#Silver Solitary
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quick & messy moodboard of the pack i envision when i have a mental shift :3
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#i know foxes are solitary & i dont care!! /nm#otherkin#therian#therianthropy#alterhuman#fox therian#nonhuman#foxes#theiran fox#silver fox#canine therian
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Amongst the brute vacancy, I could hear a beating heart shake the very foundation of it. āArenāt I here,ā it trembled. āAfter their end, after their fall, despite it all, arenāt I still here for you?ā
#silver the hedgehog#sonic#sonic fanart#anyway solitary backgrounds. full of buildings and skyscrapers no one lives in but slowly devoured by nature š„ŗ#that's my aesthetic for the boy š„ŗš„ŗš„ŗ
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//Thinking about Silverās āOh Heavenā verse where sheās captured and kept in basically an institution for āreformingā Nephilim.
What if one of the ways they prevent the Nephilim from escaping is to force them to wear enchanted angelic metal bracelets and āhaloā crowns/headpieces?
#(Theyāre kept away from the Winners of Heaven and always under surveillance)#(if theyāre unruly they have their wings bound and/or kept in solitary confinement until they chill out)#(Silvers flames and healing abilities are suppressed by the confines)#oh heaven verse#headcanons: make it so
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STEPS TO YOU! āā Ė Ģ lando norris !!
š¬š®š¦š¦šš«š² :: lando norris hates the idea of soulmates. for him, it's hard to see everyone in his life with a matching tattoo, or a timer, or the inability to see colors, while he has to be content with the fact that he may never find his perfect match. that is, until he starts to see mysterious footprints around the paddock, hinting at a path he never expected.
šš®šš”šØš«'š¬ š§šØšš :: this is my confession that my favorite soulmate!aus are the ones where they don't think they have one. the sadness of thinking you are not destined for a great love only to find out that there's someone out there for you??? mwah chefs kiss
š°šØš«š ššØš®š§š :: to be added.
LANDO NORRIS WAS A ROMANTIC AT HEART.
He had a secret love for romantic comedies. Watching couples overcome comical obstacles before finding their happy ending always brought a smile to his face. Though he would never admit it, he found joy in the cliched plots and endearing moments portrayed on screen.
The Brit also enjoyed weddings. Family, friends, or mere acquaintancesā it didn't matter. To him, the ceremony was a tangible display of true love that existed beyond the silver screen and scripted Hollywood romances.
Despite everything, Lando knew that he would never experience anything like it. Everyone around him seemed to have a sure sign that they were meant for great love: Carlos with his past life visions shared with his beloved, George with his key pendant symbolizing his destiny, and even Oscar, who occasionally vanished, leaving a girl in his place. But not Lando. No visions, no tattoos, no words etched on his arm foretelling what his soulmate would say upon their first encounter. He felt like an outsider in a world where everyone seemed to have found their perfect match, while he knew he would be alone forever.
As Lando's realization sunk in, it was an emotional rollercoaster. He wasn't just a late bloomer; he wasn't meant to blossom at all. In his childhood innocence, he embraced his supposed independence and declared that girls were gross and he could live without someone by his side forever. But as adolescence took over, he found himself increasingly on the sidelines, watching as close friends shared stories of connection and love, filling him with a painful mix of envy and despair.
Every tale of someone else's romance felt like a dagger to the heart, a wound that refused to heal. Lando couldn't help but wonder what he had done to deserve this solitary fate in a world where everyone else seemed to find their soulmates.
Occasionally, he gazed up at the dark expanse above, yearning for solutions. Had the universe overlooked him or was love just not in his destiny? Some claimed that soulmates were like atoms connected since before the Big Bang, their bond enduring despite eons passing. But what did this mean for Lando? Was he destined for a solitary life even before the cosmos took shape?
As an adult, Lando struggled to convince himself that he had come to terms with his fate. He told himself over and over again that finding true love was possible without a soulmate being involved. It didn't have to be some cosmic arrangement. Yet, deep down, even as he tried to comfort himself with this reasoning, he couldn't shake the desire for something more. He yearned to be uniquely crafted for someone, to be cherished wholeheartedly despite his imperfections and weaknesses.
