’t particularly care to listen to, only drawn from her thoughts by Theo’s hushed voice in her ear, “Schatje, I’m a little busy,” cool Caribbean blue eyes flitted between his lover and the balcony, “Go and get some fresh air. You’ll have my attention in just a minute.”
“Okay,” she sighed a little dejectedly in response, her heels clicking against the fine marble floor until she reached the balcony, her heart dropping in her chest as she leant on the railing and gazed out at the perfect Parisian night sky. Kathryn clasped her delicate hands around her champagne flute, shifting her feet a little where she stood as the cool breeze hit the leg exposed by the high slit of her dress. The single blonde streak of the lady’s hair fell from its curl and in front of her face so it tickled her nose, making her chuckle pitifully at herself quietly.
“May I fix that for you, Miss?” A gentle, lilting voice almost sung by Kathryn’s ear. Turning around, she realised it was Arthur, her boyfriend's best friend, who reached out a gloved hand to fix the stray hair that hung out of place, "There we go, luv."
“Hey, Arthur,” her voice was confined to a small sigh, a mixture of sadness and relief, as she glanced up at her friend, “At least you’re here. Theo’s been too busy to even acknowledge me tonight.”
“Heartless bastard, leaving a beautiful woman lonely when she’s all dolled up for him,” he slipped off the black glove from his right hand and reached towards Kathryn, caressing the soft line of her jaw before leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “A foolish bastard too.” Kathryn tried to step back slightly from Arthur’s touch only to find herself backed against an ornate marble pillar, “Why don’t you let me entertain you tonight, my dove?”
“Hands off of her, Arthur,” Theo’s voice entered the space, commanding the air with his tone whilst the fine suit he wore was overshadowed by his scowl. The Dutchman reached out to grasp his girlfriend’s wrist, “Come on, hondje, let’s go-”
Smack. Her hand came down hard against his own wrist, making the art dealer pull back slightly in shock, his heart aching with a cocktail of anger, regret and jealousy as he observed the look of indignance that Kathryn wore. “Don’t pretend like you care all of a sudden Theo,” she spat, pushing past him to leave the party in a fit of rage and rushing out of his sight. Kathryn was still in tears when she reached the mansion, her chest tight and heart strings pulled to breaking when she pushed past Vincent in a flood of sorrow, like a moody cloud was hung above her head. Tears stained her reddened cheeks and the artist knew better than to pry so rather than console her himself, he rushed to find the only man that could.
“What do you want?” Isaac sighed tiredly, leaning against the doorframe as he observed Vincent’s anxiously shaken form through his glasses.
“Kathryn’s just come home and she looks very upset, I think she needs you.” Vincent smiled sympathetically at Isaac who nodded curtly and pulled his door closed behind him,
“Cheers,” he spoke quietly, pushing up his glasses before briskly walking through the halls towards his beloved’s room. Isaac’s throat felt tight and dry as he stood in front of Kathryn’s door, listening to her sniffle and sob, her sad little noises like a stab to his heart, “Kathryn?” He knocked on the door, opening it just a sliver to peek inside, “It’s Isaac, I’m coming in.” The second he was in the room, Isaac’s heart sank: Kathryn lay face down, her pretty face in her pillows which muffled her pained sobs. She should’ve felt like an angel in her stunning evening gown with her hair perfectly made up, not despairing as she was. “Oh, sweetheart.” The vampire sat down beside the young lady and stroked her hair, shooting her a small smile when she turned her face to look right at him, “Was the party really that bad?”
“T-Theo and I,” she sniffled, rolling over fully to tuck herself into Isaac’s warm embrace, comforted by his touch, “W-we had a fight.” Isaac tightened his arms around Kathryn, grateful to provide her some sense of safety and comfort when she nuzzled against his chest. She lifted her gaze to glance at Isaac, chuckling pitifully at herself before she spoke again, “Will you stay and cuddle me til I feel better?”
Isaac smiled sweetly at Kathryn, nodding in confirmation though, confusion plastered on his face when she removed herself from his embrace and wandered over to her vanity, “I can’t very well cuddle you if you’re all the way over there.” He watched his enchanting girlfriend slip out of her cocktail dress and wipe away her smudged makeup, admittedly making his trousers feel a little too tight around his crotch as he took in her lingerie-clad form. Kathryn’s flawless skin glowed in the faint moonlight, her smooth curves accentuated by a lacy crimson bra with a matching thong and garters, the colour reminding Isaac of the irresistible blood that pumped underneath her soft skin. “You wore those just for Theo?” He knew that his partners both had their nights alone together, much as he did with the both of them, but he couldn’t help the slight twinge of jealousy that stained his heart, “I do love him but by God he is an ass, and an idiot, leaving you on your lonesome when you look so ravishing.” Isaac stood up from his seat on the bed and crossed the room to Kathryn, taking a hold of her hips and pulling her flush against his own body, so close that she could feel the hardness laying in his trousers, “You’re irresistible.”
