#I also went kind of gentle on his accent

[rileyslibrary]

(Can i just say i love ur work, i too read them like bedtime stories, u perform a great service to humanity my good comrade)

Also, could i request perhaps Reader needing to go undercover for a mission and getting a bit too close for comfort with some baddies and thus making Ghost worry? He’s certainly not jealous by any means tho, of course not! Nope. Not jealous at all. Not even a smidge.

He is tho. He’s jealous. In his own Ghost way.

Thank you for your kind words, nonny and sorry for being so late!

Reader is an undercover tourist in Paris for this one. No warnings, other than a pretty sulky Ghost. More A/N at the end.)

———————————————————————

He hasn’t uttered a word since you returned to your temporary base. No “good job,” no “well done,” no “thank you for risking your life for the team.” Nothing. He didn’t even stick around for the debriefing. Instead, he stashed his gear in his locker and headed straight to the kitchen.

Usually, after a high-stress operation, Ghost would go to the kitchen to make some tea. Yet, the way he went about his business today seemed more like he was about to sharpen his knives than brew himself a ‘cuppa’.

There is a reason he’s upset, though, and you know it. While you are always prepared to risk your life for the team, your latest actions were pretty... out of character, so to speak, and Ghost took notice of that.

You stare at the closed kitchen door, wondering what’s unfolding behind it, how he feels, and whether he can communicate it without lashing out.

“Maybe it’s best to give him some space,” Price advises, narrowing his eyes. “You did a pretty risky thing back there; no reason to push your luck.”

“A whole kitchen’s worth of space, Captain?” you retort. “I’ll evacuate if things take a turn for the worse.”

“Call for backup if you can’t handle it,” he winks at you. “And don’t tell him I did that,” he says, pointing at his closed eye.

You smile at him, and push open the kitchen door. Ghost sits at the table, his back turned towards you, hunched over a cup of tea. He has his balaclava draped over his right thigh and his gloves on the table.

“Your hair is a mess.” You tease.

You reach to fix the stray hairs hanging over his forehead, but he pulls away from your touch. You lower your hand and go for the kettle instead. This will be much more difficult, you think to yourself.

“Coffee?” You offer. Although you know he’d refuse, you feel it’s a good way to break the ice.

Yet he doesn’t reply. Instead, he reclines on his chair and stirs the tea with a metal spoon. With your back turned to him, you pour the preheated water into your cup, add coffee granules, and cool it down with a gentle blow. The clinking of the metal spoon against the ceramic mug continues until it suddenly stops.

“Are you alright, mademoiselle?” He mocks, with a fake—and quite terrible—French accent, mimicking the enemy guard who “rescued” you when you dramatically pretended to twist your ankle in front of him.

A chuckle escapes you, and you turn to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter. He keeps his gaze fixed on his cup.

“I had to buy some time for Soap and Gaz, Lieutenant,” you explain. “They were inside that safehouse, gathering-”

“Intel,” he interjects. “I was there too; no need to rehash it.”

“The guards were dangerously close, sir,” you press on. “There was no time.”

He shakes his head. “No time doesn’t mean dropping to your hands and knees like a coquette, bawling your eyes out, waiting for a French knight in shining armour to come and save you now, does it?” he spats.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Coquette’? You? He knows damn well the fall was staged, the tears were fabricated, the vulnerability was an act. The fall did hurt; otherwise, it wouldn’t have been believable. But shedding tears over twisting your ankle? No way. You’ve endured bullet wounds in the past, for heaven’s sake, and barely flinched. Ghost knows that. Yet, he looks more…

“Jealous, Lt.?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” He murmurs, scratching his forehead.

“Say what you want,” You shrug. “But you must admit: it was a pretty convincing fall.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Nothing says more ‘convincing’ like kissing the cobblestones of Paris.”

“Alright,” you say, leaving your cup on the kitchen counter. You cross your arms in front of your chest and nod upwards. “What would you have done, then?”

“Shoot him,” he responds, his black-painted eyes shifting from the cup to you. “That’s why I was up on the rooftop, remember?”

“What’s the point of going undercover if you’d eliminate the threat like that?” You persist. “And in a public place like that? Come on, Lt.!”

He pushes his cup to the side, places his hands on the kitchen table and stands up.

“Have you ever thought of what would have happened if your cover was blown?” He asks, raising his voice. “How was I supposed to protect you if you were right in front of my bloody target?”

You keep staring at him, his last words replaying in your mind.

How was I supposed to protect you…

You look at your mug on the counter; the steam from the coffee is almost gone. It must have been transferred onto him instead, you think to yourself. Might as well let him blow it off. Let him vent.

“I know how to protect myself, Ghost.”

He sits back on his chair and brings his tea closer, shaking his head.

“You should’ve waited for the signal.” He says. “We’ve got a plan for a reason.”

“I understand, s-”

“Falling in front of the enemy, letting him scoop you up like a fucking princess in agony, removing your shoe, fetching you ice from the coffee shop wasn’t part of the plan.”

A smile threatens to escape your lips, but you suppress it. You turn your back to him and pretend to clean the counter. There’s no reason to anger him more.

“Sir,” you begin. “What is the problem here: me not following orders or letting the guard run to my aid?”

“I don’t care about that French prick touching your ankle.” He murmurs.

Well, seems that ‘French prick’ touching you bothered him as much as you not following the plan. You stop fake-wiping the counter, grab your mug and turn towards him.

“I apologise, sir,” you say. “It won’t happen again. But you could have voiced your concerns in a less... abrasive way.”

“Wasn’t the pavement abrasive enough?” He snaps. “What’s next? Are you going to cry over it?”

You click your tongue and approach the table, extending your hand for a handshake.

“Alright, enough,” you say. “Let’s make a truce and end this right now.”

He remains still, looking at you. He finally reaches for your hand, but instead of shaking it, he twists it so your palm faces down. With a smirk, he stands up, brings it to his mouth, and kisses it.

“Isn’t that how that fucker would have done it?” he asks, still smiling.

You roll your eyes. At least his anger has died down and you’re left with his—typical—snarky self. You pull a chair across from him.

“Mind if I sit?” You ask.

“Normally, I’d tell you to ‘hit the bricks’,” He murmurs, motioning for you to take your place. “But you’ve already done that.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I keep confusing “ankle” with “uncle”. You twist your ankle, not your uncle ffs.

[brewed-pangolin]

Consider lovely charming Soap trying to make an innocent reader swoon for him, all for the reader to unintentionally pull an uno reverse on him. Hes chatting their ear off, talking himself up. All of sudden the reader interrupts him and says that he has the prettiest eyes they've ever seen. Johnny starts to malfunction, he can't talk, his face is going red hot.

Usually he doesn't get so tripped up but it came from such a genuine place, he tongue tied. Instead of him being a cassanova like usual he's just staring at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes and pining for you.

Blue Eyed Casanova

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes

Synopsis: Johnny Casanova pulls you in with his eyes, and you shake up his world with nothing but an unconscious whisper.

--

Look, you can't just throw Johnny's eyes out there and not expect me to go a little crazy. His baby blues fill my soul, okay.

I went back and forth on this for a while. Wanted to do a full fic but went for the drabble instead. Hope you like it.

Also including this with @glitterypirateduck SoapItUp Challenge. Used Prompt 29.

Happy Super Soap Sunday 🧼

You never thought you'd be so enthralled by a man while sitting at a coffee shop.

Hanging on every word, ears perking to the subtle nuances of his thick accent. Going all doey eyed as he reminisced about his younger years back home in Glasgow.

Eyes tracking his hands as accentuated his stories with gentle, undulating movements. Glancing every now and then at his luscious lips that just begged to be kissed.

You had to pull yourself back a few times. The urge to lunge over the table and lock him in an embrace, making your skin tingle and stomach churn with overwhelming eagerness.

But it was his eyes. Those gorgeous, cerulean orbs that sparkled like diamonds in the soft light of the morning sun. A blue that enchanted, pulled you into the maelstrom of his soul, and you were nothing but a wading vessel lost in his turbulent sea.

-

"You have such pretty eyes, Johnny," you whispered under your breath. Barely audible.

Johnny froze mid sentence. Hands raised, cupping the bulk of his account between his palms with his mouth agape and eyes twinkling in boyish bewilderment.

"W-what ya say?"

You smiled. Unashamed at being caught by your verbal plunder.

"I said, you've got the prettiest eyes I've ever seen."

Johnny closed the cavern of his gaping mouth with a dramatic gulp. Adam's apple undulating beneath the flesh of his neck as a rosey hue radiated over the circumference of his cheeks.

And those eyes glistened. Exploding waves of color like a supernova within the whites of deep space.

"Uh- me eyes? Ya- ya like me eyes?" He stuttered. That confident Casanova overtaken by childlike astonishment at the most beautiful words he'd ever heard.

"Yeah, Johnny. I do."

"Um, thanks. Got 'em from me mum. She's got th'most hypnotizin' stare I've ever seen. Y'know, the kind that..."

You couldn't help the curl to your mouth as he rambled on once more. The skiddish waiver on his tongue was all the confirmation you needed that your words had had the unconsciously planned impact.

You leaned over, just enough to cup his jaw in your hands to render him silent to your oncoming approachment.

"You talk too much," you purred, just before placing a tender kiss on his welcoming lips.

A subtle moan reverberated deep within his throat, making your eyes flutter closed as it vibrated against your mouth and echoed down the curve of your spine and into the hollow of your core.

The faintest gasp escaped your lips as you felt his tongue beg for entry into your mouth.

Granting him. Tasting him. Savoring the flavor of espresso and last night's whiskey on his breath as the calloused flesh of his palm cupped the supple curve of your jaw.

You wanted more. Needed more. Begged for the world to disappear and let his skilled hands work you over as his mouth greedily devoured your heart and soul.

The last remnant of your sanity made you pull away. A hushed whimper fell from your lips as your eyes cracked open to see the very flushed face of one breathless Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish.

"Steamin Jesus, lass. Was tha' your plan th'whole time? Makin me swoon all over ya, only fer you to get me all wrecked by them pretty words a'yers?"

"Maybe. Did it work?"

He nodded. Eyes swirling, bright blue darkening like an approaching storm.

"Aye. It did."

He leaned in to take your lips once more, yet you halted him. Pressing your fingers to his mouth while you pursed your lips with a knitted brow.

"Not here. Need somewhere more private."

"Why? Cannae I kiss ya out in public?"

A devious smile crept into your lips. Leaning in while simultaneously grabbing at your purse. Bringing your mouth to his ear to mutter the sweetest temptation and force a pleasured shrill down his spine.

"I don't want you to kiss me on my lips up here, Johnny. I want to see how pretty those eyes are gonna look between my thighs."

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @punishmepunisher @d3athtr4psworld @glitterypirateduck @shotmrmiller @ghosts-goldendoodle @astraluminaaa @writeforfandoms @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @queen-ilmaree @thetrashpossum @tacticalanxiety @simpingoverquestionablemen @mykneeshurt @kkaaaagt @haurasha @havoc973 @luismickydees @foxface013 @designateddeadend

[ghoastixx]

Yandere!Hannibal and Yandere!Will Graham, who are obsessed with the survivor of a serial killer, who has resurfaced again. So the reader needs to go into some kind off protection and now stays at Hannibal‘s with Will visiting regularly and Hannibal comforting her?

Yandere!Hannibal & Will Graham x gn!reader

synopsis above

Notes: Okay okay okay... as someone who used to read A LOT of yandere fics, i'm flattered to be writing one for such a thirsty fandom. But, I must admit, this is my first time actually writing one. So bear with me please. Also, YAY!! A WILL GRAHAM REQUEST!!! (I'm a stereotypical will graham lover boy) I do love writing edgy insane will graham :3

Author notes: Mentions the "ghost face" killer... sorry y'all at the end of the day im not original and scream 1 holds a dear dear place in my heart. Will is sort of creepy in this. Reader is broken but trying to heal, will and hannibal ruin that. Reader sort of takes Margot Verger's place in a way? Reader is a bit shallow and emotional, sorry chat.

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

The nightmare started two years ago. The ghostface murders happened every year or so; ever since that massacre in Woodsburrow when it all began. They popped up all over America. It wasn't a shock when a new copycat showed up in Maryland, Baltimore. A shame...sure. A shock? Not as much.

You weren't very worried. You lived a relatively boring life, a safe life. You were not final girl material. Well, that's what you had thought before someone in a ghostface mask stabbed you on the walk home from work.

You remember how exhausting the press was when you woke up alive, how nauseating the treatments were, how tedious the whole stay was. It was all boring and you were scared. Your face was all over newspapers, magazines, blogs, what if he came back to finish the job? The fear was too much, you fell into a deep pit of self pity and anxiety... One particular article though.. tattle crime. It pushed you over the edge.

People around you could sense the distress, you were referred to a psychiatrist upon your release. A Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

The first session had gone well, in your opinion. Of course, you hadn't been the most open of patients, but he was so patient with you, he was so understanding. You couldn't see how fond of you he actually was.

The first time you had walked into his office, he was amused. You had been the talk of the news, lately, and here you were now. Sitting in his office. You were interesting. A normal person, someone who had never really been bothered by much.. now utterly shattered. A beautiful vase put to waste, he would be the gentle hand to put you back together.

You met Will Graham almost a year later.

Your appointments were always right before Will Graham's. Of course, you didn't know that, but he did.

You had just finished up a session with Dr.Lecter, gently closing his door behind you, you were met with a shorter man looking intently at you. He had dark curls and his glasses were clinging to the edge of his nose. You stared back at him for a moment. He wasn't making direct eye contact, but he was looking.

"Excuse me...can I help you?" you murmured, a bit freaked out. He shook his head, snapping himself out of it.

"I'm sorry- are you Y/N L/N?" He asked, he had a nice accent that you couldn't place. You sighed, crossing your arms.

"Yes, what of it?" your annoyed tone made him look away from you.

"Nothing-I'm sorry- I just went over your case in my lecture this week,"

"Lecture?"

"Yes, I'm a professor."

"Oh.. what class, if I'm allowed to ask?" He smiled, shaking his head a bit,

"You can ask. A criminal analysis class." you nodded.

"That's very interesting Mister..."

"Will Graham."

You two began seeing each other a lot more while switching roles in Lecter's chair. Friendly smiles, waves, anxious nods.. and then Hannibal started to get into Will's head. His intentions turned to the computer. Researching about you. He reassured himself, he was just doing his job. Researching victims. Until he brought you up in a session.

"What seems to be on your mind Will?" Hannibal asked patiently.

"One of your patients." This caught his attention,

"Which one of my patients would this be?"

"Y/N L/N." Will leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs out. Hannibal straightened up.

"Y/N, I see." His voice was a bit firmer now. He had grown protective over you. Possessive. "what of them?"

So Will began talking about his newfound obsession with you. This pleased Hannibal just a bit, the idea that they both could have you.

So, with Hannibal's nonverbal permission, Will started to get more involved in your life as you both slowly started to succumb to Hannibal's manipulation.

Everything was going swimmingly. That was until you got a notification on your phone during work today.

"Ghostface killer resurfaces after two years!"

With trembling hands, you clock out and immediately go to your car. You sit in your locked car, shaking. As soon as you read the article, you turn off your phone, putting it in the console. You start driving.

You knock on the lavish door, your skin pale and your body shaking. You're so cold. You begin pounding on the door..faster.. why can't he just come out faster?

The door swings open, you almost hit the taller man in the chest. He was wearing a vest and a white button up shirt, dress pants. He had just gotten off work. His eyes held annoyance, but when he saw your rather fragile state, his face grew concerned. He ushers you inside, his firm arms around your shoulders, leaning your shaky form to a sofa. Sitting you down and making you explain to him what's wrong.

"He- he's back Hanni. He's gonna come back after me-" you manage to cry out, his hands softly going through your hair.

"My dear, you're okay.." His phone rings, which makes you jump. He glares at it before seeing it is Will. He answers it, a very frantic voice picks up.

"Hannibal- I can't get ahold of Y/N-"

"Will." he all but chided. "Our love is here, calm down."

"I'm coming over." he stated before hanging up. He sounded frustrated, which just scared you even more.

A few minutes later, a disgruntled Will walks in, immediately coming up to the sofa which housed you clinging to Hannibal for dear life.

"Y/N- I tried to call you- I was so worried." Once he saw your expression, he toned it down as he sat next to you. "Pup..it's alright, we're here."

Both men frowned when you shook your head. "No! He's back for me- he's gonna get me."

Hannibal responded with a 'tsk' sound, still playing with your hair. "My love, he will do no such thing." Will hummed in agreement, rubbing a hand over your back. "You'll stay here with Will and I, we'll keep you safe and sound."

Will was pleased when you caved into the demand, he honestly thought you would've denied it quicker. Both men dotted over you before pushing you to get some sleep. Sandwiching you in between them. Will waited til he could hear your soft snores before looking at Hannibal with a bit of a glare.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea." Hannibal looked at him with a false innocence.