Lando shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts and back into the present moment. The unforgiving Melbourne sun beat down on him, its golden rays spreading across the circuit. Heat radiated all around him, almost suffocating in its intensity. He cursed his decision to wear an orange hoodie that morning as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Walking from the entrance to his garage, he couldn't escape the discomfort caused by the heat. The thick fabric clung to his skin, trapping him in its grasp as the temperature continued to rise.
Beside him, Oscar emanated an infectious energy. The pilot was fully immersed in the atmosphere of his home country's race, evident through his beaming smile. Despite the hustle and bustle around them, they maintained a calm demeanor, as if they were in a world of their own, oblivious to the cameras of the photographers trying to capture every moment.
Lando observed Oscar's anxious glances, as if he was searching for a particular person.
Deciding to break the silence, Lando asked, "Has your family arrived?"
Oscar's mind seemed elsewhere as he replied, "Oh, yeah. They're here. I'm just looking for someone else."
Someone else. Lando's brow furrowed as he thought about the mysterious bond between Oscar and his soulmate. Every now and then, without warning or explanation, the Australian would switch places with the girl he was connected to. Initially, Lando feared that this could happen during a race and result in a disastrous outcome. However, he soon realized that the universe was smart enough to only make these switches when both were safe.
"You met her?" Lando finally asked, curious about Oscar's soulmate. He looked at him with confusion before smiling sadly.
"Not yet, and she's not the one i'm looking or," Oscar replied, bringing a small sense of relief to Lando. He immediately felt guilty for wishing that others wouldn't find their soulmates, knowing it was selfish and petty.
Additionally, Lando could recall a peculiar incident from the previous year, when Oscar suddenly disappeared, and a girl had surprisingly turned up in the McLaren garage, clad in pajamas and exuding an unusual calmness about the situation. He remembered her as a charming and witty girl, and the thought that Oscar had someone special to share his life with brought a comforting warmth to Lando's heart, though it was tinged with a hint of jealousy.
"I have a friend coming over today," Oscar interjected, breaking through Lando's thoughts. "We went to elementary school together, but it's been a while since we've seen each other. She finished college last year, and managed to take a few days off to visit."
Lando nodded along as Oscar talked about his friend, dividing his attention between their conversation and the busy paddock. He couldn't help but notice weird stains on the ground and wished people would be more considerate of the space.
The two McLaren pilots still had a few minutes before the first meeting and the final free practice before qualifying. They decided to take refuge from the scorching sun inside their respective driver's rooms, seeking a moment of tranquility before the hustle and bustle of the track.
Lando made his way down the narrow path to the driver's room, noticing strange marks on the floor. The team garage was typically spotless, and he couldn't comprehend how it had become so messy.
"Who the hell made this mess?" Lando furrowed his brow and glanced around the room.
Oscar, perplexed, asked, "What mess?"
With a chuckle, Lando replied, "Are you blind? Look at the damn floor, it's covered in stains." He pointed to the ground with his arm.
Oscar tried to play along, forcing a laugh. "Mate, did you hit your head on the way here? The floor is spotless, as always."
Lando's eyes narrowed as he examined the stains on the ground more closely. What he imagined was dirt from a worker's shoe, appeared to not be random splatters; they seemed deliberate, almost forming a pattern. And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Lando's heart skipped a beat as he realized the stains looked like footsteps.
"This is strange," he muttered, crouching down to get a better look.
Hearing Lando's concern, Oscar joined him and peered at the marks. "What are you thinking?"
Lando's mind was filled with various thoughts. He wondered if the intense heat was causing him to hallucinate. A thought crossed his mind that someone had wandered into the garage barefoot, possibly in search of new shoes. Everything seemed mildly possible.
Despite his efforts to suppress it, a nagging part inside him reminded him of the nights he spent wondering about potential invisible soulmate connections. He couldn't help but recall the excitement of discovering invisible threads - like leaving colorful marks upon touch or having their thoughts connect when within a certain distance, almost like telepathy. Things that wouldn't appear on his body when he turned eight, but still meant he had someone.