Feeling an unfamiliar rush of confidence fill her veins, Kathryn tangled her fingers in Isaac’s dusty pink hair and pulled at it, smirking at the needy whine that escaped his lips before whispering seductively in his ear, “Then don’t resist, Isaac. Take me.” 
Without a moment of hesitation, Isaac pushed his girlfriend to sit down on her vanity and crashed his lips against hers, snogging her messily as his yearning hands slid down her sides to grasp at her plush thighs and push them apart, grinding his clothed erection against her dampening slit. The couple were so preoccupied with each other’s burning desire that neither of them noticed the soft creak of the bedroom door opening or the entrance of their boyfriend until he spoke, “Well I did come to apologise but, seems like you’re busy, hondje.”
Kathryn gasped softly, her cheeks flushing peach with embarrassment as she locked eyes with Theodorus from across the room, though before the Dutchman could leave, Isaac turned to face him, his voice low and husky, “Why don’t you join in? I think our darling needs some extra attention tonight.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” The taller vampire shut the door behind himself and quickly stripped down to his boxers, leaving his clothes in a messy pile on the floor before kneeling on the bed and beckoning to his lovers who both obediently rid themselves of their clothes and joined him there. Isaac lay himself down and coaxed Kathryn to hover above his face, blush staining his cheeks pink at the sight of the glistening arousal covering her sex.
Kathryn felt a flame of shyness flicker in her belly when Isaac brought her down onto his mouth, whimpering delightfully when his tongue circled her clit. The Englishman himself groaned softly at the taste of her sweetness, capable hands grasping at her plush thighs which squeezed against his cheeks as smug pride swelled in his chest. Theodorus leant over Kathryn’s small frame, biting kisses down his girlfriend’s neck, the scrape of his fangs against her delicate skin fanning the flames of arousal in Kathryn’s core which only provided more slickness between her legs that Isaac greedily lapped up. She could hear Theo’s thick Dutch accent in her ear, praising her as she rolled her hips and ground down against Isaac’s mouth, “Good girl, Kathryn.” Her thighs tensed and squeezed around her British boyfriend’s head, bringing more heat to his cheeks and making his peony pink eyes roll back in pleasure when she came messily undone all over his tongue, her nectar dripping down his chin. The three moved seamlessly to a more comfortable position, with Theo holding himself above Kathryn and Isaac wandering toward the desk to clean his face.
“I n-need you in me,” Kathryn panted, the aftershock of her first orgasm hitting her body in waves as lust darkened her vision, her gaze trained onto Theo, “Please.”
“Don’t make her beg, Theo,” Isaac warned softly, wiping the slick that soaked his chin away with a pristine white handkerchief, “Not tonight.” The brilliant scientist smiled carefully as he strolled back over to the bed and sat beside his girlfriend’s head, reaching out to stroke her curled hair gently away from her flushed face, “My princess needs to be treated as such.” Kathryn blushed brightly at Isaac’s tender nickname for her, smiling almost smugly when Theo pressed an uncharacteristically soft kiss against her cheek.
“Oké, but after tonight,” Theo’s left index finger hooked underneath her choker and tugged at it a little roughly, his voice a low growl when he continued, “Master isn’t going to go easy on either of you.” He shot his icy blue gaze at his boyfriend who gulped in excited anticipation, Isaac’s mind replaying countless nights of Theo roughly using his tight hole and rewarding him with intoxicating blowjobs when he thought he couldn’t handle any more. Theo discarded his underwear and carefully lined his impressively hard cock up to Kathryn’s inviting little hole, slowly pushing himself inside and groaning deeply at the way she squeezed around his length, “Fuck, baby.” The Dutchman grinned down at his girlfriend whose small hands grasped onto his broad shoulders, her eyes already filled with stars even though he hadn’t even begun to fuck her yet, “Always so tight for me, aren’t you? ‘S like your pretty little pussy was made just for me.”
Theo thrust his hips forward, the drag of his thick cock against her silky wet walls slow, hard and deliberate, tearing a delightfully sweet moan from Kathryn’s throat which made both of her boyfriends grin slyly at each other, “Is that good, darling?” Isaac cooed into her ear, tangling his left hand in her now messy mauve hair and pulling sharply, “Tell Theo how good he makes you feel.”