"What wasn't a good idea, Will?"

"Poking the killer. Getting him to want to come back."

"It will all work out..we just had to..scare them into submission. You see? Hasn't it worked."

Will sighed a bit, "Yes..I still don't like it very much though.."

"Nothing will happen to either of you, Will. I wouldn't allow it."

Will did stop talking, not wanting to wake you. Besides, he knew Hannibal had a point. They did have you to themselves now.. and if everything went to plan.. you wouldn't be leaving.

[scivors]

My genuine head canons about Eddie Gluskin that I wrote in my notes app:

I'd like to add a little disclaimer: these head canons involve some heavy topics, so, if you're not comfortable, you aren't obligated to stay.

Also, I do not support any of Eddie's actions..just to make it clear..

ANYWAYS I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO THIS SO HERE WE GO

Like the idea of him being a tailor (if you don't know what that means it basically means a person whose occupation is making or altering suits, jackets, and dresses typically to fit a particular person.) He's so creative and almost patient enough to work with materials. I also like to think that's something he shares in common with his mother who must've taught him a good few things about creating and measurements..

He'll hum a little tune to himself as he's working, makes him concentrate more..

It's not always, though, sometimes he loses his patience if the sewing machine isn't cooperating like it should be..

Although his whole character is based on "love" and wanting to find a special bride who loves him just as much as he loves his bride, it's sad to say that his needs will never be fulfilled..

What I mean by this is that not only are his delusions serving him zero purpose but not only that, hurting anyone that comes across him cause he's so desperate to be loved. However, these delusions could be a result of a coping mechanism from all the trauma he went through.

It's like trying to break the generational trauma but instead making it far worse than you could imagine..

So, being severely damaged as he already is, he takes it upon himself to somehow create this little world where he has a family of his own, a beautiful wife and children.

I also like to think of him being trapped in his little cell where he has nothing but a bed and his own little imagination.., staring off into either the ceiling or some random thing and just sits there..,maybe even talking to himself or laughing..

- His mother's lack of acknowledgement for what had happened to him when he was small made him develop some sense of protective nature as a fully grown adult especially when he mentions the topic about having his own children..

- "He appears so charming and friendly" is what he wants some to believe, he cares about how he presents himself time to time..

He wants you to believe he can be good, a perfect groom, a perfect father he never had. He will show you this people pleasing, gentle, kind and loving personality before he completely switches up and becomes the opposite..

- So, about the love part. Some describe him as overly obsessive, which don't get me wrong, he is. Though, it might seem like this isn't much of a big deal to him cause he will show you every ounce of love he has and shower you with it, if you plan on giving yourself to him that is. You'd be his number one priority, you'll never feel like a choice, you are his everything.. It's always like living the dream from the very start, it'll feel like a movie in Hollywood but slowly yet surely this doesn't last how it should...

Imagine being taken care of by someone as charming and loving as he is, imagine him calling you loving words in his English accent and no I'm not just talking about "darling" , I'm talking about :

"Are you alright, my love?"

"Your virtues have so strangely taken up my thoughts.."

"I think you're stunning.."

"You look as pretty as always.."

He is old fashioned, so he will eventually take it upon himself to act like a gentleman around you, he will make the first move, gets you flowers, he plans everything since he would love spend time with you.. It's all about getting to know eachother..

You'd never have to do such work, stay at home and he will do all the providing. 50/50 chance he comes back home with some nice flowers or small gifts..,like I said, old fashioned..

His thoughts would only be you. His number one priorit would always be you. But,... it's not you?..

You're you but also you're not?..

His mind creates this character of you, it's what he's expecting from you, how you act, how you talk, how you dress, how you walk..it's what he expects from you rather accepting you for who you are. This results to a lot of guilt tripping..

And I know, it sucks, but should've thought about it that before going for a psychopathic maniac that's in an asylum for a reason..

- It's quite easy to spot this one, but one of his most common triggers is when someone makes him think they're going to abandon him.

"I can't be alone!.."

By the way, his height and his strength is actually so scary that if you do eventually try to abandon him by walking away, he'll break the door down, he'll find you, he'll do unspeakable things to either you or the furniture that's in his way of trying to get close to you

(Speaking of which: I've noticed a lot of people using the term "Yandere" for an individual with mental illness. Please, stop that..)

Outside of the asylum I like to think his sense of fashion is probably top tier old money, just casual and nice..

Probably likes taking night walks with his nice coat on. That'll keep anyone from expecting him to be a psychopath..

Originally, the man ((((COULD)))) be from England, however, his parents decided to move countries from Europe to America cause they probably liked it more that way..

Eddie is definitely those kinds of people who have that one parent that's always been treating them like shit their entire childhood but still hold a special place in their heart for them cause they don't have anyone else.. That's Eddie towards his mother, I mean, he was her son...all he had was her and deep down he believes that, there was a point she wanted to help..(Even though her absence permanently damaged him)..

But somehow..that caring nature, that charming side of him, that right there, that came from her..

[hiskillingjar]

Strade with a clingy reader? (I apologize if someone has already asked for this)

lots of requests for this one sooooo i wrote a fic for it!! i also have a headcanon post stacked in the drafts for the other boys (gender neutral) sooooo here we go!

6000+ words, the most lovely and dubious of consent, also posted on archive of our own cus. ya know. it's long babeyyyy

It was rare that you went to Strade’s bedroom door after a nightmare.

Rarer still that he actually let you in.

When you slipped into his room, the opening and closing of his door almost silent and the slow padding of your bare feet against the carpet even quieter, his still body and slow breathing (deep and low, almost a snore but not quite) made you think, for a moment, that he was still asleep.

You wondered if you should just slink away and leave him to it. That was until he wordlessly lifted the corner of his duvet, without even opening his eyes first to greet you, in a silent invitation for you to join him. 

It's so wrong and (honestly) borderline perverse that such a small gesture made your heart swell in your chest to the point of nearly bursting out of your ribcage, but you couldn't help it. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

It was easier to play the victim than acknowledge that you might have been at least a little complicit in your captivity.Though you always had a way of blaming yourself for these sorts of things. 

That’s probably what a therapist would have told you, if you had one.

With a hidden smile that you hoped he'd never see (lest he possibly use it against you, and he probably would), you climbed into his bed, effortlessly slotting in next to him as he wrapped a thick arm around your middle and pulled your body close to his, like you were two pieces of a puzzle that naturally fit together without even a degree of forcefulness. His bare, hair-fuzzed chest was sweaty against your back and stuck to the thin vest that you wore in lieu of pyjamas, but the warmth was comforting and pleasant, like sleeping next to a radiator or space heater, so you didn't mind. 

It was nice to be reminded that he existed, you thought as you pressed back against his warmth with a peaceful sigh, to be reminded that this wasn't all some dream concocted by your sick, messed-up mind, desperate for a semblance of comfort and company, no matter the cost to your mental state. 

At least when he was real, you couldn't be blamed for liking the attention, the moments of sweetness, the quiet mornings where he was too tired to pull his mind games on you or hurt you.

Those moments kept you gentle and kind, and, for the most part, pliant to his whims. 

It was your only method of survival, after all, staying sweet on him in spite of it all.

"Come here, buddy," Strade murmured, still half-asleep, his slow breathing like wine, heavy and addictive, and his low voice (his accent thickened with sleep) as smooth and as comforting as velvet, suffocating and all-encompassing, like the warmth and dark of the room, like a pill bug curled up under a mossy log, like a foetus in the womb. "Come here..."

You didn't say anything as he pulled you in even closer, your hips pressed tightly together, his broad thigh wrapping around yours and caging you down against the expensive mattress. You could feel the first stirrings of arousal through his boxers against the thin gusset of your shorts, but you didn't mind, not all that much.

It was too early for worries, surely, too early to be concerned that he might take advantage of your need for comfort and closeness, and take your body as he so often did. 

His arms pulled you into him again, and though he was hot, burning hot (almost too hot, like you descending down the pits of Hell itself), he was also strong and powerful and comforting (and, and, and, you always made explanations for him) and safe. 

You couldn’t possibly resist turning to face him (at least you told yourself that you couldn’t resist), nestling your head into his soft chest, into the crook of his shoulder, and breathing in his scent, gasoline, motor oil, a little sweat (he hadn’t showered yet and you kind of hoped that he wouldn’t until later in the day), the soft musk of effortless masculinity and tan skin and thick hair.

Against your better judgement, you felt safe here.

He was strong. He made you feel small and protected and loved, in a funny sort of way. He was powerful. He was in charge of the house, the looming patriarch of your fucked up little family, like a husband with a doting wife,, and he held all the power that came with that position in a way that so naturally suited him. 

He reached a hand up to stroke through your hair, mussed and a little matted from sleep, and kissed the top of your head very lightly, grumbling lowly in satisfaction as you nestled in even closer, your arms reaching and squeezing around his middle, your legs tangled up with his as you clung like a babe did to its mother.

He was comforting. He made you feel safe.

He made you feel safe.

What a sick joke.

Had the you from three years ago been able to see you now, you had no doubt that they would have begged Strade to kill them, that fateful night in the basement.

Better dead than as a psychopath murderer’s (rapist’s) little lap dog, his little wife, his perfect little hostage.

But he was not your enemy, at least not for now.

He was merely a slumbering beast, a lion, a wolf, his chest rising slowly with each calm breath, up and down, and his eyes gazing lazily down at you as he assessed his prey with the placid and amused detachment expected from a predator.

"My, my, you're awfully clingy this morning," Strade crooned quietly with a low chuckle, the hand in your hair drifting down to your shoulders, feeling the warmth of your skin as it slid underneath your shirt (roaming over the scars that marked your skin). "What, did you have a bad dream or something?"

"Or something," You mumbled, pressing your face a little harder against his chest, trying to make him feel your weight on top of him as he so often did with you. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it much (despite your weight gain over the last three years), but you knew you were doing it, so that’s all that mattered. "I just want to feel you...feel you against me."

"Mm, promises, promises…" He said with another laugh, shaking his head as his thick fingers roamed the notches of your spine. "Normally, you'll do anything you can not to feel me, fraulein...why the change of heart, hm?"

His stubble dotted cheek grazed against yours, the bridge of his nose nestled right up against your jaw, inhaling your scent as you did him, and when you looked up (as he was gesturing for you to do), his golden eyes (so vibrant, even when the room was so dark) were half lidded (still tired) and teeth-achingly fond. 

He was always so good at showing just how fond he was of you, after all.

“What, do you feel like being a good girl for me today?”

You didn't answer his question, not properly. You couldn’t bear agreeing or disagreeing with him, not today anyway.

You didn't say anything, in fact, but you didn't stop him either as he pushed the fingers of his free hand back through your hair, cradled your skull (curling his fingers into a fist) and brought you in for a deep kiss, which you acclimated to almost instantly, clinging onto him even tighter.

It was pathetic, and at least you knew it was fucking pathetic, to admit to yourself that he was everything you wanted before all of this, that he embodied everything you fantasised and masturbated to when you couldn’t get a real person to touch you. It was probably even more pathetic to admit that you still wanted it, in spite of the psychosexual dynamic that was as close to any kind of Stockholm Syndrome as anything else (like it was a real condition anyway). 

You still felt awful and unbearably guilty, in spite of your new found honesty to yourself, that every inch of you continued to yearn for him and crave the feeling of his touch, instead of fighting for your life to be free of him. 

But you always had a way of feeling guilty about the things that you wanted.

You had no doubt that a therapist probably would have said that to you too.

The bruises that seemed to always paint your skin ached slightly, like just being near him, the fire that he was, was enough to set every nerve alight, but the sensation was addictive.

You wanted to get lost in him. 

You wanted to let him make you his, whatever the cost of that submission was.

So, instead of wallowing in your own self pity or lying to yourself (as your fellow captive was so prone to do), you let yourself wrap your arms around his neck and pull him towards yourself, deepening the kiss and letting him take you as he wanted (as he always wanted).

Understanding your need without words (since he was always so strangely attentive of that sort of thing), his kisses gradually grew rougher. 

His sharp cannibal teeth grazed your parted lips as he kissed you hungrily, sucking your tongue, biting down, making you squirm and writhe and moan. His hands roamed down the length of your body and dug into each trembling curve and slope of newly acquired fat, squeezing you so tightly and pressing your body against his so forcefully, it almost hurt. 

This was what he wanted, though, and you knew that: you losing control, giving him full access to you, your bruises, your body, hurting you. 

You were sure that he was going to tear into you one of these days, when he bit down on your lips again, a rupture of blood streaming from your mouth, staining his tongue. You were sure that he was going to make you bleed even more and glut himself on your blood completely, but you didn't care. 

You wanted him, still wanted him, in spite of all of that, in spite of his violence and hunger.

And the more you gave in to him, the more he wanted to take from you.

His mouth wandered down from your lips (his slack tongue drooling a dangerously pinkish string of spittle over your lips and down your chin) and to your neck, making you shiver and gasp even more, gripping onto him tightly, arms around his shoulders, legs tangled with his and squeezing tightly.

"I like this," He mumbled softly, pulling back from your neck (after leaving a bite in his wake)  for just a moment and rubbing his forehead against yours, a smile dimpling his features and making him look all the more sickeningly fond of you. "This attitude turn. You're normally so...brusque with me, so dismissive. It's not all that becoming of someone in your position, you know."

"You can't have minded it too much," You replied, your tone as flat as usual, though your arms tightened around his neck and your legs clung even tighter. "I'm still alive...have been for nearly three years, now."

"Mm, that's true," He agreed with a nod, one hand descending down your body, groping your hips, the soft flesh of your ass, palming the shadowed bruises that covered your flesh. "I guess you're cute enough that I can handle a shitty attitude now and then. But, this..." He laughed again before digging his teeth into his bottom lip and grinding his hips down against yours completely. "This really is too cute for words. Maybe you should keep it up, hm?"

"Maybe," You replied coyly, your own eyes flitting downwards as your hips bucked in unison to his grinding, pressing the two of you together even more.

This was the place he liked to bring you, right to the very edge of your most intimate and darkest desires. It was his way of tempting and playing with you, you guessed, an overgrown child playing with his food, playing with his favourite toy until it broke, while you begged and pleaded for him to pull you back from that edge, before it was too late and you fell over it and succumbed to them completely. 

You found that you were (often) pushed far over the edge, and had been for a while as he climbed on top of you and pinned you down to the mattress with his heavy body (pressing his weight into you), his lips against your neck, leaving kisses, bruises, bites and harsh marks on your skin.

You writhed and mewled at each burning pulse of pure shock from his teeth, his tongue, but the pain was such a sweet sensation...almost as good as the satisfaction he felt watching your skin purple and bruise, evidence of what he did for you that everyone would have the chance to see (if he ever let you leave the fucking house again).

This was just how he loved, you told yourself, because surely he must love you to have kept you around this long.

Your pain was his pleasure. It was as simple as that.

"Are you alright?" He asked you as he pulled back and looked in your hazy eyes.

"No," You rasped as you reached up to touch one of the worst bites, hissing as you felt wet oozing out of you, mingling with saliva and spittle. "I'm bleeding."

"Well, that’s hardly a concern of mine," He chuckled, evidently a little turned on by your honest answer as he leaned down to kiss your lips a little more, his strong arms bracketing your neck and shoulders as he loomed in view. . 

His tongue pressed inside your mouth, pushing past the barrier of your lips, and dragged against yours in a sleepy and slow, massaging sort of way, in spite of his violence and how much your bruises were throbbing. He had the potential to be soft and gentle with you, and displayed that potential to you readily only to take it away just as quickly. 

An overgrown child playing with his food. Playing with his favourite toy until it broke.

"I want to make you bleed more," He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth with a slight smirk, groping hands travelling down your hips to wrangle your shorts down your legs and throw them to the side. ”I always do. That’s when you look your best, you know?”

"Mmhmm?" You hummed against his lips, threading your own groping hands through his hair and pulling him closer to you, not bearing to have him away from you for even a moment.

“Mm,” He rubbed his forehead against yours again, his breath warm on your skin as his hips slotted between yours, and you felt the heat of his erection through his underwear against your thigh. “Makes me that much crazier about you.”

You didn't stop him as he initiated another deeper kiss.

But you never stopped him.

"Mmph..." 

You groaned lowly at the back of your throat as your fingers curled into fists in his hair and pulled hard. It was the most amount of power he would ever let you have over him, you knew that, as you tethered him closer to you, to your desires, as he sucked on your mouth, his tongue delving hungrily against yours, again and again, invading you as he pushed closer to you.

You wrenched your head back, away from the kiss, with a harsh gasp (breaching the surface of the water before drowning)  as he slid his hand up between your thighs, feeling the wet heat that lay at the top of them and devling his fingers inside without even a moment of hesitation or any kind of resistance. Dripping wet, pre-cum smeared between your thighs, you were that fucking eager for him.