The 15-year-old version of himself seemed to be pounding on his chest, making him remember the thread through footsteps that he had long forgotten about, and started to question if even existed. Yet, Oscar didn't seem to notice the distinct marks on the floor and Lando couldn't possibly be hallucinating from dehydration.
Oscar placed his hand on Lando's back and felt a shiver run through his friend's body. "Lando, you're starting to worry me. Do you want to go to the medical bay?"
Lando quickly got up from the floor, shaking off Oscar's touch. "No need, Os. I'm fine." He forced a smile, but there was a lump in his throat as he tried to swallow down the fear and uncertainty. He didn't want to get his hopes up again, only to have them crushed once more.
"What do you think of the place?" Oscar's voice startles you from behind,.
A smile lights up your face as you turn around to see your friend in person for the first time in a long while. You eagerly embrace him with open arms, attempting to lift him off the ground like you used to when you were kids.
"Wow, okay, you're not as light as you used to be."
Oscar chuckles, and playfully returns the favor by lifting you up. "Nope, I'm not. Or maybe you're just not as strong anymore."
You tease, giving his shoulder a light slap. He winces and holds onto it, pretending it hurts.
"It's impressive." You answer his previous question. "So many people, so much noise, but I can see why you love it here." You take in the bustling atmosphere with a laugh.
The Aussie leans back against something and asks with a playful glint in his eye, "So, what's been going on in your world?"
You chuckle, immediately feeling at ease with him. "Just the usual post-grad life. Trying to figure it all out."
"Will you stick with auto sports?" He asks hopefully.
"I have an interview lined up to shadow a F2 journalist, so let's hope for the best." You make a gesture of crossed fingers. You thought that graduating with a degree in Journalism would give you direction in life, but almost a year later, you're still searching for your calling.
"It's already yours. I've never met anyone who could get honest answers from drivers like you do." He tried to calm you.
"I interviewed you once for a college project, Os. I don't think that counts." You chuckle.
"Come on, I was in f2 back then. That's definitely something to put on your resume."
"I'll keep that in mind." You nod.
It didn't feel like it had been so long since you two last saw each other in person.
As your gaze sweeps over the cluttered garage once more, something strange catches your eye, and you furrow your brow in confusion.
"Isn't Easter still a ways off?" Your eyes follow a trail of small, misshapen footprints leading around the room and you can't help but comment, "And whoever left those prints definitely didn't excel in their Arts & Crafts classes. They look nothing like bunny paws."
Oscar couldn't believe it. What was going on with his friends and footprints that day?
He squints and shakes his head. "I don't see anything," he says, trying to follow your gaze.
"Of course you don't. I've been telling you to get your eyes checked for years," you tease with a laugh. You walk over to him and point directly at the pawprint (that looks more like a footprint) on the ground that you can clearly see, even though it's slightly faded. Oscar looks at you with confusion.
"Are you and Lando in on this together?" He starts to suspect a prank.
"Lando? Your teammate?" You shake your head. "I've never even met him, Os." A mischievous grin spreads across your face. "But maybe I should."
Oscar's gaze shifted from the empty space in front of him. "Don't even go there, missy. Teammates are strictly off-limits."
You couldn't help but tease, "Why, does he have a soulmate?"
Oscar used to give you pitying looks whenever you mentioned not having a love thread, but it had been a while since then. He missed all of you - including your bad puns.
"I don't know. We've never discussed it," Oscar shuddered. He and Lando had grown closer over the past year, but the Brit never seemed to want to talk about that topic, so Oscar left it alone.
You continue to tease, "I still don't see why he's off-limits."
"Can you imagine how traumatizing it would be to see Lando making out with my best friend?"
"It wouldn't be any weirder than collecting bugs with my best friend and then suddenly having a random girl in front of me," your counterpart argues.
"TouchƩ" It wouldn't be right for Oscar to dictate who you should pursue, especially since you had no control over randomly talking to his soulmate after swapping places. "It still would be fucking weird."