“A-ah,” Kathryn whined with pleasure, her sounds mingling with Theodorus’ own sinful groans and the gentle shudders of Isaac who had begun to slowly stroke himself by her side, “You fuck me so good-” she gasped sharply when Theo’s cock slid further into her tight cunt, bruising her cervix as he began to thrust into her faster and harder than before. The lady couldn’t make any coherent thought or sentence as her lover repeatedly hit against her g-spot, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he began to feel his climax quickly approaching. Isaac snaked his left hand between their bodies to rub tight, mind-numbingly pleasurable circles into Kathryn’s clit, making her walls hug Theo’s dick even tighter as a second orgasm came flooding over her, her moans surely heard throughout the mansion. 
“Godverdomme,” Theo’s hips stuttered as he came, hot and sticky inside Kathryn's walls. He panted, taking a moment to catch his breath before pulling out and turning his gaze over to Isaac whose cock was still in his hand, pumping it quickly to try and chase his own release. The younger vampire pressed a kiss to his girlfriend’s nose, her piercing cold against his lips before he knelt himself down in front of Isaac and firmly grasped his erection, “I’ll finish you off.” Theo swiftly took Isaac in his mouth and hollowed his cheeks, only needing to suck on his cock a handful of times before the physicist moaned his name loudly and spilled his cum down his boyfriend’s throat. Both men, sweaty and spent, lay down in bed and wrapped their arms around Kathryn, with Isaac spooning her and Theo having tucked her head under his chin.
None of them could keep from smirking to themselves as they snuggled up together, the comfortable silence eventually being broken by Kathryn who sighed blissfully, “You boys are so good to me.” 
“You deserve it.” Isaac craned his head forward to kiss her jaw carefully while one of his hands drew soft circles against her thigh.
Theo agreed, his voice gruff and resigned, “You both deserve a lot more than me.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it, Theo.” Kathryn responded, sitting herself up and caressing the art dealer’s cheek, gazing down at him with a smile that could outshine the stars, “I love you, you big idiot.”
“As do I,” Isaac added, also having sat up, “We want you the way you are, even though you are often irrational, brash and thick.” The Englishman stood up and sauntered over to the wardrobe, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his naked body, “Come, let's all go and have a bath.”
“Mhm, that’d be nice.” Kathryn nodded as she got up from the bed and joined Isaac who handed her a towel of her own.
“Ja, oké,” Theo’s small smile widened to a grin when his lovers threw a towel at him, the white cotton hitting him in the chest with a dull thud, “I can’t say no to you two, anyway.”
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omkookie · 6 months
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Guess who hasn't read Charles' route yet...😂 (Oops)
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⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Yandere themes, talks of baby trapping, isolation... all thattt. 15+
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As nice and kind he is, he's still crazy on the inside. Because of his lack of care, he doesn't behave normally. His obsessive traits quickly become evident and as easy to spot as black ink spilled upon a white sheet of paper.
Charles is hard to read, mainly because only god knows what goes on through his head. One moment, he's all smiles and everything is normal, the other he's getting mad over a stranger who looked at you for "far too long" according to him. (It was 3 seconds at most but oh welp.)
You see, he loves his darling so much.
She's so precious to him, and he wants to give her everything that she deserves along with so much more. But he has to get violent at times, especially when his beloved darling tries to escape. He doesn't like to hurt her, but due to the circumstances it's sometimes necessary. He has to teach her to not run away, and to remain by his side forever. Alas, he will forcefully suck her blood and leave her covered in bites.
In nis delusional eyes they're meant for each other. She's so beautiful, her sweet and pure smile along with her precious and caring hands. He wants to marry her and he wants to build a future with her where they start a family.
If she has kids with him, she surely won't try to leave, right? What cruel mother would take her kids away from their father.... Everyone knows how important a father figure is to the children and household. She couldn't possibly be some cruel monster that takes her kids away from their father now, could she?
of course she can't.
Charles has so many ideas with which he can trap his darling, he's honestly clueless at what to do and which to use first.
Should he go ahead and get her pregnant? She probably wouldn't be too happy about that, considering she didn't even want to look at him right now. She's locked herself in her room in hopes of avoiding him as much as she can, so she's currently in her rebellious state. It would be so cute to have little lookalikes of her running around the house though! having kids would literally prevent her from leaving him, so that might be his best option right now. It's also the one that brings him the most delight.
Something else that he might do is just keep her isolated from others. it will make her depend solely on him, both emotionally and physically. He's curious about how much her psyche might crumble. How much could she take before it became too much? When will she finally break and start loving him back?
His twisted perception of love might be due to his past and the people he's interacted with all these years while he was alive. His twisted feelings might have spiraled from a place of confusion, because his love itself is pure... it's just overshadowed and cast aside by the unrelenting possessiveness and longing for his darling that's achingly sweet like a pink venom.
Maybe his love isn't so pure after all? could love really get corrupted by any other feelings besides hatred? guess we'll just have to wait to find out and see how far he goes.