God, you were fucking pathetic. 

You hissed painfully as you felt him bite down on your neck again as he slowly finger-fucked you, the scruff of his stubble itching your skin as his teeth dug in deeper. You did your best to retaliate, curling your fingers tighter into his hair and pulling on it. You’d tell yourself that you were trying to get him away from you, to release yourself from the painful clamp of his jaws, but you knew that that wasn’t the truth, not really.

It still felt good to do, though. 

Strade growled lowly at the pain in his scalp, and his free hand planted itself in the middle of your chest, pinning you to the bed, holding you down like a struggling animal, stopping you from flinching too much or squirming away from him as he dug his teeth even deeper, grinding them together to make the pain that much worse.

Your mind was hazy, torn between the excruciating pain of his bite and the overwhelming pleasure of his thrusting fingers inside of you. 

Your body was so exposed, so vulnerable, to everything he wanted from you.

Strade was in full control of you, as he so often was, and you ached for it. 

"God…do you even know how much I love you?" You rasped shallowly, finally letting go of the fists of hair you were still clinging onto, as he pressed another bite against your shoulder, lighter but still painful.

“Hm?” He hummed airily against your skin, a light hearted smile gracing his features as his hazy eyes glanced upwards, eyeing you as he pressed his fingers a little deeper inside of you, rubbing against a bundle of nerves that always made you tremble.

“Ngh-!” You groaned, fisting your fingers into the bedsheets in lieu of clinging to him even more, your eyes squeezing shut as you tipped your head back. “Ahh…I do love you. I do. I shouldn't, but I do. So much I can barely stand it..."

“Hm…no wonder you’re so clingy this morning,” He replied, his voice full of good humour, as it often was, like he was telling an especially mean joke that he’d never let you in on. “You’re all loved up. How sweet~” 

He kissed you again, his body pushing down against yours, grinding into you as he slid his fingers from inside you and tucked down his boxers, finally revealing his hard cock and letting it smear a line of pre-cum against your bare skin. His hands bracketed your hips as he kissed you more forcefully, biting down again, and slid down to your thighs to part them further, spreading you open.

He sucked on your sore mouth hard enough for the stream of blood to start trickling again and delved his probing tongue back into your mouth, tasting your blood, evidently (by how hard his cock was) getting more and more turned on as it smeared on his tongue, stained his teeth, made him that much more hungry to see you writhe and tear into you.

You didn't care. 

You'd welcome him tearing into you, if he stayed this close, if he kept kissing you.

"So sweet," He murmured thickly against your lips, in something between a growl and a purr, as he pulled away from the kiss, a smear of blood painting his own lips. "So fucking desperate for it. Do you like this, liebling? Do you like me hurting you like this?" He asked, his voice husky, his breath hot, as you felt him slot his hard cock against your entrance (rubbing against your clit), ready to breach the barrier and take you, as he so often did.

"I like you kissing me," You were breathing hard, your eyes going down to try and watch as he pushed into you, though, of course, you saw nothing but his belly pressing against yours, his tan skin achingly warm (and hot). "Even if it hurts...I like that you're doing it, all the same."

"Is it painful?" He murmured, licking his lips and breathing heavily as he breached your entrance and slid inside of you, easily. “Does it hurt so much, fraulein? Can you barely even take it?”

In spite of the lack of resistance (pathetic, fucking pathetic, god, you hated that you wanted him this badly, you hated how wet you were and how ready your body was for his invasion), there was something intimately painful about the stretch. It was like your cunt was struggling to take all of him in, even though it had done this countless times before, like your body itself was rejecting the painful force behind his initial thrusts and making you clench down even tighter around him.

"Ngh!" You cried out, your back arching and your head thrown back, as his hands covered shadowed bruises painting your skin, digging in, tearing into you. "I-It's torture...the worst pain imaginable…"

"Oh, you poor thing," He murmured with a giddy, rasping little chuckle, like your admission was everything he needed to let go of any sense of composure that he might have had before (if he ever had any). "But there's nothing you can do, is there? No, no, nothing at all."

“Mph,” You whined, your shaking hands going up to cover your sweating face as he gripped your hips tighter and slid even deeper inside of you.

“And I don’t think you want to do anything, either.” He continued, his eyes that of a predator, wide awake and ready to tear into his prey. “You want to be taken like this, forever. Hmm…” He laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Wunderschon, ja? You’ll always be mine and I don’t even have to try…”

Who's to say that love needs to be soft and gentle?

You think you had heard that once in a literature class…or maybe it was a fucked up movie you watched, when you didn’t have this, when you tried to scratch the itch with film recommendations on forums and shock sites. 

All the same, this kind of love (because it had to be love, it had to be, it had to be) was clearly as good as any other, both for you and for Strade.

It seemed that every time you cried out in pain or writhed underneath him, like you were squirming to be set free, it was enough to make him lose his mind and push even deeper inside of you, caging your body down with his, filling you up completely in an erratic need to take your body, by any means necessary.

"Show me your face." He commanded then, his voice hoarse with desire as he dipped his head down to your level again, his thrusting hips stilling for just a moment. “Let me see you.”

"Don't...hah, please don't look at me," You whined, begging, pleading, still covering your face with your hands, trying to pull back, though for what reason, you weren’t quite sure.

“No, don’t fight me.” He chided like he was scolding a child, an animal, wrapping his fingers around your wrists and wrenching them down forcefully, with a strength you often forgot about and yet, were often well acquainted with. “You know you won’t win, don’t you, fraulein? I won’t let you…”

He was clearly enjoying this much too much to let you pull away now, as he pulled your hands away completely, pinning them down to your chest and  forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

You stared up at him, your gaze caught somewhere between fear and dazed detachment.

The light streaming in from the rising sun outside softened his hulking body into dark, curved silhouettes, and the round, paper lantern behind his head (cheap, replaceable, something that reminded you of home, you said) made him look like some cheap facsimile of an angel, your own personal Heaven when he should have felt like Hell.

An angel to some, a demon to others. You knew you heard that in a movie before. 

"Good girl." He praised, the hand pinning your hands still and compressing your chest  reaching up to stroke your cheek (bruised, scarred, probably imagining bruising you even more). “Good, pretty girl. So lovely, so sweet when they’re behaving…”

You didn't even try to hold back a little giggle, your cheeks flushed as he took your chin in hand and pressed your head back against the pillows, a look of (almost) genuine affection in his golden eyes as he considered you further, as his thrusting hips continued, pushing deep and making your body clench up tightly with pleasure. 

“That’s it, there we go,” He continued to praise, his chest against yours as his free hand slid down to your trembling thighs, hiking them up around his waist and forcing your body to bend painfully in two. “No fighting now, liebling, no fighting me…it makes it so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah…” You stammered, your legs tightening around his full waist as his pace picked up, his hips slamming against yours and forcing out gasping little moans with each painful thrust. 

“Mm, you’d really do anything for me, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” He asked again, the hand on your cheek descending down your neck as his expression grew hungrier and more feral, more desperate for you. “Anything at all?”

“Ahhh…” You groaned, your body growing tight and your mind erratic and manic, as he pushed against your sweet spot multiple times, grazing it but not quite stimulating it enough to feel good. “Yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyes-”

"Oh yeah?" He drawled, interrupting you and running his tongue over his teeth (his sharp cannibal teeth) as he pushed into you again and again, hard enough to get you yelping and the headboard of his bed to start slamming against the wall rhythmically. Thank god you didn’t have neighbours who would hear. "Would you die for me, sweet thing?"

"You-ah!" You interrupted yourself with a yelp when he pulled back enough to slap you hard across the cheek, so hard that it made your ears ring and your head spin. You might have stared up at him, wide eyed, shocked and surprised that he would do something so brutal, so cruel, if you weren’t currently being fucked out of your mind. "Nghh, y-you know I would, you don't...don't even need to ask me."

"Good girl," He praised you (he was, at the very least, good with praise when you were in this kind of headspace), taking your cheeks in hand again and pinning your head down to the pillows and mattress more forcefully, his golden eyes half lidded with desire. "What about killing, hm? Would you kill for me?"

"Strade," You whined, your body arching as his hips continued to ruthlessly slam into yours, each barbaric thrust punctuated with a huffed growl. "God, please-"

"Answer the question!" He barked, letting go of your face to slap you once, twice, three times. You wouldn't have been surprised if your cheek was bruised up again after this, but you couldn't bring even a part of yourself to care about that now. "Would you kill for me?"

"Mmph..." You squeezed your eyes shut (your ears were ringing and your vision was spotted with white, you couldn't hold on). "Yes, yes, I'd do whatever you wanted me to do. Goddd..."

"Sick puppy," He chuckled victoriously, gradually slowing down his thrusts and considering you further with a wry tilt of his head. "You really would do anything for me, wouldn't you? How pathetic.”

You whimpered and raised your chin to hide your burning cheek against the pillow. He was gracious enough to let you do that, this time. 

"That's what I like about you," Strade growled, pressing his face into your shoulder and barring his teeth as he huffed out grunts and groans, his thrusts picking up in pace as he got more desperate to claim you. "Such a fucking suck up. I bet I could tell you to piss yourself and you'd do it, wouldn't you?"

You moaned brainlessly in vague agreement, not quite listening to what he was asking, demanding from you, feeling like your throat was closing up on any potential words you might have been able to say.

"Mm, I'll remember that for later," He huffed out a laugh (hot against your sweaty skin) as he pressed another harsh bite into your shoulder, not hard enough to bruise or bleed (like the others) but enough for your eyes to shoot wide open, and to force a shriek from your lips like a dying animal. "So disgusting, fraulein. I'd have the sense to be grossed out, mph,” He stopped speaking for a moment, his drooling mouth slack as you tightened up around him again. “I-If your pussy wasn't clamping my cock like a fucking vice…god-!"

You howled out again, a full throated scream that would wake neighbours and housemates if you had them (barring…well, the obvious) as he pressed a bite against the sensitive skin of your throat. Unable to contain your pain with just the scream, your legs instantly tensed around him and your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. You even went so far as to dig your nails into the dense meat of his back and drag downwards, sure to leave behind a nasty mark in their wake. 

It was as close as you could get to hurting him, and you'd take the chance to show him even a modicum of pain possible, at every opportunity. 

You weren't crazy enough to not enjoy that, after all.

"Hrghhh, you fucking slut," He growled under his breath through a pained hiss through his teeth, the ‘pet-name’ rasped amidst a slur of German that you didn't understand (and you generally understood it well now, three years in.) "So, that’s how you wanna play, you little cunt?” He demanded, pulling himself upwards and glaring down at you, like he was about to pounce, as he so often did on the victims that came after you. “You wanna take all of me, don't you? So, fucking work for it."

You yelped loudly as he took a sudden and firm grip of your bruised hip and shoulder, and switched the positions forcefully, rolling you onto his front and lying back on the mattress, all the while keeping his cock firmly lodged inside of you.

"Work for it! Schnell, hund!" He ordered again, taking hold of both hips (digging his fingers and bitten fingernails in hard enough to leave a new batch of bruises and crimson crescents) 

While he ordered you around (in a tone that always made your cunt throb, in spite of the shame that caused you), he managed to push his cock deeper and deeper inside of you, thanks to his new leverage on your body, manurvering and handling you like you were a doll in his lap, a toy that he could use however he liked.

You continued to whine and moan like the desperate idiot that you were as he dragged you downwards at a pace you could barely keep up with, your hips coliding with his painfully and barbarically. That did, however, very little to stop you from bouncing brainlessly on his cock, your trembling legs tightening around him (as they so often did) and your hands curling into fists against his soft chest, doing everything you possibly could to keep up with him.

"There we go," He praised, gentle in spite of his harshly barked orders, one hand trailing down from your hip to grope your ass indulgently. "You're doing such a good job, liebling, you are making me so, so proud..."

"I love you," You whined desperately, hotly, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you continued to bounce his cock even harder, even faster. "I love you, I love you so much..."

"Mm, I love you too, sweetheart," Strade crooned with a broad, indulgent smile, his other hand reaching up to grope your chest as it heaved, up and down, newly pierced breasts bouncing in time with each of your erratic thrusts. "I love your pussy, anyway," He continued with a mean chuckle, pushing deeper inside of you as his calloused thumb dragged over your pert nipple, making you shriek. "And these tits, and how nicely your body bruises at the lightest of touches. Like you were made for me to destory over and over and over again...however can I resist?"

He sat up the best he could, in spite of your consistent thrusting, the hand on your ass pinning your body still against his chest as he pushed as deep as he could inside of you, like he was impaling you on his cock…and you certainly yowled loudly enough that it sounded like that.

"That's all that matters though, isn't it?" He asked breathlessly, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours again, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. He was so hot. "That I love you...doesn't matter which parts I love, right?"

"Mm...mmhmm," You nodded, biting your lip to hold back your whimpers and whines, as the hand on your chest went down to grab one of your fists and thread your fingers together, giving him full oppurtunity to pull you in even closer. "Tell me you love me...t-tell me you'll never let me go..."

"Oh, mein schatz," He crooned, his eyes softening with delight, drawing circles into the back of your palm and smiling up at you, breathless, a heaving silhouette in the darkness of the room. "Of course, I love you...and of course, I'll kill you before I ever let you go again."

Your bitten lips, blooming and beaten with hot blood, trembled hesitantly, much like the soft, scarred thighs bracketing his hips, as a smile pulled at your features, giving away instantly just how deliriously happy you were to hear him say those words, and mean them. 

"Keep me, keep me forever, never let me go..."

"Never ever," He agreed with a shake of his head, holding your hand tighter as his thrusting grew erratic and hectic, and each string of words became grunts and growls. "That's my promise to you, liebe. And you're more than welcome to hold me to it..."

You couldn't think of anything else to do, other than kiss him. 

You pressed your fingers into his hair, now slightly damp with sweat (he worked so hard to provide you, like a good man did), and pulled his lips to yours, finally, finally, probing his hot, wet mouth with your tongue and tasting your own blood on his mouth. 

He let you do it, too, moaning softly against your trembling lips and finally admitting his own sensual, desperate hunger for you. He cradled your skull in hand, not gripping or pulling on your hair or trying to wrangle you into some semblance of submission, and let his body still completely, feeling your sinking hips on his and spilling over inside of you with a human-like murmur of subdued pleasure.

And that was all you needed.

You clenched down tightly on him with a wretched gasp, as you felt the warm seed claim your insides and spill down your thighs, and it was enough to push you far, far over that edge yourself.

In lieu of anything else (because how could you do anything else), you heaved out a tired groan between your whimpers of pain and excruciating pleasure, falling forward against Strade's heaving chest as he flopped back on the bed himself, his lungs taking in slow swallows of air, adjusting himself as you settled against him.

Your vision was still blurred with white spots, but you somehow felt grounded all the same as you felt his warm hand slowly stroke through your hair and down your sweaty back. 

You let out a soft purr, a sleepy smile on your face as he continued to stroke you, like an animal in his lap. 

“As loyal as a dog." Strade murmured fondly, tilting his head forward to kiss the crown of your head and nuzzling into your warmth. "Mm, no, actually. A dog has the good sense to growl or bite when you kick it. You just seem to cling harder.” He laughed kindly, giving his head a little shake, dragging his cheek against yours. “Even Ren isn’t as bad as you~”

You murmured sleepily, not responding to his teasing, too tired to, curling a little closer against him and shivering with pleasure as you felt a stream of his seed trickle down your thigh.

"Hmph…go back to sleep, love," He then said softly, gently, (more gentle than he should be), giving your head another kiss as he sat up a little more, swinging one leg over the side of the bed. "I've got work to do. You can stay up here, for now.”

"Noo, don't go..." You pleaded quietly, curling your fingers against him and nestling against his chest again as he swung the other leg down and started to stand. "Stay, stay with me, please..."

"So clingy," He chided with another laugh, ruffling your hair. "Settle down and go to sleep. I'll come back soon, okay?"

Strade’s voice was gentle and fond, but you knew that his word was law and he wasn’t to be argued with.

So, you slid back into the bed and curled your body in tight, shivering as he pulled the duvet upwards and covered your naked body.

“Thank you,” You said with a tired smile, letting your fingers drift down between your legs, feeling his cum still oozing out of you. “That was…it was nice.”

“Good,” He smiled, leaning in to kiss your head again, before standing up straight.

“Sleep well, mein schatz. I’ll be back up soon.”

[dobadoo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ YOU BELONG TO US꒱ ˎˊ˗ yandere twins..

characters — Lumine/f!reader/Aether

warnings — a bit of NSFW at the end, forced relationship, hint of yandere a/n — PLEAS READ! In this AU, Lumine and Aether arrived in Teyvat together, before the disaster in khaenri'ah and long before the very emergence of this region, and they became the rulers of khaenri'ah. sorry in advance for my English, I wrote everything in my native language and translated.