"You know, if two people saw those pawprints and you didn't, I think it's safe to say who's the one in the wrong here," You nudged him playfully. "Maybe you're just not looking close enough. Let me guide you."
Stepping closer to the mysterious prints, you crouched down and examined them closely. "They seem... fresh, don't they?"
Oscar joined you, squinting his eyes as he tried to make out any shape or form on the ground. "I swear, there's nothing there. Are you sure this isn't some elaborate prank?"
You shook your head, running your fingers over the indentations. "No, these are real."
Despite trying his best, Oscar couldn't make out what he was supposed to be looking at. "Alright, you got me. Congrats on your and Lando's little joke."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Your frustration grows as you wonder how he could have missed the obvious footprints right in front of him.
"He saw these so-called "footprints" too." He gestured with air quotes, convinced that his best friend and teammate were up to some strange prank together.
Before you could protest, someone called out your friend's name. "I have to go, it's my engineer," he said, getting up from the floor. He gave you a friendly smile that quickly turned into a knowing smirk. "And don't follow the footprints, Alice. They won't lead you to wonderland."
Wonderland or not, you would be stupid not to follow it.
As you follow the trail of footprints through the crowded garage, your curiosity builds with each step. You maneuver carefully around toolboxes and piles of spare parts, focusing on the prints as they lead you deeper into the maze-like space.
At last, you reach the end of the trail and come face to face with a closed door. Your heart races with excitement and anticipation as you stare at the sign above it: "Lando Norris' Driver's Room"
You furrow your brow in confusion. How could Norris' driver's room be connected to the strange footprints you've been tracking? Is this some kind of elaborate prank that Oscar roped Lando into as well?
Despite the nagging feeling that something was off, you stood your ground and refused to give into whatever it was that was trying to lure you in. You mentally prepared yourself to turn around and head back to Oscar's garage, where at least you felt familiar, and he couldn't pull pranks on you in front of his entire team.
And then, as if on cue, the door swings open, revealing Lando Norris standing on the other side. His presence fills the doorway, commanding attention with an effortless grace that leaves you breathless.
In that moment, you can't help but drink in the sight of himāthe way the soft glow of the room illuminates his features, casting his angular jawline and chiseled cheekbones in sharp relief. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of azure, hold a glint of mischief as they meet yours, and you find yourself drowning in their depths.
Lando is clad in his fireproofs, the sleek material hugging his lean frame in all the right places. His racesuit hangs by his waist, a vibrant burst of color against the backdrop of the room. There's a confidence in the way he carries himself, a hint of swagger that speaks of countless hours spent behind the wheel of a racing car.
But it's not just his physical appearance that captivates youāit's the strange electricity that seems to crackle in the air when your eyes meet.
Your heart skips a beat as you find yourself in a predicament, searching for a clever excuse. You definitely didn't want to appear as a stalker-fan who snuck in. "Um, I was just... uh..."
"Oscar?" Lando interrupts, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Yes, Oscar!" You latch onto the name like a lifeline. "I'm a friend of his."
"He mentioned you," Lando nods, a friendly grin spreading across his face.
"Ah, so Oscar's been gossiping about me, huh?" You tease, a playful smirk curling your lips as you lock gazes with Lando. "I hope he said only nice things."
Lando chuckles softly, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Oh, absolutely. But he forgot to mention how gorgeous you are"
You feel a warm flush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment, and you playfully bat your eyelashes. "Oh, did he now? Well, I'll have to thank him for the rave reviews later."
An easy silence falls between you, charged with unspoken chemistry and the promise of potential. Lando breaks the quiet with a mischievous smirk, closing the gap between you.
"Care for a little tour while we wait for Oscar? I promise not to lead you astray... too much," he adds with a wink.
Despite the lingering adrenaline from the close call and the unexpected encounter with Lando, you find yourself nodding eagerly. Oscar had been too occupied to give you a proper tour, and you were itching to explore the place.
"Lead the way, but I'm holding you to that promise of not getting lost," you tease, motioning for him to lead. As he begins to walk, you fall into step beside him, the playful brush of your shoulders sending sparks flying.