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judejazza · 28 days
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...Nothing more. Nothing less. Just like you and him; not quite there, not quite… not there, slipping into the cracks between I love you and I loved you in a way you have no words for...
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𐙚 @specters0rd requested;
Hello once again! A just popping in here to sent a request for the February requests: if it’s not too much, could you write a confession fic for Theo? One that features "you really didn't notice that I was falling in love with you?". I was think this happens during the last chapter of that love potion event? It’s where the suitors accidentally take a love potion and two suitors are trying to woo her. There a part in Theo’s side where he teases the MC by making her think he’s gonna bite her while also saying something like a confessionals then just backed off while laughing bc he thought it was funny that she was anticipating his bite.Which made MC upset and made me wonder what if this really really broke her heart which in turn let this turned into a Angst filled and silliness confession bc Theo kind gone a little too far with the tease… (My memory is spotty, so if you want more info I can send ask/ dm a YouTube vid that recorded the story and this part).
𐙚 Freya replies;
DUCKYYY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! This soft Theo is for you, I hope you like it and I hope you have an amazing day!!!!!
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𐙚Theodorus/Reader (references to female gender) 𐙚1538 𐙚CW: a lil angst at the start <3 𐙚MASTERLIST ☆ REQUESTS
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It was no secret Theo was not exactly gentle with his words.
That he could be harsh, rude almost, that he seemed to find it amusing to tease you in ways which only ever worked you up and made you snap. He seemed to like the anger you’d show, as if his whole goal in teasing had been to get the reaction, as if-
As if he was just-
“Rude, and awful, and… and why did I ever fall for him!”
You huff, arms folded over your chest as you pace the gazebo in the garden of the mansion. It’s cold out. You’ve lost track of time since you came out, it must have been afternoon then, but the darkening sky indicates it must be evening now… and your anger hasn’t subsided.
No, not anger this time.
Hurt.
He’d said many things before, but he’d never succeeded in making you cry. Never once had you wanted to flee from him and wish you’d never seen him. What a cruel joke.
“How can someone so horrible be related to Vincent? He’s such an angel why couldn’t I fall for him instead?!”
The elder of the brothers had come to check on you at some point, along with Napoleon, only for both of them to back off when they realised you just needed some space — or… well, punching Theo seemed both good and bad. You could vent your feelings on the one responsible, but that would mean having to see him and you’re not sure if-
“Hondje.”
You’re quite ready to face him.
Gulping, you stop pacing and keep your back to him. If you don’t face him maybe you can keep it together long enough for him to get the hint and leave you alone. No — you know well enough that’s not what you want, but hoping for anything else seems futile at best. It was better to work on getting over him to… shrug off the hand he put on your shoulder.
“What is it, Theodorus?”
“Ouch, the full name.”
“Well?”
“Will you look at me?”
“No! Go away!”
Theo exhales and you hear the soft creak of his leather shoes as he paces away and then —- suddenly, the footsteps get closer to you. His hands find you again, gripping the top of your arms gently. His warmth is electric and you supress the shudder that threatens to ripple through you. His hands flex and you wonder whether he’s debating on forcing you to face him but it never comes. Instead, he sighs again.
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
“I think I get it clearly,” you respond, voice low and threatening to break. You’re exhausted, you’ve had enough; all the back and forth, all the time spent with him, all the time without him filling your mind of silly ideas of being with him… what was it all for? If only he could have let you know before now, in a kinder way…. “You’re not interested in me. I get it, Theodorus. I’ll stop bothering you with my feelings, now.”
Silence.
Theo swallows thickly. It’s unlike him not to have a retort, to not make some smart remark — honestly, right now you can’t tell if you want him to act normally or you want him to truly understand what he did was out of order. That he can’t just… let you think he likes you, that he-
His hands fall from your shoulders and it takes each inch of your self control not to turn and cling to him, to beg him to stay, to continue to pretend.
You bow your head and close your eyes tightly. Is this is it? Truly? Love stories were not to end this way, isn’t the girl supposed to get the guy in the end? You chew your lip, desperately wanting to call his name, even if it’s for one last time, even… even….
Theo’s arms suddenly hold you from behind, his body so close you can feel how hard his heart is beating against your back. Would it be bad if you just enjoyed this moment with him? To let yourself believe, for a moment, that this is the embrace of a lover?
“You really don’t get it,” he says again, his voice low and thick. He gulps again and his arms squeeze you as though he’s trying to reassure you. “You really didn’t notice that I was falling in love with you?”
What?
… What?
“What?”
A huff of laughter hits your ear. It’s a chuckle more than anything and his grip around you tightens. “You really didn’t notice it then. You’re so oblivious, hondje.”