3.964 words

In the progressive kingdom of khaenri'ah, life flowed as measuredly as the wind in the fields, where people did not know about God and did not seek his mercy. There were their own laws and orders. It was according to these laws that a simple family (your name) was forced to sell their only daughter, you, to two royal twins - Lumine and Aether. Your parents did not have the means to feed you, and in a hopeless situation they took a step that changed their lives forever.

When you entered the palace, You was overcome by a feeling of unreality. The spires and golden domes running up to the sky seemed like an illusion, against which she was lost, like a flower among stones. Although the twins looked good-natured and welcoming, You felt something strange under the surface - some kind of understatement, a secret that connected them.

Lumine with her short golden hair and starry eyes looked gorgeous like the sun star of the sky itself, she wore an interesting white dress with golden accents and a star on her stomach while Aether, with the same hair but braided into a long braid and charming eyes, he wore a tom and a star on his chest like Lumine, he wore boots and baggy pants. He cheerfully stands next to Lumine, embarrassing you with his curious but intriguing gaze and bright smile. You couldn't understand why you felt so uneasy. They both waved at you in a friendly manner. Lumine ran up to you, grabbing your hand and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, while you literally froze, staring at her, trying to understand why they were both so friendly to you.. You imagined these two differently…

"Hello.. You are (your name), right? Don't worry, everything will be fine. Dainsleif will show you your room! Get some rest..!"

--

In the first days, you tried to return to normal life, believing that if you were quiet enough, the twins would leave you alone. But instead, gradually, like the heat of a fire, a strange attraction flared up within them. Lumine and Aether began to show their affection… And jealousy if you spent time outside the palace or interacted with others.

After some time, you realized that the twins were not just kind or gentle, but something in their behavior went beyond the boundaries of normality. Lumine often repeated that "true love must be owned", and Aether sometimes, with a slight mad glint in her eyes, claimed that "everything that belongs to me must remain with me." You understood what consequences this could lead to, but the overwhelming magic of their attraction clouded her mind.

As time went on, you realized that the twins were subjecting you to control, and this control was becoming more and more oppressive. The doors of her room were always tightly closed, and she was not allowed to walk in the corridors of the palace without an escort under the pretext that they were not always there to protect you

Once, having decided to escape, you went out into the garden at night. It seemed to you that at least the madness would subside there, and you would be able to feel free for at least a moment. But the twins, anticipating your intentions, were nearby. At that moment, not only tenderness flashed in their eyes, but also discontent, anger, which was taut, like a nerve of a taut string.

"Where are you going, my dear?" asked Aether, his voice was as always, lively and friendly, but chilling your soul.. "We promised to be together, forever…"

Lumine was silent, her eyes shone with crazy affection. You realized that you could not get out. Fear seized you. You saw Them - familiar faces, those who loved you, ready to help. But they were silent shadows that could not enter this world, surrounded by the dark bonds of love.

The feelings you had for the twins resembled the magic of an enchanted forest - dangerous and enchanting. And the tenderly scary looks of Lumine and Aether said that they would not let you go.

Finally, fate escalated. In despair, you made a decision. Hiding the confusion inside you, You decided to do what she had dreamed of all these weeks - to try to regain her freedom, even if it required more sacrifices.

"You can't control me!" you screamed, and your voice sounded like a bell humming in the silence. "I am not your property!"

Lumine looked at you with a pitiful expression, putting her hand to her heart, and Aether sighed silently, coming closer to you.

"We just want you to be with us," Lumine whispered, her voice soft as the wind in the grass.

"Yes, forever," Aether added, shuddering with the joy that filled him at the thought of how you would be together.

As soon as they met you in the garden, everything changed. The misunderstanding between them turned into outright tension. Lumine, with her calm voice, suddenly said: "Understand, we made you ours, and no one will dare take you away." She lacked emotional closeness, and the fear of loss enveloped her.

Aether, on the other hand, approached you, his golden eyes shining with love and… something else. "All it takes is a little time, and you will understand that we are perfect for you," he whispered, setting his boundaries.

You felt a chill run down your spine. The twins had changed, their bright personalities drowned in darkness; Every second spent with them became more and more creepy. You tried to justify yourself, planning to run away, but the twins literally surrounded you with attention.

--

One night, when you were trying to escape from this dark world for the last time, you found that the twins were already in your chambers..

..............................................................................................................................

You feel hot palms on your hips. You tremble from gentle kisses. You are caressed gently. You are lying on Aether, between his spread legs in pants and boots. You lean your back against his chest And you yourself touch with hot lips the plump and tender chest under you. Iter, gently touches with gloved fingers between your thighs, gently rubs, making you moan, tearing yourself away from the woman's breast. Gentle gentle hands pull your head back. You look up: Lumine looks at you with tenderness and love.

"shh..Haha. You don't want us to be heard, do you?" Aether cooed tenderly, putting his chin on your shoulder

You close your eyes and, arching slightly, moan in pleasure, feeling the warmth of some hands and the cold of others. Dawn, sunset, rustling of leaves and the voices of dear people in the palace, and your voice - everything turns into an image of something unbearably beautiful in your thoughts, that a cage somewhere inside you collapses, crumbling into fragments of the past.

"you are our girl..only"

You open your eyes.

@himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance

[sillystappen]

@justlookingforf1fanfictions gave me the idea of a maxiel! high school AU (I made everyone seniors) with discovering sexualities and I am SO DOWN for that. I've never attempted smut so this is really just dipping my toes in (though this is like 1% on the smut scale it's mentioned thinking). If hope this suffices for you though it may have gotten a tiny bit away from the original prompt lol. As in: I gave Daniel a mild sexuality crisis. But don't worry for the most part this is pure fluff.

Is It Chill That You’re In My Head?

Daniel is so ready to leave school, move away from this stupid town in the middle of Nevada and finally live the dream life of partying until 3am, having sex with the hottest women ever and getting some well-paid job that he actually likes compared to the shitty one he has at the corner shop.

Alas, he is not quite there yet. He just has to finish his final year of high school and June cannot come fast enough.

It's April, a pretty mild and sunny day where it's warm but not warm enough to make it feel like you have been shoved into a furnace. Daniel has this last month before exam season rolls around and his teachers have been breathing down his neck about revising for said exams instead of playing soccer with his mates in his spare time. Honestly, they need to get off of his back - he'll pass just fine, and his mocks went as smoothly as butter on a warm bit of toast.

He lifts his head off the desk ever so slightly when his teacher calls for everyone's attention. "Everyone listen up, we have a very late new student with us."

A new student? Now? Jeez that must suck for them, having to move schools right before the end of senior year. Daniel shrugs to himself and drops his head back on the desk.

"Hello, I'm Max Verstappen," a new voice says and oh, that's an accent. Daniel snaps his head up to look at the new boy, suddenly intrigued. The new boy, Max, seems nearly as tall as Daniel if he weren't so withdrawn into himself (clearly anxious to be at the front of the class with everyone's eyes on him), with sandy blonde hair and, despite looking from his seat towards the back of the class, the bluest eyes he has ever seen. They remind him of the ocean, beautiful and clear but also hiding something in their depths.

Daniel needs to know more about this guy.

"I expect everyone to welcome Max and be kind to him in the last months you all are here," his teacher says before turning to Max, "just find an empty seat and sit there for now."

Max nods and looks out towards the class before quietly walking down the middle to where Daniel is near the back. He gestures to the chair next to Daniel, the one by the window that nobody really likes because the sun can get in your eyes.

Daniel is slow to reply, not realising that Max was asking if he could move so he can sit there. For a while they just stare at each other. "Oh yeah, sure," he mumbles, the realisation eventually hitting him, tucking his chair in a bit so Max can walk behind him and sit down.

Max plops down next to him and rests his head in his hand, tilting it away from the window and towards their teacher, who started explaining some literature principles from the start of the year (lest they forget).

Daniel doesn't pay attention, he's much more interested in the way Max chews his pencil while he's thinking.

1 hour later, at the end of class, Daniel finally speaks to him. Max hasn't said a word since he sat down so Daniel still can't place the accent. They have both stood up, and slung their backpacks over their shoulders and Daniel deliberately stands in Max's path.

"Hi! I'm Daniel, nice to meet you mate," he smiles and sticks his hand out.

Max looks at it for a moment before shaking Daniel's hand in small , gentle motions for a second. "Max, but you know that." He speaks! Thank the Lord.

Daniel chuckles, "yeah, I do. I like your voice, where are you from?"

Max flushes. "Thank you. I'm Dutch. And Belgian too, but raised in the Netherlands."

"Oh that's awesome! I'm just born and raised here, nothing exciting."

"You seem exciting," Max says, as if it's a normal thing to say, like the sun is out, or you need oxygen to breathe. But he smiles, just a little quirk of his lips, and Daniel's brain unhelpfully supplies 'cute'.

It's then that Daniel realises they're still holding hands and in his sudden surprise of his own brain and that, he yanks his hand away from Max's maybe a little to forcefully because Max's smile drops.

"Sorry, aha. I just remembered I gotta go to my next class, as much as I'd like to stay and chat." Daniel rubs the back of his neck out of awkwardness as he half lies, because he really does have another class to go to but it's just two rooms down the hall.

Max nods, still emotionless, "me too." He steps around Daniel, lightly pushing him, and walks out the classroom door.

Daniel spends the rest of the day in his own head. God, why can't he just be normal for once? He's made things weird with the new guy and acts like he's attracted to the guy, like he's interested, which he's not mind you. Daniel Ricciardo is 100% straight, straight out of straightdom if you will. Sure it was nice to hold his hand, and he wants to make Max smile because it's cute and his eyes really are blue like the ocean, but that's just pure platonic feelings, he swears. He just wants to be Max's friend and know why the hell he came to butt-fuck-nowhere Nevada instead of staying in the Netherlands. And why now? Max just produces numerous question marks in his head and it's so confusing.

He doesn't speak to Max again until the following day at lunch, when he enters the school cafeteria. Daniel grins at him and calls him over to sit with him and his mates, Michael and Blake. Max seems hesitant but agrees. He sits next to Daniel and opposite Michael, though makes sure to put a bit of distance between himself and Daniel, just in case.

They hadn't spoken in literature class because Daniel was about 10 seconds away from being late and he really didn't want to annoy Max at 9 in the morning.

"Who's this Daniel?" Blake asks.

"This is my new friend Maxy." Daniel says.

"Maxy?" Michael questions. And shit, Daniel didn't realise he had said that. He doesn't really do nicknames for anyone, unless his friends decide to be annoying then an affectionate dickhead or asshole does get thrown around.

"It's Max," Max eventually speaks up, his cheeks tinged red, "I'm new. I joined Daniel's literature class yesterday."

"Oh, well, welcome Max. I'm Blake and this is Michael."

"Hi." Max's response is clipped and Daniel can't stand it. Blake and Michael give him a look of 'who is this person and why are you trying to befriend him?' and Daniel just shrugs at them.

"So, Maxy, Max, can I call you Maxy?" Daniel asks before launching his next question. Max looks at him, and Daniel feels like he can see into his soul and is about to pull out the thread keeping him together. Max stares like he is trying solve a puzzle and he must've found his answer because he says yes.

"Sweet!" Daniel swears he catches Max smiling at him when he cheers. It's a small thing yet again but Daniel calls it a victory. "Maxy, what are your plans when you finish high school? I'm going to do sports science hopefully."

"My dad wants me to do law." Max sighs and picks at his food. To Daniel, everything about that sentence felt off.

"Yeah, but what do you want to do?" Daniel prods.

"It doesn't matter."

"I don't know Maxy, it matters to me." Daniel half expects to descend into an argument but what he doesn't expect is the way Max looks at him, a real smile, albeit close-lipped but real and big, stretches across his face. Max looks down in an attempt to supress it, and Daniel is having none of that.

"Hey." Daniel shifts closer and brings his hand under Max's chin, lifting his head so Max looks at him. Then Daniel just stops working, his following words disappearing into thin air.

Max looks at him like he's a mystery and a wonder, which is clearly a good thing judging by the way he is still smiling, albeit a little smaller and softer. Daniel lets himself move his hand to cup Max's jaw and he swears he feels Max lean into it. If Daniel had to describe Max right then, he would've told you he looked beautiful. Maybe he could-

Michael coughs suddenly and Daniel drops his hand, he and Max springing apart and what the hell was that?

"Literature and writing," Max says suddenly. "What I actually want. It's literature and writing."

Conversation goes back to normal after that. Towards the end of the day, Michael corners him at the school gate.

"Look, mate, you know if there's anything you need to tell me then I'm here for you," he says, which is weird in itself because Michael knows everything there is to know about Daniel.

"What are you on about?" Daniel asks.

"Just... you know... about you and Max-"

"There's really nothing to it. I want to be his friend. I'm not gay," Daniel cuts him off sharply, the vague implication getting to him a little.

Michael remains calm. "I'm not saying you are; you don't have to label yourself. I'm simply saying if you were interested in Max the same way you would be interested in a girl then it's ok."

"I'm not. I literally have known him for two days and it wasn't like he just walked his pretty self into class and rocked my world just like that."

Michael raises an eyebrow at the word 'pretty' but doesn't comment on it. "Alright, man. I guess I will see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see ya." Daniel waves and walks out the gate.

The rest of the week and the next one continues in a similar pattern. He'd see Max in class, then hang out with him at lunch and something weird would happen that Daniel would shake off, such as them linking pinkie fingers in the middle of class only to let go when the teacher calls on Max, or Daniel wrapping an arm around Max when he sits down with them and forgetting to let him go until Michael eyes him questioningly. Daniel just concludes that he's simply a physically affectionate friend to Max, who has not complained at all about it.

Max slowly opens up to the group, mainly Daniel. He tells him all about the Netherlands and what school was like there (pretty interesting stuff, if Daniel is honest), as well as why his dad relocated them to the states. Turns out his dad thinks there's more money to be made as a prosecutor in the US than the Netherlands and chose now because he wants Max to go to an Ivy League school to follow in his footsteps.

One day Max tells him and only him that his mother and sister are still in Belgium, and that his parents are divorced because his father is abusive. Daniel hugs him that day and tells him that he is welcome over any time should he need it.

He learns that Max is a huge nerd though, much like the rest of them and Daniel usually ends up on the receiving end of a book-rant. He doesn't understand what Max is talking about most of the time, but he talks so passionately and uses his hands to emphasis every word ever that he just cannot find it in himself to stop him. It's frankly adorable.

He also goes to watch them play soccer on Fridays. He doesn't play, mainly because Max claims he isn't very good, but he is a very good cheerleader for Daniel, much to the complaint of everyone else.

"But Max, I have scored more goals this match than Daniel," Blake had once said.

"So? Daniel needs the extra motivation then!" Max had proclaimed.

Daniel loves how comfortable Max is with everyone now, and how he has grown out of his shell and starts to be more reciprocal to Daniel's affections, so to speak, even initiating some of his own. For example, Max often taps his foot against Daniel's which sends warmth through Daniel's body. Another time Max just simply leaned into Daniel and rested his head on his shoulder while he was talking to Blake. Daniel, once again, didn't think much of it let alone properly realise it until someone pointed it out.

Max also tries to teach the group a little Dutch but eventually gives up because according to him it sounds like they're gargling water. Max burst out laughing when Daniel attempted to say 'I am 18 years old'.

It was the first time Daniel had seen him like that and he wanted to bottle up that laugh so he could hear it forever. And God, his smile is gorgeous. His whole face lights up and his smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Daniel has made it his mission to get that to happen again.

Daniel is also realising that maybe, just maybe, these aren't exactly thoughts you have about a friend. He wants to protect Max, to hold him and never let go, but also be the reason he's happy and laughs. However Daniel has never ever been into a boy, and it kinda ruins the 'dream life tm' he has pictured for himself because now said picture is starting to have Max in it: the two of them on a sofa watching some shitty Netflix show. He curses Michael in his mind, blaming him for putting the idea of being with Max in his head.

As he lies on his bed on Sunday, end of the second week with Max, he allows himself to think about kissing Max. Max's lips always look soft and maybe it would be as nice as a girl. He'd hold his face the same way he did two weeks ago, eventually thread his fingers into Max's hair as he kisses him. Girls usually like that. Maybe Max would be in his lap, holding on to his torso like a lifeline as Daniel deepens the kiss into a full-on make-out session, their tongues dancing together as they run their hands along each others bodies and up their shirts and the feeling of Max's skin would be enough to drive him crazy as Max pushes him down, smiling against his lips and-

Daniel sits up abruptly, forcing out the images from his brain before he ends up with more than a semi. He then startles because holy fuck he is getting turned on by thinking about Max.

He immediately calls Michael.

"Bitch, what do you want? It's 1am." Michael groaned down the phone.

"I'm definitely attracted to Max but like... I'm not gay."

"Congrats on finally realising. I called it from day 1... well day 2 for you," Michael says smugly.

"I hate how well you know me sometimes." Daniel grumbles.

"No you don't."

Daniel simply hums. "I'm not gay though. I still like women."

"As I said, you don't need to label it. You just like Max."

The words are comforting; Daniel still likes women, but he also likes Max which means he is still mostly straight. And being called bi or pan also doesn't seem right. He just likes Max.

"Now answer me this," Michael says, "is this just a physical thing or-"

"No! I want to know everything I can about Max. I want to make him laugh and smile and protect him. Y'know, all that sappy shit. I mean, I do think he's very nice to look at but..."

"Yeah yeah I hear you buddy. That's good for you. Anyway, I'm hanging up and going to sleep. You should do the same."

Daniel's phone beeps before he can say good night.

It's felt... good admitting it aloud. It felt like it became normal instead of being this weird thing he had been trying to avoid for two weeks and living in a state of denial. Saying it to Michael was akin to a rock being lifted off his chest and he can finally breathe again.

But just as Daniel is drifting off to sleep he wondered how the hell he is going to face Max the next morning.

Monday morning comes around Max sits in the same spot by the window he always does. Daniel admits that he does shamelessly stare at Max, and how the morning sun makes him look golden. Full send, right? He likes Max in the same way he would like a girl, so he shouldn't be acting any differently. That's his solution to last night's conundrum. Max doesn't seem bothered when he catches Daniel though, and smiles softly at him, making Daniels heart do little flutters.

They can't stare at each other forever so eventually Daniel pulls his gaze away and half-tunes into the lesson on the importance of the curtain being red or some shit like that. He also heard some paper ripping but makes a conscious choice to not look for the sound.

At the end of the lesson, Max taps his shoulder and places an origami flower behind Daniel's ear, made from a torn page of Max's notebook.

"For you," Max says, then walks off happily to his next class. Daniel carefully touches it, not removing it from where it's sat. The stem is tucked into his curls and the flower seems intricately made. It feels romantic and Daniel can't help but blush as he traces the folds of the paper with his fingertip. He doesn't move it for the rest of the day.

Lando, a junior Daniel knows but wouldn't say he's friends with, finds him in the hallway between classes and comments on it immediately. "Ooh Daniel, who's that from? A girlfriend?"

"Haha, no it's-" Daniel cuts himself off. It's different telling Lando than it was telling Michael. Shit, is he ready to even be out like that, to where the whole school knows? Sure he has only a few months left but still, it's a big thing.

"Who's it from then?" Lando prompts, reaching up to touch it.

Daniel swats his hand away. "A classmate," is what Daniel settles on saying. It's technically still the truth.

"Damn, you should ask this classmate out. She is definitely into you!"

"You think?" Daniel tries (and fails) not to sound too hopeful.

"Duh! This is some master-craft shit," Lando says like it's obvious. "Whoever gave this to you must like you. And you clearly like her with the way you're parading around with it."

Daniel nods and scampers off to his next class.

He spends the whole hour wondering how the hell he will even tell Max he likes him and well... he's got nothing. Sure, he said 'Full Send' and all that but Max is different, from a girl and everyone else. He wants it to be important and not just dumped on him during lunch break like most people do. Max is special and deserves to be treated as such.

Therefore the logical thing to do is ask him on a date after school and take him somewhere nice (which is pretty hard in middle-of-nowhere Nevada but not totally impossible) and romance the fuck out of him and potentially kiss him.

Boom! He has a plan! (Someone be proud of him; he's putting himself out there for Max.) Now to set said plan into motion.

At lunch, he sees Max but he keeps it as normal as possible, because really there are no boundaries with them. When Max notices he still has the paper flower exactly where Max left it, he beams like the sun, eyes scrunching up and smile splitting his face. "You kept it," he says.

"Of course, I wore it proudly all day," and Max preens at that. Daniel continues, "It's so pretty, I can tell. Where did you learn how to make this?"

"I got bored one day, and thought that it would be nice to give someone I like."

"Aw Maxy," Daniel coos, reaching to hold Max's hand on the table and lacing their fingers, "I love it."

Daniel can tell Michael is giving a 'really?-right-in-front-of-my-salad' look but hey, he should've known this would happen. Blake has gotten used to their shenanigans but even he looks at them weirdly. Daniel doesn't let it get to him, not this time.

He shuffles closer to Max, pressing their thighs together and starts to chat with Michael about their god awful math class. He never shies away from Max, who almost melts next to him and Daniel fights the urge to kiss him there and then.

He's practically bouncing off the walls of the hallway when the bell for the end of school rings. He lingers by the gate, waiting for any sight of Max and beelines towards him when he sees the familiar ocean blue eyes. "Maxy!"

"Oh, hi Dan." Dan. Not long after Maxy became a thing, Max started using Dan instead of Daniel, and Daniel loves it. It feels intimate to hear Max call him that when everyone else uses Danny or just Daniel. "What's up? I do have to go though, so I'm gonna have to rush you."

Ah of course, his dad and Max's extracurriculars. Daniel makes it quick. "pleasegoonadatewithme."

"...what?" Ok maybe too quick.

Daniel clears his throat and plucks the origami flower from behind his ear and starts twirling it in his hand, watching the flower spin and admiring the petals as he repeats himself. "Maxy, please go on a date with me."

Max doesn't speak, and to fill the silence and to stop himself from panicking, Daniel keeps talking.

"I really like you, like had a full on gay crisis over you because I've never felt this way about a boy like ever and you're like so you and so so perfect, and I know this town doesn't offer much but I will try my damn best to make it special and all romantic and-"

"Dan. Yes." Max eventually says, cutting him off. He's smiling ear to ear in the way Daniel loves the most. "I really like you, too. I thought it was pretty obvious. I don't go around making those," Max gestures at the flower, "for anyone. I told you that they're for the people I like. Besides, I also don't let just anyone touch me like you do."

"Oh," Daniel says dumbly. Because, yeah, that all tracks.

"Now I do have to go, but I have some free time on Thursday after school if that works for you?"

"Yeah, that's brilliant Maxy," Daniel says a bit too eagerly for his liking.

Max plucks the flower from Daniels hand and puts it back behind his ear, tucking it gently into his curls. He presses a quick kiss to Daniel's lips and says a quick "bye" before darting out the gate, leaving Daniel standing there, touching his lips in a daze.

June can wait. Thursday cannot come fast enough.

[beansmack2021]

All For You (Part 2) (Human!Alastor x Daughter!Reader)

Summary: Y/N has never been so scared. How could her father do this? How could her father be this?

TW: blood, gore, mentions of death, cannibalism, Y/N and Alastor argue

It was warm. So very warm. Y/N wondered if she'd still had a fever, and that everything she'd seen was some sickness induced nightmare. Surely, her father wasn't really the Killer of the Bayou.

She opened her eyes. Everything was red and hazy. She looked to the side and scrambled away, shrieking, as she met a body, oozing blood and rib cage opened wide.

Someone to her left chuckled. She looked up and was met with a tall, shadowy figure. His eyes and mouth glowed a radioactive yellow-green color. He wore a tall, black cap. When he spoke, he sounded fancy. It was liking he was trying to sound posh but not quite speaking with a British accent.

"Hello, little one. You don't really look like you're supposed to be here."

"I-" Y/N didn't think she should have been there, either. Wherever there was. She had a feeling she was in one of the afterlifes. She had another, worse feeling that it wasn't one of the nice ones.

"I'm in Hell, aren't I?" The tall figure seemed shocked by how dejected Y/N sounded. She'd accepted where she'd ended up rather quickly, especially for someone who scrambled away from a body so quickly.

"Yes. You look a bit too.... gentle to be here. Usually, the new arrivals have some kind of scales or sharp teeth. Claws, maybe. But you? You look fuzzy."

Y/N looked to her left. She could see her reflection in one of the mirrored windows nearby. She reached up gingerly to touch the teeny little stubs on top of her head. She had little ears that stuck up through her hair. She was covered in tawny fur and white freckles. Her nose was replaced with a little black snout. It twitched as she took a whiff of the air around her. It smelled like sulfur, sewage, and blood.

She wondered vaguely if she had become too familiar with the coppery scent. Sure, she'd only seen one of her father's victims. But, she'd also smelled her own blood as she faded away. She thought she might have felt blood splattering her face as she died. She had heard a loud sound as aje went, after all.

Had someone found out what her father had done? Was their city so (rightfully) angry with him that they sought their own bloody vengeance? Were they happy that she was dead, too?

Y/N started hyperventilating. She thought of her friends from school and what their parents would say about her. "Oh, Joanna. Her father was a murderer. She wouldn't have grown up to be anything good."

"I'm not like him" she muttered. The cloaked figure looked confused. Y/N's eyes widened like she was some cornered animal. "I'm not like him!"

Before the man had time to respond, Y/N took off down the street. She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to find somewhere to hide. What if her dad found her?

She was panting heavily as she crashed into some trash cans in the alley she'd run into. She nestled between them, pulling her legs close to her chest. She looked around rapidly, trying to calm herself. She just couldn't. She'd hoped she was having some horrendous nightmare, and instead, this was her new reality.

Well, Hell was probably pretty big. The chances of her father finding her had to be a little lower, at least. The chances of anyone finding her in this alley....

She heard a noise to her right. She covered her mouth to try and hide the sound of her own breathing. Y/N was terrified. She should have stayed with the tall man. At least he seemed nice. What if this person decided to kill her? Could she die again? Would she be gone for good this time?

"You can come out. I know where you are and you're not really gonna be able to get out. I can keep you safe."

Safe? Y/N had forgotten that was a thing she could be. Between realizing she was living with a cannibalistic murderer and ending up in the fiery pits of literal Hell, safety sounds unreachable. Yet, she couldn't help but feel like maybe this new person could actually offer it to her.

Hesitantly, she climbed from behind the trash cans. Her hands, now covered in a layer of soft, brown fur, pushed against the tin beside her. She stood before the mysterious voice. It belonged to a fairly short man. He had yellow-gold hair that was somewhat hidden by a tall, white cap. He held a cane with a shiny red apple on the top. His entire suit was white. It looked expensive, at least by her standards.

Then again, everything was expensive to her. Her father had been the one to buy her all of her wants and needs. He'd insist on getting her something, even if she tried to protest. He'd buy all of her favorite foods. Her mother wasn't really in the picture, so her father had taken on all of the parental responsibilities. She found herself missing him just a bit, and she had to remind herself of the scene from her kitchen. He'd seemed so docile, just standing their cleaning everything up. Yet, the blood that painted his hands and face suggested he was anything but.

She shivered, trying to clear the image from her mind. This man before her radiated genuine care for her well-being, but he also radiated power. She was afraid to trust him. She was afraid to trust anyone. Surely, though, this man could protect her from her father. She could sense that much. She decided to follow him.

She was a bit surprised to see that he led her to some strange looking hotel, though. He introduced himself. He was Lucifer, King of Hell. She understood why he seemed to have such an aura of power. He was literally the most powerful being in Hell. He introduced his daughter, as well. Her name was Charlie. She was shown to a room and all but coddled.

Of course, she had to pretend that she was still sleeping when Lucifer and Charlie came into her room, peering down at her. She slowed her breathing, the way that she had that fateful night with her father, and listened in.

"I can't shake the feeling that she's not supposed to be here, Char. She's in my records. I called Saint Peter. She's not on his list. She's too soft for Hell. But she had to have done something that kept her from getting into Heaven, even something small."

"I don't know, Dad. The situation seems off. She seems really nice. She doesn't talk the way the rest of the new arrivals do, though. She talks like she's from an older generation."

"She talks like Alastor."

Y/N's breath hitched. Sure, she was in Hell. That wouldn't stop her from praying, though.

"We'll figure it out. Okay, Dad?"

𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳. It couldn't be. Could it?

She couldn't chance it. She tried to maintain her composure, waiting until the two left the room before she silently slid from the bed. If there was even a possibility that these strangers had brought her right to her murderous father, she needed to leave. She couldn't trust them, even if they really did want to help. Ignorance is dangerous. These people may not know what he did, and they'd probably bring her right to him if they connected the dots.

After wrapping herself in the new clothes Charlie had given her, Y/N tried to sneak down the stairs of the hotel. As soon as she saw the door, she made a break for it, only to immediately slam into someone.

She hit the ground hard and flinched as the man who stood before her asked if she was alright. She most certainly wasn't, though. The face and voice man she'd just run into were unmistakable. Looming over her, feigning concern, was Alastor.

[lucyswinter]

ocean blue eyes _•*.🌊

inspired by the song ‘gorgeous’ by taylor swift

pairing: cillian murphy x f!reader

summary: you love to admire your boyfriends pretty blue eyes :)

genre: fluff

warnings: cillains piercing blue eyes /hj

“ocean blue eyes/lookin’ in mine/i feel like i might/sink and drown and die”

♡ ♡ ♡

(a/n): second little blurb is out! im always reminded of cillian when i listen to this song hehe. *not proofread! im also not super happy with the ending of this but that’s alright.* also this is an au where his gorgeous lovely irl wife does not exist!! no disrespect to my queen yvonne or their kids!<3

♡ ♡ ♡

“Hello my love” Cillian hums as he slips his big hands around your waist and pulls you into a hug from behind. He pushes your hair to the other side of your shoulders and proceeds to rest his chin softly in the nape of your neck, but not before placing a tender kiss under your ear. “Sorry I’m home late” he apologizes, his silky Irish accent accentuating every syllable “The shoot went later than scheduled” he mumbled into your skin. You could feel his long eyelashes flutter shut against your skin as he took a deep breath. You both stood quietly for a moment, finding a relieving comfort each other’s natural warmth.

You reach backwards and manage to place the palm of your hand on the back of his head, giving his ashy brown hair a loving scratch.

“It’s alright Cill. I managed to occupy myself.” you tell him, bringing your hand back down to your sides to then wrap them around the arms he had woven around your waist.

“Hmm?” he asks, an amused tone to his voice. “And what did you occupy yourself with, love.”

“Mmm well I baked some cookies, and listened to some music…” you recount quietly.

“Oh? Well what kind of music you were listening to?” He chuckles, trying to move the conversation along.

“Well I had some Taylor Swift-“ you begin to tell him, but you were interrupted by Cillian unraveling himself from around your waist and spinning you by your shoulders to face him. “There we go, pretty girl. I can see you now” he smiles, giving you his full attention by locking his innocent, ocean blue eyes to yours “as you were saying…?” God you could just melt….

“Oh well i- um” you let out a slightly exasperated breath, distracted by his eyes that twinkled under the fluorescent lights of your apartment. “I was listening to um…” you start, unable to quite get the words out. His pupils were almost the color of a ripe blueberry, sweet and tender. How could you think of anything with those…those things staring at you? They were just so pretty, and they matched his complexion perfectly-

“My love, are you alright?” Cillian snaps you out of whatever daydream you had begun.

“Sorry I um” you clear your throat and turn your head slightly ajar to avoid his gaze. You notice the distinct feeling of blood rushing to your cheeks and tinting your soft face an embarrassing pink. “I sort of lost my train of thought there…what was the question again?” You ask him dizzily, avoiding his eyes in the hopes of getting out a complete sentence.

“Lovey, you seem quite distracted is… is something wrong?” he chuckles hesitantly. You continue to blush silently, your face painting itself even pinker at his attention. “Hey. Look at me.” He asks sweetly, lightly taking your head in his hands and turning it back to him again. At this point, eye contact was unavoidable, so you just accepted your fate, and let your brain be fried by the unimaginable shimmer reflecting off of his glassy pupils. He had to know what he was doing to you, looking at you sweetly, praising you, prompting you with gentle touches. It was so evil of him, teasing you. Surely it was illegal to look so perfect…

“Cill I just…your eyes are so…god they’re so…they’re gorgeous” you breathe. Your cheeks were now surely the color of ripe strawberries. “Sorry that sounded weird…”. You cover your cheeks with your palms, the momentary embarrassment making you want to crawl away and hide forever. It isn’t long before he tries to pry your slightly damp hands away from your burning cheeks. “Hey pretty girl, where’d you go.” He laughs. “Look at me” he asks again. This time, you comply, lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

It truly was an out-of-body experience. The longer you looked into his eyes, the more the dashing specs of grey begin to float in the shocking blue waters of the ocean that was his iris. The calm waves splashing back and forth with every small movement, every tilt of his head. You wished you could go to whatever body of water he had trapped in there, though you worry that you might drown if you tried, overwhelmed by the beautiful beaches, freckled with tan sand and thick palm trees.

It was all so difficult to tell him. You felt sort of…creepy being so easily encapsulated by a singular functioning part of him. And such a small one at that (unlike some other parts of him….😉). You knew he thought it was sweet, it just…gosh it drove you crazy. You couldn’t express it all if you tried, and it infuriated you, but you knew that it all came from a place of love. One last look at his eyes, you quickly remember you should probably break the silence that suddenly felt loudly eternal. Your eyelashes brushed your cheeks few times, trying to regain any train of thought.