“Theo-” you wriggle from his grip so you can turn to him, eyes wide as you peer up to his face, trying to find any trace of a lie. “You have to tell me clearly, just this once. Please.”
“Will you beg me like a good girl?”
“Theo,” you grumble, taking a few steps back. “Just for once… please.”
As he lets out a deep sigh he runs his fingers through his hair. His breath comes out in condensation and you shiver as if suddenly noticing the cold. His arms had been warm, safe, comforting — but… you just….
“I can’t keep second guessing how you feel, how I feel, what we have-” you watch him, trying hard to keep your tone even. “Theo, I-”
“I love you.”
He says it so simply as though it’s an immutable fact. As if nothing in life had ever been more true or natural, as though it’s just something you’re simply supposed to understand without him having to say it-
“I want to hear it again.”
“Hondje, you said just this once. Its your turn.”
Then, you realise.
How he looks at you is different. He’s not smug and confident as he usually is, there’s a worry, a fear in how he looks at you as though he’s scared he truly has gone too far — an unspoken regret for making you cry. Oh, Theo…. You want to run to him, to take him into your arms and comfort him, to reassure him that there was never any doubts in how you were feeling for him, but your feet remain rooted to the ground. Fear sticks them there, fear that perhaps this is simply a dream. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just like you and him; not quite there, not quite… not there, slipping into the cracks between I love you and I loved you in a way you have no words for.
“I love you,” he says again, his voice low and almost sounding like a plea for more, as though he’s begging for you to listen to him. To understand him, to return his feelings in the ways which he truly believed you did.
“I… I love you too, Theo.”
It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud and it sounds entirely different in your voice than it ever did in your mind; there where it’s the loudest sound amongst the background noise of your thoughts, and here in the garden where it’s surrounded only by silence, by the sound of him breathing, and then the sounds of his clothes rustling and his heartbeat filling your ears as he crushes you to his chest.
“I love you,” he says again, more confident this time. A kiss on the top of your head and another confession, a kiss on your forehead, more words of love. He’s tender and gentle in this moment, his hands taking your face to make you face him and his eyes soft and warm. “I love you.”
“I don’t think I’ll get tired of hearing that,” you whisper, placing your hand on top of his. “I love you, too.”
He wants to say he’s positive he won’t tire of saying it, but rather than allow the vulnerability to be obvious, he instead brings his lips to yours in a sweet and tender kiss. His lips are rough, something you’ve never noticed before, and something you never would have known had he never kissed you — had you never fallen for him. He’s not an easy man, to be honest, he’s difficult, and demanding, and sometimes you just want to turn him and tell him where to shove his pancakes and syrup and yet each time you find yourself on the verge of snapping he always gives you that smile.
The one he’s giving you right now.
It makes his blue eyes twinkle, it makes them soft and warm, it makes your heart melt into your stomach and tie into knots, urging you to do nothing but spend your time with him or thinking of him. The moment you realise now that you can, in fact, spend all of your time with him now, you find yourself wrapping your arms around him tightly, unwilling to part with him for even the briefest of seconds.
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taglist
@nightghoul381 @celiciaa @candied-boys @chevcore @aquagirl1978 @tele86 @aria-chikage @queengiuliettafirstlady @the-beast-tamer @maries-gallery @natimiles
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candied-boys · 8 months
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Catboy Charles x F! Reader - Part 6
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Tags: fluffy fluff, Charles likes his kibble still but not his clothes
Part 5
You did try to hide the kibble while he was napping. You really did. But it would seem his scent perception is just as good as a human as it was as a cat, and he easily finds the sealed bag under the kitchen sink behind the garbage pail while you're busying yourself hanging up the wet laundry.
“Are you hungry?” you ask when you return to the kitchen to put in another load only to find him sitting cross-legged on the hardwood, munching on handfuls of the stuff with a giddy smile like it's a bag of popcorn and not pet food.
⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺
“A little,” he answers meekly after the plastic crinkles loudly as he clutches it to his chest like you're going to rip it out of his hands.
You suppose he isn't used to asking for food since you always just left a bowl out for him to graze on throughout the day. Now you're going to have to feed him yourself, but the problem is what. He didn't like much of what you gave him at lunch, and beyond those fishy tubes snacks you don't know what he genuinely likes.
Kneeling down next to him you ruffle his hair, then reach into the bag to try one for yourself. Maybe it'll give you a clue as to why he's so fond of it.
It's not helpful. It literally just tastes like salt and dry cornmeal with a hint of mystery meat. You don't buy the cheapest, but you really can't afford the top grade food that's only sold at the vet's.
Sitting down and leaning into the cupboards with him, you pull out your phone and start looking up what cat food is made of, what cats eat on a natural diet, what they like and what they don't like. Unsurprisingly, the answer is mostly meat. Much to your disbelief, however, apparently cats can't taste sweetness. Entirely derailed by curiosity, you pull out a bag of candy you keep hidden in the back of the pantry and unwrap one each.
“Try this Charles and tell me if you like it!”
He takes it willingly and pops it in his mouth, but just shrugs after chewing.
When you ask what he tastes his answer is simple.
“Kind of like my food I was just eating?” With which he takes another handful of kibble and begins munching again.
You try again with a few grapes, but he's even less impressed. He doesn't mind the crackers, but he isn't fond of nuts. You already know he likes dairy and won't eat salad. Debating what vegetables might be palatable, you end up thinking about what pairs well with meat and stumble upon steak and fries, which are salty and bland like his kibble. Not as crunchy, but maybe he'd like it.
“I'm going to run out and pick up some dinner for us. Could you wait to eat more until I get back? If you don't like what I bring, you can keep eating your kibble,” you offer tentatively.
Charles nods and reluctantly hands you the bag, round eyes looking up into yours as he asks sheepishly, “Will I have to use a fork again?”
“Maybe, but you'll be okay, Minou,” you tell him truthfully and kiss his cheek.
At the same brasserie where you first met your little kitten, you order steak frites and also decide a hamburger might be a good backup too. While they prepare the order, you visit the corner store to hunt for anything else he might like - jerky, crisps, yogurt, dehydrated vegetables, and so on until your arms are full.
When you get home you nearly trip over Charles, who is lounging in the entranceway. You forgot your cat always waits for you by the door. You remind yourself you're going to have to talk to him about that, and many, many other things at some point.
But first, food.
Dinner passes with more ease than lunch. He likes the steak better, but ends up eating both the slices of meat and the fries with his fingers after watching you dip your potatoes in ketchup without touching a fork.
Exhaustion settles in sooner than most nights, and you find yourself washing up and showing him how to brush his teeth by nine o'clock. It turns out that, just like his tongue, his teeth are more catlike than human too. Though when you count them you find out he has thirty, which is more than you after getting your wisdom teeth removed.
With a few too many questions swirling in your head, you tell Charles through a yawn that you'll sleep on the sofa today.
“Okay me too,” he smiles contentedly.
“No, I meant you sleep in the bed and I'll sleep on the sofa, Charles,” you correct yourself.
“Why? We always sleep together…” Those round eyes and floppy tail are all too familiar.
“Yes, but you were smaller.”
Disappointment tugging his ears down now too, he protests, “There's enough room for two on the bed. You sleep with other guys on the bed.”
It's true. You sleep with total strangers from time to time, but that's precisely because you don't live together and have to face them the next day that you can. But trying to explain the complexities of maintaining a platonic relationship with the opposite sex while sleeping together in the same bed sounds like a horrible idea right now.
“You're not going to let me sleep alone, are you?”
“No. I want to sleep with you like always. I hate being alone…”
Relenting, you abandon the sofa in favour of the bed, eagerly crawling beneath the covers to embrace slumber.
“Why are you wearing clothes to bed? You never wear clothes…” you hear Charles ask as you pull up the blanket.
“Because you're here…” you mumble.
“I've always been here…”
“Yes…” Words are starting to fail you. “But anyway, this is more comfortable today.”
“Okay. Can I take mine off now? They're really uncomfortable…” he asks softly, clearly worried you'll say no.
Hardly awake, you don't even know what the question was by the time you answer, “Mhm, whatever you want, Charles.”
Part 7
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xxsycamore · 1 year
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𝗡𝗮𝗽, 𝗡𝗮𝗽𝗼, 𝗡𝗮𝗽𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿, 𝗡𝗮𝗽𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗶, 𝗡𝗮𝗽𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗶𝘁𝗼, 𝗲𝘁 𝗰𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮 [Napoleon x MC]
► Lately Napoleon notices that MC is using quite a lot of nicknames for him…
Napoleon Bonaparte x MC • rating: G • wordcount: 776 • tags: fluff; nicknames; humor; ‼ slightly suggestive • masterlist
a/n: While talking about how in the ikeseries games there are suitors whose nicknames are the actual names of other suitors and thus making it hard to figure out who the person is speaking about, (see: Leo (midcin) and Leo-nardo/Gali-leo; Liam and Wil-liam (ikemen villains); Leon (ikepri) and Napo-leon) it accidentally turned into a discussion of preferred nicknames for Napoleon.
From @viohasgoneintothewoods : Nap
From @venulus : Leone, Napoleoncito, Leoncito
From @krys-loves-otome : Napster, Naps, Napoleoni
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Lately Napoleon notices that MC is using quite a lot of nicknames for him…
1. As soon as he wakes up.
"Wakey wakey, Nap…"
The sound of MC's voice wakes him up just to the point where he reaches a hand out of the bedsheets to drag her in for his infamous morning kiss. But he pauses. He realizes the nickname she called him with.