“I love you, Cillian.” You decide. He could hear about all of this the next time you get lost in his eyes…

“I love you too, angel.” He coos softly.

♡ ♡ ♡

(a/n): tysm for reading my second fic! i will most likely be trying out some smut soon, so bear with me while i work on that 😭 (my bestie aki has written smut in the past so maybe ill ask them for some help lol) anywaysssss, love u, and the song i was inspired by is linked below 🎶 <3

[vigilxnte-shit]

i can see you || matt murdock x éliette de castillon || one-shot

summary: éliette de castillon is 19 years old and engaged to a 22-year-old law student. as far as everyone is concerned, she’s eager to marry and lead a god-fearing life, but a certain blind classmate of her fiancé can’t help the way she takes over his senses.

word count: 2,993

warnings: angsty kind of?? STEAMY. MAKING OUUUUUT. no smut but it gets kind of close, el is engaged to another guy while making out with matt. mentions of emotional abuse. also not edited and its 2:30 AM as i’m starting this

a/n: I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING this is a one-off instance where it’s lowkey kind of hot and also el’s fiancé sucks ass. once again thanks to yuna for the inspo <3

this is an 18+ blog. minors dni. || masterlist

matt murdock saw the world in a different way than most. he had lived without his sight since he was nine, moving through a world on fire with as much grace as one could muster. he smelled every tear leaking from an eye somewhere in the room, heard each cry and moan and shout as he walked the streets at night. matt murdock couldn’t see, but he could feel, a reality that often made the world seem loud and undefeatable and evil.

and then he met el.

el smelled like vanilla and cashmere wood, a scent matt had picked up on half the girls in his classes- clearly, it had to be sold out at the mall right now. despite that, despite it’s overuse, it smelled different on el, unique, warm and soft and scrumptious. it was the first thing his senses picked up on when she sat next to him on the clubhouse fireplace. he’d smelled the exact fragrance on foggy’s date from last friday, but this time it was intoxicating. this time it was enticing.

he turned to face her then, ready to make a move based on scent alone. he didn’t need anything else, he wanted his lips on her skin, but as he turned to her he paused.

her heartbeat was racing. her breath was jagged and raspy, choppy, uneven, a sensation that he knew too well. her temperature was rising, he could taste the salt in the budding tears, and he knew he had to say something.

“hey, are you okay?” he asked. he sensed the turn, could tell she was facing him now, but she remained speechless for the shortest moment. she was taking him in. he was used to that. 

“your breath picked up,” he explained softly. the last thing he wanted was to raise her anxieties, to spike that precious heartbeat even more- he just wanted to explain himself. “it sounded like you were about to hyperventilate.”

he heard her heartbeat begin to slow, the milliseconds between beats starting to lose their numbers and her lungs taking in their oxygen more slowly. he didn’t let himself smile on the outside, but he felt it internally. he’d done something to help.

“i…i’m okay, thank you.”

in that moment, matt could have sworn the floor had given out and sent him straight to heaven. her voice was soft and warm, laced with the smallest hints of a foreign accent on the end of the words- french, he would later learn. in the moment, though, he didn’t care. god himself could not have bestowed a damn about the origin of her accent, all that matt knew was he wanted her to start talking and never stop.

éliette de castillon became his own phantom that night. he went to bed with her voice echoing in his head, with the scent of her vanilla perfume stuck in his nostrils that he hoped would never leave. the sound of her slowed, peaceful heartbeat, the gentle warmth in her cheeks- she was a walking lullaby, a fresh cup of chamomile tea on a chilly winter’s night. and sure, he couldn’t tell what she looked like. he had no clue what her skin tone was, what shade of hair she had or the color of those undoubtedly gorgeous eyes. but matt could see éliette de castillon, and that vision was enough to make her his very own patron saint.

he spoke with her three more times before she married samuel joseph. two more parties; both garish and loud and overstimulating, leading to them heading outside to talk on the local playground for hours; and one fateful five-o-clock in a maintenance closet. 

it was an icy december evening, three days before the end of the semester. the last party they had been to was a fortnight prior, and el had been haunting him since. he’d learned to zero in on her scent amongst the hundreds of girls wearing the same one: she paired it with a caramel body wash and the natural fragrance of her skin, just defined enough she stood out in the overcrowded smellscape, and he knew she passed by him at least once a day. her heartbeat varied in an out, and he usually heard her humming to herself- musicals, pop songs, classic rock. anything. she could have hummed to a sports broadcast, and he would have listened with the fascination of a child in a space museum.

she’d told him at that party she didn’t want to marry sam. that she was desperate and terrified of him, that he mocked her smallest mistakes and encouraged his friends to do the same. she was only marrying him to get away from her foster parents, to escape the life she’d lived in italian catholic purgatory ever since frank had left for the military. she had let matt hug her, and he’d spent each of those fourteen days dreaming of the day he could experience that again. her body was perfect, everything he’d dreamed of. she’d felt like she was made for his arms, the way her waist dipped in right at his arms’ height, her head perfectly on his shoulder and that irresistible vanilla signature strong in his nose. she’d only pulled away after a second too long, and she’d stared at his lips after- he felt her hesitation, the wheels turning in her head as she debated and then shut down the second sam announced his arrival.

he hadn’t been able to focus in class. he’d barely even updated foggy on his love life, too busy thinking about the chances of talking her into breaking it off. he could not care less about preserving his friendship with sam, about keeping things in line with the future district attorney, as he gratuitously called himself. no, matt only cared about taking the dove clean out of sam’s hands before he could clip her wings. 

even now, walking down the hallway from the library, matt thought of it. he felt around with the cane he didn’t need, almost swinging it as he dreamed of their embrace and her heartbeat and her voice and the way she spoke french. his heart had been dropped in her backpack, carried around with her all day, and matt didn’t care to get it back. she could keep it, she could stomp on it, she could toss it out the window and run it over with her car- it was hers to keep and destroy if she wanted. 

he made it almost to the entrance, head in the clouds and feet about to join it, when his nose picked it up. he froze in his tracks and his cane with him, sniffing around, trying to figure out it’s direction. that was el’s perfume. undeniably, definitively el’s.

before he knew what he was doing, he followed it. he had the thought to fold up his cane and toss it in his bag, to drop the act of needing it and just find her, but in the end he didn’t even need it. the smell got stronger, and he paused as his fingers brushed another’s.

“hi, matt.”

it was like sunshine on a spring morning, a fresh-baked cookie after a long day. he couldn’t think straight, all he could muster was vanilla warm sweet as he reached for her hand. 

“el, we need to talk.” 

he couldn’t see her furrowed brow, but she didn’t protest, letting him drag her back up the hallway. she asked for an explanation, checked to make sure he was okay, but he didn’t answer. he walked to the closest supply closet as fast as his feet would carry him, following the closest smell of bleach to get him there.

when he pulled her into the closet, she hesitated. he couldn’t blame her- this was sudden and so shocking, even he didn’t fully process what was happening. he couldn’t give her an answer, though, just pulled her in and locked the door behind them. 

in the tiny closet, he barely remembered to switch on the lights. he hung his backpack on the hook and took el’s messenger bag off her shoulders, not answering her questions. once both bags were safely hanging on the back of the door, he pulled his glasses from the bridge of his nose, tucking the rectangular lenses into the water bottle pocket on the side of his bag. 

“matt, what is going on,” she demanded. “you’re acting so strange, we’re in a supply-”

her mouth stopped the second his hands touched her face. she froze completely, and he couldn’t help but pause to take in the entire sensation. her stunned silence, the sensation of her cheeks heating, her speeding heartbeat and that damned perfume. the silence was a perfect backdrop as he slowly traced his thumbs over his cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, her lips.

“don’t marry sam.” it was whispered, reverent, a sign of worship. a show of devotion. 

he heard her breath catch and felt her eyes searching his. the whole room felt like it was rising in temperature, like at any second foundation would collapse and the ceiling would cave in on them from the sheer tension in the room. 

“matt.” her voice was near silent, quiet as a dandelion seed, it would have carried away on the wind had they been outside. her soft, fragile fingers covered his, a second frame for the beauty he held between his hands. “matt, you…i can’t just…”

“you can.” he nodded, biting his lip with an air of certainty. “you can. you can tell him no. you can take it back, tell him you’ve changed your mind, and leave him behind.” one hand dropped from her face, taking hers and kissing each of her knuckles. “el, he isn’t good for you. your sparkle fades the second you hear his voice.”

“what would i tell him?!” she squeezed his interlaced hand, never taking her eyes from his intense, gorgeous, unseeing gaze. “what would i say? i can’t- i can’t just leave-”

“it’s your life, el.” the sentence lingered, hung in the air and stagnated. he had fired the bullet. “it’s not his.” 

verbal lightning had struck the room. all that remained was stillness and electricity and static, two people and their frazzled minds and a life-changing decision.

she wasn’t saying she loved sam. that was what matt kept saying to himself, that in the midst of it all, in the silence and the conversation and the nights at parties, she had never once declared that she loved sam. 

and now el was silent. quieter than a nun during the eucharist, than the falling snow on the night they’d first met. no words escaped her lips, and he could taste her strawberry lip balm even with the distance. he sensed it as her eyes dropped to his own lips, her focus undivided and her heart rate slowly climbing. he could hear the blood rushing, imagined the pink in her cheeks.

slowly, he released her left hand. he moved his right forward to hold her waist, his fingers brushing the soft polyester of her shirt. his left pinkie and ring finger curled just under her jaw, a gentle tug, a silent request.

“tell me to stop,” he whispered.

“no,” she answered.

the distance between them was closed in seconds. el’s lip were the softest paradise he’d ever experienced, soft and hydrated, coated with a strawberry flavor that could have been candy. he stole kiss after kiss from her lips, her breath escaping in delicate whimpers between lips and touches and emotions. his right hand found its way slowly up her side, his languid fingers coming to her neck- not to squeeze, just to hold. 

“can i go further?” matt whispered. his free hand migrated from her cheek to her hair, lightly gripping a handful and pressing his forehead to hers. “tell me if you don’t want this, el.”

she nodded. he smiled at the feeling of her hair as she did, still holding it gently.

“words, el.”

“i do.”

he didn’t know it at the time, but he’d think of those two words for years. he’d spend days agonizing over them, weeks on his knees in the church, begging god to bring his el back so she could repeat it over the altar this time. he’d spend five years wondering how she was doing, if she was okay, if she’d lost her sense of flight. 

but for now, it was enough. it was enough for him to tighten his grip in her hair and slip his tongue past her lips, kissing her as though she was the only thing he had ever wanted, the only prize he could ever dream of winning. 

he had to press her against the wall, press one hand to the wall next to her head to stabilize himself. she tasted like summer breezes and cozy nights, like a strawberry shortcake on a blanket in the middle of june. each breath stolen was a treasure for his collection, a moment to add to the track for each time he felt unmotivated or lonely or sad. she giggled when he bit her lip, tugging the bottom between his teeth with a slightly harsh nibble. 

“you’re an angel, el,” he whispered, fastening his hold in her hair to pull her head to the side. “you’re a goddess. too heavenly to be on this earth.” with his newfound angel, matt’s lips trailed to her jawline. he left open-mouhted, sloppy, and passionate kisses down her features and onto her neck, nipping at the skin and sucking a bruise to her collarbone.

a mistake that would haunt him for the next half a decade. 

suddenly, el’s eyes snapped open. “matt, stop. i can’t.” 

without hesitating, he pulled away. his stomach dropped, his sightless eyes blown wide and beautiful despite the panic rushing over him. had he done something wrong? had he upset her?

he waited in agonizing silence, listening as she straightened her clothes and fixed her hair. there was a sadness in her movements, a slowness and hesitation that he began ignoring as soon as she picked up her bag and stopped his world from spinning. 

“matt, you’re amazing,” she said softly. he recognized the edge of tears in her voice. he had no clue how to fix that. 

“you’re kind, and you’re smart, and you’re so handsome.” matt felt his heart sinking. he didn’t care for the compliments, he didn’t care for the praise- he wanted her. he wanted her in his life, in his house, in his bed. he couldn’t move as he heard her swallow.

“and i really hope you find a girl even have as spectacular as you.”

with those words, el stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. at first, matt thought to follow her. chase her down, get on his knees if he had to, tell her he would take her to the courthouse tomorrow and make her a murdock if it would get her out of this. 

he didn’t, though. he listened as her steps synced up with the cracks in his breaking heart, waiting for her to leave the building, to get to her dorm. he never moved the entire time, just sat and listened and thought. 

he pushed the thoughts out of his head- of her, miserable and afraid, living on the whims of an idiot lawyer and his pastor paychecks. he thought of how she said sam had never hugged her like that, never held her or listened to her thoughts, and how she had just walked right back into that fate. how she had stared freedom in the eyes and been too scared to step forward. 

matt couldn’t sleep that night. he tossed and turned, replaying el’s whimpers in his head, touching his lips and wishing it was her. he knew he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t just let her accept such a loveless destiny, leave her to a shadow of loneliness and way too many kids on an upstate farmhouse.

he got out of bed at 6am, the morning sun fresh in the sky as he ran to her dorm. he’d never been before, only been told the address, and after much trial and error he arrived at #96. he cleared his throat and made the sign of the cross before reaching forward, his fist balled to knock, when he heard someone clear his throat.

“don’t bother.” it was a neighbor down the street, just returned from grocery shopping. “they moved out last night. not sticking around for winter, so they headed out early.” 

matt tilted his head, his heart dropping. “...they?

the neighbor nodded. “yeah, the pastor’s kid and his fiance. gone like magic this morning. didn’t give us much warning, either.”

matt just nodded. “thank you.” he stared at the door for minutes as the neighbor walked away, desperate, listening for any signs of life from the other side- nothing but buzzing electricity and the occasional mouse. 

matt spent the next five years thinking about her. she came to mind every time he dated someone new, each time he went to church and smelled vanilla perfume. he tried to find a facebook, an instagram, a linkedin- anything that might tip him off to where she went, how she was doing. it didn’t work. she may as well have vanished from the earth…or so he thought. everything changed one rainy day in hell’s kitchen, when éliette joseph stepped off the c-train. she walked fifteen minutes in the pouring rain, the scent of the city and the petrichor so strong that matt couldn’t even pick out her familiar vanilla perfume. he couldn’t pick up anything about her- the flushed cheeks or the beating heart or the humming of a broadway showtune. he had nothing to tip him off, nothing to prepare him for the moment the door to Nelson & Murdock swung open and his angel walked right back into his life.

[valeriianz]

i was ready to leave this be but then @designtheendless made this gorgeous art so of course i had to write a bit more The Devil Wears Prada AU:

-----------

Dream invites Hob as a plus-one to a fashion event. Hob is ecstatic to get a glimpse into the fast-paced, cut-throat industry that Dream has nudged his way into. He warns Hob that Morningstar might drag him away at any given moment and he’d be left alone, is that alright? Hob shrugs and can’t say he minds. If he gets free food and booze out of it, he’ll gladly wander around for a bit.

And for the first time in Hob’s life, he gets dolled up. Really dressing the part of a fashion mogul’s partner. Dream takes him out, using the money from a bonus in his salary to surprise Hob by taking him to a tailor. Hob wonders why none of his usual blazer and pants combo wouldn’t work and tries not to get offended at the way Dream scrunches up his nose and refuses to answer him.

“Every man should have a tailored suit in their wardrobe,” Dream explains while Hob stands on the short platform and the seamstress takes his measurements. “A perfect fit is the raison d’être of custom suits.”

Hob swallows at the perfect French slipping past Dream’s lips. He had only been in Paris for a couple weeks yet he was already name-dropping influential French designers, recalling conversations he’d had with them in stories he’d recant to Hob in an accent that Hob never knew Dream could pull off. Or that he’d be so enticed by.

“I’ll never get the chance to wear this again, you know,” Hob smiled, a little self-deprecating. Working as a chef hardly afforded Hob time to dress up. And it wasn’t like he ever went anywhere fancy enough for such effort. “After the party, it’s just gonna sit in my closet forever.”

“We’ll make use of it…” Dream says softly, standing up as the seamstress steps away to grab something. 

Dream takes up Hob’s arm, fingers trailing down the length of it, covered in a deep blue fabric that probably costs more than their monthly rent and Hob’s eyes never leave Dream as he inspects the pins and cuffs.

“A custom suit,” Dream starts again, dropping Hob’s arm and moving on to the front of the jacket, caressing the lapels. “Is designed to highlight the best features of its wearer. Bespoke tailoring is an art form, and you are the perfect canvas.”

Hob looks down at Dream, standing on the platform gives the illusion of added height, and Dream raises his eyes to look upon him. Hob tries very hard not to dive too deep into Dream’s blue eyes, tries not to get lost in the crystal clear sea of emotions, the way he could drown in them.

“And what are my best features?” Hob grins, raising an eyebrow, challenging.

Dream chuckles, tugging at the jacket. His eyes never leave Hob’s, even as the tailor returns.