"…Nap? Because I sleep a lot?"
"Yes, because you sleep a lot!"
Napoleon hums, nestling himself further in the mess of bedsheets.
"I don't even nap that much, I just sleep in…"
2. At breakfast
"Vincent, can you pass this to Napo?"
"Napo? Oh! Here you go, Napo!"
Napoleon blinks at MC's new nickname for him, quickly adapted by Vincent, barely remembering to take the plate from his hands. He guesses he's Napo now.
"Hah. Napo. I like how it sounds." Leonardo chimes in, not even looking away from his morning paper.
"Napo…" Jean tries. If it sticks with Jean, then it sticks forever.
3. On a date
"Are you falling asleep?"
Napoleon makes a low sound in his throat in reply, enough to let her know that he's not falling asleep. Their picnic date turned into a lazy reading session in nature, and frankly, the book hasn't been too interesting.
"This is why I call you Napster."
There it is again.
He remains silent for a moment. He looks for the line he read last in the book but he can't find it.
"You don't even call me Napster."
4. At the école
"Napoleone! Your fiancée is here!"
Turning to the boy who informs him of MC's arrival, Napoleon nearly misses the incoming attack from his other short opponent. But only nearly. Because he's not their cool teacher for nothing.
"Ahh, did you lie about proposing to me again? Stupid Napoleoni…"
Napoleoni? Napoleoni??!!
The laugher of a dozen kids is too much shame to live with. He will never be their cool teacher again, not with that lame nickname.
5. At night
Being a vampire doesn't mean that you don't deserve a nice massage at the end of a long day. Truly, his muscles aren't given the chance to stiffen too much, but he can't miss the magic touch of MC's hands on him. He's lying on his stomach, with her straddling his waist and working the knots on his shoulders.
"Mmm…"
He's aware he is being vocal. It's just that good.
MC giggles.
"You're roaring like a lion."
"Mmyeah? Do you have a clever little nickname for that too?"
"I do actually!"
She pauses, and Napoleon thinks she might be coming with it right now.
"Napoleoncito."
Oh. So we're spanishing it up now?
"That's a little too long, don't you think? Defeats the purpose."
"Hmm, hmm…"
She's not even moving her hands anymore, but Napoleon is too interested to see where this leads to care.
"Leoncito then. I like it! You're my little lion…"
Now, this is taking it too far.
In one quick and swift movement, Napoleon snakes his way from under MC and throws her down on the bed - so that he's leaning over her with a hand on each side of her head.
"Am I still a little lion?"
MC catches her bottom lip between her teeth, looking him in the eye. He seems quite handsome from this angle, if she has to be frank.
"Please don't eat me."
"Only if you tell me what's up with you and nicknames lately."
She giggles under him, fidgeting with a button of his shirt. Not necessarily with the intention to undo it.
"I just thought you might've gotten bored with the same old every time. You've got your 'Nunuche' for me but my 'Leon' or occasionally 'Leone' is not as creative as yours is."
Napoleon's eyes scan her features while taking in her words. Then he sighs.
"So that's what it was."
"Mm, maybe I should try harder…"
"I didn't say that I'm bored with how you call me."
"I liked Nap… it's keeping it nice and short. Maybe an 's' at the end will help it roll off the tongue better. An elongated one. Napsss…"
"Nunuche."
He leans in closer while she trails off in voiced out thoughts that he made clear he is not enthusiastic about hearing. She doesn't turn away, but doesn't stop either.
"Or maybe you liked Napster better? I liked Leoncito the best."
"Nunuche."
He's so close he can practically feel the shiver of her skin as he whispers against her neck, letting his fangs scrape against it.
"Call my name next."
He hears her suck on a breath and a smirk blooms on his lips.
"Napoleon."
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Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 ​ @ikemenlover24 @violettduchess @mcofthemansion @tiny-wooden-robot @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!
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maries-gallery · 7 months
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3K CELEBRATION
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xoxo, gossip girl <3
Hi everyone! We've finally reached 3k and to thank you all for sticking around and being so supportive I wanted to do a little something, something special and in the September vibe. And for me September is GOSSIP GIRL SEASON.
No worries though, you don't need to have seen the series in order to request or have a look at the prompts!
There are some rules however, that I'd ask you to follow:
This event is both fluff, angst and nsfw, however if you request the latter you have to be over 18
You can chose up to three items from the lists for the same request
And of course, be kind when you come into my inbox!
This is open for ikevamp and ikepri
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PROMPTS:
Lap dance
One night stand
Receiving sexy lingerie
Date in Paris
Love confession
Receiving flowers
Sex on a ride (car, carriage)
Teasing him in public
Being pushed against a wall
Enemies to lovers
A love that can never be
Surprise date
Drunk confession
Night at the pub/club (precise which one)
Shopping together
Sneaking out of a party
First time together
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QUOTES:
"Just one kiss. Then, we can know without a doubt."
"Three words, eight letters. Say it and I'm yours."
"Tell me you love me."
"I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else."
"Because I know, no matter what, I want to be with you."
"It wouldn't be my world without you in it."
"If two people are meant to be together, they'll eventually find their way back."
"Nobody's ever looked at me the way you just did."
"I love you. I love you so much it consumes me."
"I love you more and more everyday, if it's ever possible to love someone that much."
“Just because we can’t be together doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
“Feelings never do make sense. They get you all confused. Then they drive you around for hours before they drop you right back where you started.”
"You still love her?" - "Can't imagine the day I won't."
"I am so sorry for the pain I've caused you. And I know I can't take it back, but I want to try and make it up to you. Even if it takes me the rest of my life."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you 'I love you' when I knew I did."
"I may be heartless, but you're naive." 
"You're a romantic. Who knew?" - "Now you do. That's all that matters."
"Strip for me."
"For you, I would."
"How could I ever still love you after what you did?"
“I love you. Always have, always will.”
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Have fun!
marie <3
taglist: @aquagirl1978 @randonauticrap @pockcock @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @ikemen-writer @ikesimp100 @ominousjangling
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violettduchess · 2 months
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A/N: Because he didn't have one yet 💜
WC: ~600
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He tastes like coffee and wonder, like fudge and fervor.
The minutes leading up to this moment, this embrace in the depth of night, began with you coming back through the mansion door just as the clock struck the midnight hour, one hand pushing back the rich hood of your cloak, revealing cheeks flushed from the cold and eyes bright as sunlight winking off a morning’s frost. Your smile was wide and warm and open as you stepped into the parlor, searching for him. Arthur took one look at you, threw down his hand of cards and with a light smile and breezy valediction, took your hand and took his leave, pulling you along with him, away from the knowing glances of the others.
Up the wide staircase you go, down the carpeted hallway with its arched windows letting in pale slants of moonlight. Your room is much too far away and his may as well be on the moon. 
He needs you now.
And so he pulls you into a shadowy alcove, pulls you against his lean body. You’re laughing softly, breathless, murmuring something about still wearing your cloak and boots and- 
“As if that matters, luv.” 
And then his lips are on yours and you realize, no, no it doesn’t matter at all. Although eager, his kiss begins soft, one hand sliding up, across the plane of your cheek, thumb stroking smooth skin. His lips leave yours to roam the line of your jaw, to prowl the sensitive place below your ear. You tilt your head back and allow him access to the slope of your neck, expecting him to sink his sharp fangs in immediately, unable to resist the feeling of lawless pleasure.
He does not.
Instead, kiss after kiss decorates your skin, as if you are a blank page and he is the writer, jotting formless words of desire and devotion, of tenderness and aching affection along your throat, your collarbone, your shoulder.
No one before you has ever mattered. You are the beginning of his greatest story.
His name is a sigh whispered into the shadows, your fingers catching his chin and lifting his head back up so you can kiss his mouth, the romance of the moment draped around you like silken cords. His hands slide under your cloak, untuck your blouse from your skirt and slide underneath, palms pressing against the bare skin of your back. Up they slide, along your spine, then back down the lines of your torso. You are softer than vellum, his fingertips curling and tracing a filigree along your waist. They feel feather-light, like ink trails across your skin.
“I need you,” he breathes against your lips, sincere and honest, his heart a fragile thing you hold in your hands. And you smile, clutching the nape of his neck. “I need you too.”
He lifts you into his arms, kissing you once more, this time harder, a kiss edged with the promise of what is to come. You curl against him, soft and boneless as his long legs carry you down the hall, towards your room. You close your eyes, nuzzling into his neck, dropping kisses like tiny sparks against his skin. 
His heart thunders in his chest at your touch and he knows, with every fiber of his being, that you love him, as he is. You, who pulled his gaze away from the regrets of his past and helped him close the chapters on the trauma that had haunted him for far too long. Your love cradles him and keeps him safe, a cover to his fragile pages and a promise for all that is still unwritten.
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Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @greatstarlightstarfish @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @fang-and-feather @bubblexly @ozalysss @kiki-tties
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bluesparklingmoon · 19 days
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MC: Comte is mysterious, sexy, and wanted by all.
Arthur: Can I have that label?? Comte, are you selling it? Can I buy it? You can’t be the only man in Paris to have that label!
Comte to Arthur: *glares at him* I have copyright.
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