“I’ll tell you later.”

There are a lot of big names and top designers at the event and Hob hasn’t a clue who any of them are, but he listens and nods when Dream points them out. He shakes hands with professional photographers and runway models and designers that Hob kind of recognizes but not really. He’s too busy marveling at the immaculate decor, the flowy dresses, and the free champagne. 

Dream, as warned, leaves his side constantly. But Hob has perfected the art of fake-it-til-you-make-it and smiles cheerily and engages in simple chit chat where he lets the other person do all the talking and nods along enthusiastically. He tugs on the sleeves on his jacket, amazed how a well-fitted suit can feel like wearing nothing at all. The fabric is also high quality, buttery soft to the touch and moving along his skin with every step like a gentle hug. He feels a little like a poser, but after a few drinks in him, settles more into the mindset of a party crasher.

After about an hour of missing Dream, Hob goes looking for him. Weaving and winding through the crowd, finding Morningstar on a few occasions and blatantly ignoring her, especially as he doesn’t see Dream with her.

Hob finds a back entrance that’s all glass and slips through into the cool evening air and hears Dream’s unmistakable deep tenor, talking with someone privately. 

And as Hob approaches, he notes the distinct agitation in Dream’s tone.

“... truly tired of finding you everywhere I go, Christian.” Dream sighs disdainfully. 

“You should be in print,” another voice– Christian, speaks quickly, laying on the charm heavily. “I see the way Morningstar treats you.”

“They treat me fine. You, on the other hand–”

“I’d treat you so well, Dream.”

Hob finally rounds a corner and finds Dream leaning back against a wall of the mansion, holding a champagne flute that no longer has anything in it between them, as if using it as a barrier. Christian is leaning just a hair too close in Dream’s space and at the sight of it, Hob nearly sees red.

“Hey, Dream. I’ve been looking for you.”

Dream turns his head and at the sight of Hob, his face relaxes immediately. The impatient, frustrated look in his eyes, the furrowed brow, vanishing in relief.

Hob isn’t a jealous guy, and he knows it isn’t jealousy that he feels rushing through his veins. It’s possession. It’s some kind of embarrassing animal instinct to claim and parade about how that’s mine, back off.

So the way he slips next to Dream, getting an arm around his waist and pulling him into a kiss that absolutely doesn’t need to be as lascivious and biting as it is, feels both appropriate and completely unnecessary. 

But the way Dream melts at the slip of Hob’s tongue, the way he’s kissing back, using his free hand to knot into the expensive fabric of his button down and pull, keeping him close, wipes Hob’s brain clean and nearly forgets why he’s doing this… until Christian clearing his throat makes its way past Hob’s ears.

They detach with a wet gasp and the way Dream chuckles, a low rumble that shoots straight through Hob’s chest and down to his crotch, makes Hob go back for another, and another. Lips only and chaste, but Dream still leans back respectably, turning his head to address the man before them with a sly grin as Hob nuzzles his way instead up his jaw and behind his ear.

“Christian, this is my fiance, Robert Gadling.”

“Uh, hi.” Christian bites out and Hob turns his head just enough to stare him down. “Didn’t know you were engaged.”

“You did.” Dream insists, extending his arm and pushing the empty glass into Christian’s fumbling hand. “You can leave, now.”

With a barely restrained sigh of “whatever,” Christian goes, shaking his head as he does and Dream takes Hob’s face in both his hands, bringing his attention forward.

“Sorry,” Hob cracks a grin. “I know you’re trying to network and he might’ve been some hotshot guy–”

“He was no one,” Dream interjects, his fingers getting in Hob’s gelled and combed back hair and pulling it. “And that was very hot. Thank you for saving me.”

“Anytime,” Hob laughs and Dream pulls him in to taste it.

[atlascripts]

Warnings: angst, no comfort..okay maybe a little if you squint, minor smut

punkgulaab

Twas a particularly humid evening when you came home, dropping your bag on the bed and kicking your shoes off you only had one thing in mind, a shower and dinner to wrap up the day. You didn't quite expect a visitor until he came over. Helping himself in through the balcony and straight into the kitchen as you leaned by the water cooler, "Hi, you could have used the door, no one's home." You spoke and chugged down some water smiling at your friend. The masked man before you just shrugged, his accent thick as he replied, "Not as fun is it then?" 

He sat down at the little table in the kitchen, he ...never really unveiled himself, though you two had been friends for a while now. You met Spider Punk and the gang when anomalies became too frequent in your universe, your universe didn't have a spiderperson...or at least not yet. Pav mentioned something about your world bleeding into his hence the anomalies but that was also the way you met the spider folk. A band of superheroes that fascinated you, and though as much as you and Pav may have bonded over similarities in your worlds it was Hobie who you were intrigued by. He had popped in one day by himself to say hi after a mission and ever since then he’d have chai at your place.

"Oi where'd you go?" He asked bringing you back to reality from your thoughts about how weird it was to encounter interdimensional friends. The night was young, the neon lights of the nearby buildings shone through, the scent of roses and the seaside air was a gentle breeze as Hobie; a name you didn't know yet, followed your gaze out the balcony at the dystopian city with eco brutalism for architecture.

"Something on your mind luv?" He asked seeing as you were oddly very quiet. "Just tired I think, I'll make us some tea." You spoke and got two cups out almost like a routine you loved. You heard as Hobie went on about his day and if something fun happened he was sure to tell you the tea, but of all days today a soft sadness had seeped into your soul. You had only just found out about how the universes worked and about the 'arachno humanoid poly multi verse' or something Gwen had mentioned. The sadness settled in knowing one day they all would disappear from your life.....Hobie would disappear and though you tried not to think about it, it settled in like a slow grief ebbing into your veins.

"Hey.." You asked cutting him off from a random story he was mentioning about that Miguel guy, "Yeah?" he asked, "Is my universe really under threat....would it disappear?" You asked hesitantly watching the tea leaves in the water waiting for them to boil. "Not if we can help it, no...besides it's been off the danger zone for a while now so don't worry you’re good." His voice was chirpy as always but it was a little more grounded as he observed her from behind his mask. "Is that what's bothering you?" He asked as he joined you leaning by the counter with his arms folded, "Sort of it's a weird feeling ya know.." You looked like you had more to say but didn't and he picked up on it watching as you poured hot tea over the sieve into your cups. Hobie as always would only lift half of his mask to enjoy any snacks you served him with the chai. However you noticed a bruise over his bottom lip, and you were aware he had a lip ring, it always made you wonder what kind of a person he was visually. "Spidey...yer wounded." You spoke and he took a sip of the tea and winced, "Ow that was hot and yeah it's just a little cut nothin’ much, don't worry about it." He waved it off as always but you wanted to get the aid kit and help him but realized reality isn't always like the movies you see, you couldn't bring yourself to pull such a stunt, you tried though. "I have an aid kit with gauze and everything you can use my bathroom if you need to." You offered. "That won't be needed but you are a sweetheart to ask that, I promise to let you know if I ever need it alright?" He assured you and couldn't help but smile seeing you smile at his words, the blush on your cheeks was evident every time he used a pet name, he did it on purpose but played it off like it was a habit.

Hobie noticed as you opened your mouth to speak and stopped but then spoke eventually, "Once this is all over...will you all go back to your homes and like we’ll never see each other again?" There was hesitance when you asked but this time you looked at him as if really wanting answers, "Well that's the plan to eventually settle back in our own worlds, though truthfully I don't think the spide society is ending anytime soon."

Hobie's response made her eyes hopeful as she asked, "Does it mean you can still visit or that isn't allowed?" He took a sip of his tea as you looked away down at your own cup, sadness seeping into your words, "It's just I thought you weren't gonna show up, it had been a while and I didn't expect a goodbye to be so abrupt.., but it made me wonder that its inevitable right?"

"Is that what's buggin’ you, why you been so quiet?" He asked leaning over the round kitchen table you two were sat at, "I wouldn't leave without a proper goodbye luv, none of us would trust me." You smiled pursing your lips and took the last few sips of your tea now gone cold, "It's weird because here if someone leaves I can still know they are alive and doing well but with you guys.... I'll never know it's like you never existed and I am struggling to come to terms with it..." Your words choked up at the last bit, tears threatening to spill as you looked away and Hobie realized then just how much it had been affecting you, "M'sorry I didn't mean to worry you." You spoke and wiped your tears away but sat in that awkward silence as the sounds from outside wandered in, someone's radio was playing old songs with broken audio, twas some old folk tale love song, how fitting. 

Hobie observed you in that moment, he didn't speak either, the reality of it wasn't far from his thoughts in fact he knew it the moment the spider kids wanted to stay over a while at your place, he knew since that day...this would happen and he couldn't lie that it wasn’t hurting him. Maybe because he was confused about his growing fondness for you, he was damn sure you felt the same way your vulnerability right now was proof for him, he trusted his gut and that’s what it was saying right now.

The hanging silence of grief was disrupted by the beeping of the watch on his wrist, there was so much he wanted to say, he was gathering courage or better yet trying to form words but before he could the messages on the watch rolled in and he sighed dramatically throwing his head back on the chair, "M' so sorry about this, I need to go." You quickly wiped your drying tears away and and straightened up, "Right right sorry about this." The dread was seeping in slowly of the awkwardness but Hobie being Hobie played it off so casually and so well, "They can't resist my charms y'know." He pulled down the half tucked mask and walked towards the balcony, "Uhh hey I just wanted to say tha-" he was cut off once again by the beeping watch "Oh for fucks sake, I'm so sorry luv I promise I'll come back around and we’ll continue but for now g’night darlin’." He swung off as he wished her good night as his watch kept beeping and then for a split second you could feel the air get still and you knew that was the dimension opening and he was gone just like that, leaving you with this weird sensation you weren't happy about and also cursing yourself for being so sappy but really was it unjust to feel this way? You found yourself asking that and gosh you hadn't even seen his face but you were falling....slowly and very deeply like death by quicksand drowning you away.

~

It was a long time after that, till he showed up again, you met the spider kids in between whose faces you also didn't know until now and they just mentioned how Spider Punk was busy these days. But with each passing day, you knew you had scared him off, it hurt thinking he may be the type to avoid feelings so hurray for you to fall for the cliche emotionally not available dude, but then other times you blamed yourself saying things like he's probably just making boundaries as one should. None of them was a solace, it hurt for a while before it started growing numb, to the point where you were starting to come to terms with never seeing him again..or them...even the kids stopped showing up, that too without a goodbye. 

But then one golden sunset with the autumn breeze in the air, you had stepped up to your rooftop to redecorate it for the winter, a place for friends and bbq hangouts and such. You were oddly feeling content that day, work had been good and you had made plans for the weekend with friends, it was you know that brief flittering moment on a windy day when everything seemed fine, like you’re going to be okay. Except you couldn't help but suddenly miss Hobie, heck you didn't even know his real name, he was Punk Spidey to you. The universe worked in mysterious ways when you felt it almost like a miracle that you had thought of him after so long and..there he was, that voice unmistakably his. 

"Hey there mate, missed me?" You whipped your head around to see him jump over the ledge and onto the roof. You were speechless eyes brimming immediately, you lost your voice for a moment but smiled so wide just happy to see him, "I..thought you all would never come back...I was sure of it." Hobie could see the hurt in your eyes the feeling of betrayal almost. But first, he wanted to come clean, he took off his mask in one swift motion and you were left gobsmacked. He was beautiful, with dark brown eyes, an awesome hairdo which made you wonder how'd it even fit but most importantly, that smile, you could finally see it spread to his eyes and lord knows you felt your knees give out for a moment. He had a few scars over his sharp bone structured face but really he belonged on a vogue magazine cover that's for sure. "Cat got your tongue?" he teased sauntering forward but his smile was genuine as you snapped back to reality making a mental note of, yeah he's out of your league. "Hi," you managed to say as if seeing him anew, "Hey, the name’s Hobie, Hobie Brown." he introduced himself in that thick cockney accent that gave a nice ring to it. He reached out a hand to shake as if being playful, "Lovely to meet you Hobie I am umm me, just me." You giggled at the silliness of the moment but never noticed how he was stepping closer, he didn't have all of his spider suit on like the gloves..weren't present. You realized that when he reached up to wipe the stray tears away feeling his skin against yours for the first time, "I promised not to leave without saying a goodbye remember?" Those words hit like a ton of bricks, "Is this goodbye?" You asked feeling like a lump was stuck in your chest, you so very much wanted to hold his hand as you struggled not to cry. He was silent, eyes solemn, and he was closer as tears blurred your vision and you stared down at your feet, all reason went out the window and soft sobs erupted, your throat hurt so bad from trying to hold back but you just couldn't. And you felt him wrap his arms around you, it wasn't a simple sort of a hug, no, he slowly took his time to hold you close, closer, firmly and you sniffled into his chest, hiccuping as well. Only Hobie knew how he managed to hold in his emotions for your sake, it took everything in him to not cry at this sad state of affairs, divided by universes, star crossed lovers be damned, you two weren't even supposed to meet or be at all....it hurt more knowing you both would disappear out of each other’s lives like you never ever existed. 

"Hey look at me luv," he coaxed you to look up and you tried to steady your breathing as you looked up, his pet name almost sounding less flirty and more like an established relationship thing. "Hobie I, before I forget I need you to know, I really like you, like a lot, I've never felt this way about anyone before and I am scared you'll disappear any moment now so I had to tell you-" You rambled out immediately as if there was some clock ticking by and Hobie was both surprised and pained at the way you confessed, it wasn't romantic, it was rushed and he could tell why. "Hey hey, breathe, I am right here, look at me." He tried to find your eyes but frankly speaking this all was starting to feel like a nightmare to you, you held his hand that reached to wipe your tears again and gently squeezed it as if wanting to know he was real. Hobie knew no words could fix this torment, his eyes were glassy from holding back his own tears and his breathing was heavy. You two just were in that moment, under the sunset’s glow and like moths to a flame, Hobie closed the gap between you two pressing his lips to yours in a longing kiss. He tried to be gentle, he really did but the way you gripped his vest pulling him closer, had him going in with such fervor it left you breathless in a matter of moments and even then when you'd break away catching your breath he'd pull you right back in, closer in his arms, never wanting to part. 

The sun was slowly going down but Hobie stayed, longer than any stay, he stayed with you for such a long time wanting to commit you to his memory. You knew this would hurt and yet still you lay yourself bare for him to take, making love like it was the last day on earth. Guiding your leg up a little and around his waist, he moved slow and sensual for this last round, lips not leaving yours. Tears pricked your eyes from both pleasure and sorrow and you held his face mumbling a soft, "..I love you." It felt too soon yes, but also felt like it was now or never. "I love you too.." his words were practically muffled into the kiss. Still, you heard it, you felt it and his thrusts became deep leaving you gasping and whining, clinging to him as he trailed wet kisses down to the sensitive spot on your neck. You wordlessly felt yourself clamp around his length climaxing while he rode you into overstimulation, whispering praises and sweet words. He grunted and buried his face in your hair gripping onto your waist so tight as he chased his own high and he groaned when you felt him finish and you held him as if to steady him. No words were exchanged then, just gentle touches and an embrace to lull you to sleep when he lay beside you. 

You were asleep when he'd wake in between his restless slumber from nightmares, he'd curl up closer to you face buried into your neck. "I promise I'll find a way.." He whispered to your sleeping form a promise to you and to himself...he wasn't going to let this god forsaken issue be the reason for you two being torn apart. Rules be damned, there are always exceptions, he knew of it, he was sure of it...or at least he'd die trying.

That dawn he was gone, kissed you goodbye before the sunrise and disappeared. When you awoke the wind was knocked out of you as if it dawned on you all over again, this was it you thought to yourself...you just stared out the window with blank eyes and endless tears, still in bed, bare and covered in last night's pleasure. A part of you might as well have been buried alive that day, eyes hollow and longing, waiting each day then for time to move faster to heal the void.

Hobie was gone..

‘Hobie, my beloved..~’

mood song: mehram from coke studio s14

(don't forget to click the cc on the video!)

[blueberrypancakesworld]

My own gentle flower

John Stone x fem!reader

warning: fluff, comfort, kiss, cuddle

summary: He knew everyone in the city and although he had a few problems, they seemed completely unimportant no matter what he had done and no matter how much blood was shed. When his eyes fell on the new ones coming into town, he seemed to have his very own gentle angel, a flower that belonged only to him and that pretty little butterfly would be his.

info: Thanks for the request, follow and your kind words @hoffmangirl. I'm also writing/trying to write for Saw again in general. I hope you like it and enjoy reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In his town, the small, quiet town where nothing ever happened and the young women all disappeared, of course, nothing of note happened. It was a normal small American town, not quite in the suburbs but not in the heart of the States either, a place where you had enough people of different ages.

Everyone understood each other and the police force was so small that they were more of a real friend and helper than a force of power that would never arrive.

Even after some problems a few years ago and losing his beloved daughter, he was left alone in his house with unhealed wounds and an unhealed name.

He realised how he longed for something new besides righteousness, for a woman, he always enjoyed driving his truck into town to do his shopping early.

He enjoyed being alone when a new car caught his eye: a bright green car with a few insects sprayed on it. At first he thought it was a researcher for the local elementary school.

He paused as he got out of a gentle look as she looked at the butterfly on her finger, which she had taken out of a small plastic box in which she seemed to have more, but what made him hope were all the boxes and suitcases in the back of her car.

He wasn't stupid and knew when someone was moving, when someone was moving into town. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly as his eyes returned to her.

The gentle look, the cute smile and then suddenly she looked straight at him as if she had known that he was watching her, but she, his angel, smiled gently at him and waved to him before she put her butterflies back in their box and got out to go shopping.

It was this first encounter when he went to the store himself and of course stayed close to her. ,,The strawberries are the best, hand-picked from our local farmer," he had started when she was in the fruit section and probably wasn't sure which strawberries to buy. She was perfect.

More perfect than perfect when she thanked him and her voice was like the softest music he had ever heard. With dark brown hair, he thought she looked like an innocent deer, one that he felt he had to protect from the horrors of the world. She looked up to him and her beautiful dress clung to her body.

It was this first meeting when he asked her if she was new here, her short ,,I just arrived, they told me the area is quiet and pleasant" and he couldn't help but grin, his pretty sweet deer had no idea how quiet it could be here.

He saw how she paused, and he noticed how she made contact with others as if she didn't like them, but she pulled herself together and seemed to feel comfortable, at least with him, when she took the card and their gentle fingers touched his rough ones.

It was a small taste of what was between them when he realised what he had here, what luck he had…and that he had found a new angel in a world full of whores. In fact, it only took a day for her to call him.

,,Hello… John, I wanted to ask if you would like to come over for tea?" she asked, and he heard that certain accent again, as if some words from her actual language were coming through, but he thought it was cute and only made her more attractive to him, to the hunter, to the murderer, to the dark side that she wanted.

Of course he had accepted and set off that afternoon to the small house, which she seemed to be trying to improve herself, as he saw the paint boxes and wooden devices standing outside. ,,Hello dear, shall I help you with your construction?" he asked when he had rung the bell and she opened the door for him.

She seemed almost surprised, as if she had forgotten about the equipment outside, before she smiled slightly and ran her fingers almost nervously through her braided hair, ,,Yes, yes, that would be nice, John. I just don't like alcohol, can't stand the stuff, come in," she said, and invited him in as he stepped into her home. A nice little home, the walls greenish and colourful, again decorated with insects and flowers.

As he passed by, he saw an extra room that was a single terrarium, a terrarium that seemed to contain several dozen butterflies. ,,You'll soon be a pretty butterfly yourself if you have any more," he commented and heard her giggle at his words.

The two of them settled down in the living room and he saw again that she was wearing a dress, probably her favourite, an airy summer dress that clung to her body. He could easily see her legs, and yet she was like a butterfly of her own.

They continued talking while he sat at the table and she stood only a few metres away at the stove to boil the water for their homemade tea. Even though he was not a big fan of such things, he was interested in what she would give him… until he heard a clink and a hiss.

The women had burnt herself. He immediately jumped up, grabbed her arm as quickly as he could and pulled her away from the boiling water, which fortunately had only splashed slightly on her hand when the kettle had fallen out of her hand.

,,It's all right, it's only slightly scalded. Where's the first-aid kit?" he asked, his voice gentle, his fear that something had happened to her present, but he knew wounds, knew the aftereffects, but this would heal.

She just pointed, trembling in shock, as if you had broken a butterfly's wings, at the cupboard where he found the small box and looked for the appropriate materials there, gently leading her to her couch and sitting her down before carefully taking care of the burn, stroking her hand.

She gently pressed against him, holding on to his arm when it hurt too much. ,,Thank you… thank you John for your help," she sniffed and he gave her a handkerchief with which she dried her tears while he continued to hold her gently.

Before he took her hand and brought it to his lips, gently kissed his butterfly, took in its flowery scent and was almost overwhelmed by his imagination of everything he wanted to do to her.

,,Everything will be fine, my sweet butterfly. I'm here and I won't let you out of my sight until you're healthy again, okay?" he said, and saw her nod and how she leaned against him, seemingly completely exhausted.

The deer, his beautiful butterfly, had gone into the cage and now he finally had another angel by his side.

Finally, he had her all to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[deathfavor]

@yeonban said: “I’ve got you” I can't possibly gloss over JGY and XY when this meme's downright perfect for them ^_^

send "I've got you" to help my muse wash blood off their body

Xue Yang slinks out of the shadows like a nightmare made flesh ; a monster come back to welcomed company. He even has the accompanied accents of streaks of blood and freezing rain water clinging to him. Meng Yao Jin Guangyao is in the spotlight so often these days in dazzling golden robes. He can have the light for all Xue Yang cares ; Xue Yang will be the dagger hidden in the fold of clothing and sleeves, the beast to be sicced on enemies under oppressive darkness in the blackest night. Perhaps thankfully, tonight he brings back no organs or body parts as some morbid gesture of caring. ( It's hard to say with Xue Yang WHAT the exact reason is and he never tells, only offers a cheerful smile and playful teasing in stark contrast to the violence of his eyes. )

" A-Yao before you go on a lecture, I'll get cleaned up I promise ~ " Also because he's cold. " And everything went perfectly before you ask. " He certain that holds more weight to his friend than anything else. Xue Yang doesn't mind whereas other people might be OFFENDED if only their results mattered.

His body language is relaxed despite the blood and rain on him when he shifts towards the basin. Such is often the case; Xue Yang moves like a shark surrounded by minnows - confident and unbothered. Except his eyes. No matter how relaxed his shoulders are, his eyes track ever movement with a predator's instincts. Too many years on the street. Survival of the fittest, or something like that. The world slaughtered any goodness and kindness Xue Yang might have been ; it rummaged around the shattered pieces of a broken boy and built him into terrifying killer instead, all violence and cruelty and the thrill of the kill stitched into his soul. So it's only natural his crimson eyes watch Jin Guangyao with a guarded wariness under the playful spark and boyish smile.

. . . What?

" Huh? "

It's hard to catch Xue Yang by surprise. Even in his sleep he's coiled and ready to attack or defend himself at the slightest detection of a threat. Yet Jin Guangyao's words manage to do exactly that. Confident eyes waver subtly, a twitch at the corner of his lips when he sees the other approach with a warm rag. The muscles in his legs tense but he doesn't run - he LOATHES the idea of fleeing from anything. It's funny, really. Xue Yang laughs in the face of pain with his terrifyingly high pain tolerance and never backs down from a fight no matter the odds, but the subtlest of gentle gestures makes him want to flee. No matter how much he craves it.

Xue Yang sucks in a brief, sharp breath when he feels the warm cloth pressed to his cheek and wipe away at some of the blood that's dried against his skin. He's not surprised at how meticulous the other seems to be about it either considering that attitude seems to apply to EVERYTHING Jin Guangyao does. But Xue Yang doesn't quite know what to do in the face of the very kindness he seeks deep down. He knows how to bite, how to kill, how to torture, how to make people bleed and scream and cry. He DOESN'T know what to do with gentleness, with someone caring FOR him. Try as he might to figure out what game or scheme might benefit from this, Xue Yang comes up with nothing.

The slow, meticulous approach pays off. Xue Yang's shoulders slowly relax again and dark lashes flutter down so his eyes are half-lidded even as he washes the blood from his forearms and watches the water in the basin take a reddish hue. Fitting. He leaves a trail of red wherever he goes. Meng Yao knows this ; but they both do in a way, don't they? Xue Yang thinks Meng Yao finds some kind of relief in a shared ugly side even if he wants to pretend otherwise with his fancy robes and mannerisms. That's fine too. Who else would be insane enough to sit here helping Xue Yang wipe away blood? He's even been nice to use warm water! How nice. ( He doesn't quite know how to palate it. )

" A-Yao. " Xue Yang starts to say something and then thinks better. " Mm, never mind actually. "

[drones-of-innocence]

With the Mario movie still on my brain and that reunion scene melting my heart that I now have fallen down the rabbit hole. Do you think you could you do some headcanons with Mario and Luigi with each? Their relationship is just so pure 😭😭

Sure!! I adored the bros' relationship in the movie, and I love writing about them too 🥺 Here are a few of my headcanons about them, some are well established in my writing and others I've never really mentioned. Some will be in my upcoming WIP 👀

I like to have Mario and Luigi lean into the Italian part of their Italian-American identity, so in my head they speak with more of an Italian accent than a Brooklyn accent like they do in the movie.

That being said, Mario speaks slower than Luigi and has a little more trouble with correct grammar in English, which he's a bit insecure about. Contractions in particular are hard. But in Italian, he's a much more rapid and animated speaker. Luigi is pretty clear in both languages and is very comfortable with both.

I adore Mario calling Luigi "Lu" in the film! His nickname for Luigi in my stories is "Coniglio," which means rabbit. Italians use "rabbit" the same way that English speakers use "chicken," so it's affectionately teasing Luigi for his skittish demeanor. It's a childhood nickname that just stuck.

In the same vein, Luigi's nickname for Mario is "Capo," which means boss. It reflects how Mario is the one "in charge" between them, but also it's sort of teasing because often when Mario makes decisions on their behalf, he almost always heavily considers and goes with Luigi's preference/advice, so it's like Luigi is making the decisions anyway.

They both have high anxiety, but for different reasons. Luigi is a people pleaser by nature and will do anything to mediate and keep the peace, even if it means sacrificing his agency or energy. Mario is a giver and provider by nature, and often frets about not doing enough, so he overworks himself in trying to protect/feed/care for others and doesn't really know how to stop and let himself be taken care of.

Coming to the Mushroom Kingdom had the effect of easing Luigi's anxiety; it's a less chaotic world and a (mostly) peaceful place to call home. There are rarely emotional conflicts that he feels responsible for regulating, and it's overall better for his health. His stress went down significantly despite the occasional heightened dangers. Coming to the MK unfortunately only escalates Mario's anxiety, though; now he is thrust into this protector role with an entire Kingdom relying on him for its security.

Luigi (being the more emotionally intelligent one between the two of them) clocked the exact moment that Mario fell in love with Princess Peach. He knew it before Mario did. And though he was hesitant to fully trust her at first (being that she's a gorgeous woman in a position of great power and he doesn't want his brother to get hurt), he eventually learns her nature is truly kind and gentle, which he comes to admire her dearly for. And he figures out that Peach reciprocates Mario's feelings pretty quickly, too. He leaves it unspoken, but he teases each of them with nudges and meaningful looks when the other isn't paying attention.

Mario had no idea that Luigi was in love with Princess Daisy for a while until Luigi started showing more obvious signs of a crush, but the thought occurred to him after meeting her for the first time that she would be a wonderful partner to his brother. He came to this epiphany when Daisy was able to beat him in a competition, and he was so amazed and impressed that his immediate thought was that a tough lady like her is exactly what Luigi needs. He considered her to be like a little sister even before it was ever a possibility that she might actually become his sister-in-law. It was a conversation with him that sparked Daisy's romantic affection for Luigi, listening to Mario speak so tenderly about him.

The brothers have a very playful relationship. There's banter, teasing, and sometimes even a little roughhousing. They have inside jokes within inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. Even times when they were very deeply hurt in the past, the other brother finds a way to reframe it so they're both able to look back and laugh at the things that hurt them. It's easier now that they're in the MK; Mario was beginning to lose some of his spark in Brooklyn.

The movie never specifies that the brothers are twins I don't think, though that's usually a pretty common understanding. I personally HC them as two years apart just so I can bring out that older/younger sibling dynamic a little bit more.

They are inseparable 🥺 Both of them will do anything to make sure the other is content. But both of them also can never shake the feeling that they can't possibly give the other everything he wants and deserves. Nothing Luigi does will ever be good enough for Mario in his own view, and Mario can never do enough to assure Luigi's peace and security in his view. They might never admit it, but on some level they know and try to compensate anyway.

Their tempers are scary. Both of them are extraordinarily patient and understanding even to the most frustrating people and situations, but there are limits. Mario's end point is more easily reached. Where his anger is often fiery and passionate like in the heat of a fight, his unhindered rage is sharp and cold. He speaks quietly, never raising his voice except to be heard. It's scariest when he's moved beyond words into dead silence. It is Luigi's pure rage that is loud and aggressive, but it is much harder and rarer for him to reach his boiling point.

Firebrand and Thunderhand!! Their powers manifest in many ways that they've adapted to their practical lives. It wasn't easy learning how to control them, but once mastered, they almost couldn't imagine their lives without them. Mario's Firebrand makes him a very comforting presence (exuding warmth 😌) and able to traverse many different climates without problem due to his ability to control his body's preservation or release of heat. Luigi's Thunderhand regularly halves the time spent on his various engineering projects, as well as being potentially medically useful.

Luigi doesn't quite have Mario's strength or control, but he is much more meticulous and observant. He's more likely to come across the secret passages or hidden objects that can be helpful on the journey. Mario's more likely to fixate on the objective (e.g. Rescue the Princess! Save the world!) and do whatever it takes to accomplish it as efficiently as possible due to his imperative to serve, even if it sometimes means missing some details.

The movie characterizes Mario as a kind of misunderstood visionary, and he's a bit like that in my stories as well. He has some big ideas, but his motivations are purely based in the comfort and safety of others. He just wants to help people. Luigi is the one who can really assist and realize Mario's ideas, and he often has several projects going on because of how fast Mario can jump from plan to plan.

[luna-misera]

Heyyyy I’m back!!!!

I am here to request Copia with a reader who has had a very long day. Like 12 hour shift and then friends party till 11 long.

Bonus if reader introvert

This is so self indulgent

Also

Welcome back my little goblin friend! My Apologies for the delay on returning your request. Better late than never, yes?

Also thank you for the trinket! I will keep this one and hang it on my wall!

You Have No Choice (Copia x Reader)

Warning(s): None

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It had been a long day. A very long day. You started out strong, you had a shower, and made yourself a cup of coffee. However, as the day went on, it seemed like the universe was actively working against you. Everything that could go wrong went wrong. Still, you forced a smile and kept pushing forward.

With each interaction you felt your social battery drain more and more. By the time the day ended, you had been running on fumes. You were a ticking timebomb, and anything could have set you off. Unfortunately, it happened to be Copia...

"Welcome home, tesoro!" he shouts loudly from the kitchen as you trudge inside your shared apartment and kick off your shoes, "How was your day?" he croons. 

You grimace as his voice echoes in the hall and pierces your tired ears like a shrieking banshee. Music played loudly as Copia cooked in the kitchen, and you'd had enough noise for the day. You storm over and shut off the music with an aggressive click. As Copia had been singing the lyrics his voice trailed off, and he turned to look at you surprised.

You feel a pang of guilt when you see the hurt in his eyes, "I- I'm sorry..." your lower lip trembles, and your throat tightens.

Copia's expression softens as he quickly rushes over to you. He cradles your face in his hands, "What is wrong, mi amore?" he asks quietly. His gentle tone soothes your ears. When he speaks to you, it's like being wrapped in a big, comfy blanket.

A sigh escapes you, and you press your face into his chest, "It's been... a long day." you say weakly.

He wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, "Oh, dolcezza mia... You want to talk about it?" he asks as he pets your hair.

Your face is pressed firmly into Copia's bosom. You breathe in his scent, and it calms you. Your words are muffled by his shirt when you speak, "Not really..."

"Okie dokie... If that's the case, then-" Copia grunts as he hoists you up and carries you over to the couch, "Let Papa take care of you, eh?" he says teasingly and plops you on the couch.

As you fall through the air towards the plush couch, you feel your heart leap into your throat. You giggle as Copia places a series of sloppy wet kisses into the crook of your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips with a loud 'mwah!' after each one.

He then pats your head, "Tonight's entrée is a classic dish from my homeland, cara mia. Macaróni and cheesé!" Copia says in an exaggerated accent as if it is some kind of fancy Italian dish.

When you laugh, he smiles sweetly at you, but before he can walk away, you grab his hand, "...Thank you, Copia." you tell him softly, "I love you." 

Copia takes your hand softly and caresses your knuckles with this thumb, "I love you too, il mio cuore." he replies gently, "Now, no getting up from this couch until I say so! You will rest, and you will like it! Papas orders." he wags his finger at you. 

"Fine, fine." you roll your eyes at him, "I'm not complaining," you say as you sink further into the couch. 

He grins at you, "Good-" Copia's expression shifts as he sniffs the air, "Do you smell that?" he asks with a frown. 

You inhale deeply and tilt your head, "Yeah, it smells like… is something burning?" 

"Shit the pasta!" Copia exclaims and quickly rushes back to the kitchen.