"Do you have a habit of getting lost?" Lando asks with a playful glint in his eyes.
You laugh, shaking your head in mock dismay. "Define 'a habit'," you retort, a playful sparkle in your eyes. "When we were younger, Oscar and I used to roam around this massive mall near our homes. I lost count of how many times he had to page me over the speakers because I got sidetracked and wandered off."
"I'll have to keep a close eye on you, then," Lando quips. "Can't have Oscar's friend getting lost on my watch."
You chuckle at his teasing, reveling in the easy banter between you two. As he continues to show you around the McLaren paddock, pointing out various spots and sharing amusing anecdotes, you find yourself drawn to his effortless charm and infectious energy.
"You know, I never expected today to turn out like this," you admit, stealing a sideways glance at Lando. "But I'm glad it did. Especially if it means getting a personal tour from McLaren's charming star driver."
Lando beams at your words, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Consider yourself lucky, then. Not everyone gets the VIP treatment around here." He pauses for a moment before adding with a playful grin, "Although, I must confess, it's rather challenging to focus on giving a proper tour with you flashing that smile."
Your heart flutters at his words, but you play it cool with a playful roll of your eyes. "You need to work on your flirting skills, dude."
"But do they work?" Lando counters with a cheeky smile.
"Maybe. Keep trying, and who knows where it might lead."
"Ah, so you're admitting my charm has potential?" Lando shoots back, a playful glint in his eyes.
"I didn't say that," you reply with a smirk..
"Ouch, that hurts," Lando feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Here I am, giving you the grand tour, and you won't even give me credit for my rizz."
"Okay, okay, maybe just a little credit," you concede with a laugh, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "But don't let it get to your head."
Lando grins. "Don't worry, I'll try to contain my ego."
As the tour comes to an end, you and Lando bid your goodbyes, thanking each other for the enjoyable time spent together. It's time for qualifying, and Lando is escorted towards his car by a member of his team. Just before he gets in, he looks back towards you with a faint smile. In that moment, his gaze locks with yours, and he freezes as a realization dawns upon him. The footsteps he had noticed earlier, weaving through the McLaren paddock, had a familiar pattern. They were from you.
He looks back to the path he took with you, and the marks on the floor as clear as day. They appear in front of his driver's room, in the small cafeteria where he took you to get the best coffee from the paddock (his words), and they follow you as you make your way to Oscar's side of the garage.
Lando's lips part slightly, as if he couldn't get enough air.
Before Lando could take a step towards you, his engineer's firm grip on his arm pulls him back. "Where are you going? Quali is about to start," his engineer reminds him, snapping him out of the mesmerizing realization.
Lando looks torn, torn between the exhilaration of discovering a potential connection he never noticed before and the responsibility of his racing career. He gives you one last longing look before reluctantly turning away, his mind buzzing with newfound thoughts and possibilities.
As he slides into the driver's seat and revs up the engine, he can't shake off the image of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and now, the footprints you left behind that seemed to lead straight to him. The engine roars to life, drowning out his racing thoughts as he steels himself for the high-stakes qualifying round ahead.
There were various theories floating around regarding why Lando secured the pole position. Some attributed it to an engine change, while others praised McLaren's performance on the specific circuit. But deep down, Lando knew that his main motivation was to finish everything quickly so he could talk to you.
He heard his engineer's voice in his ear through the radio, but he wasn't really paying attention. He knew he had interviews to do, photos to take, and a tire to sign, but as he stepped out of the car, his mind was consumed with thoughts of the girl he never knew existed.
After the whirlwind of interviews subsides and Lando returns to the bustling garage, his mind remains fixated on one thought: finding you. He navigates through the maze of mechanics and engineers, his determination unwavering.
Spotting Oscar amidst the commotion, Lando strides over, his expression a mix of eagerness and urgency. "Hey, Oscar," he calls out, drawing his friend's attention.
Oscar looks up from his conversation with a mechanic, a puzzled expression crossing his face at the intensity in Lando's gaze. "Hey, Lando. What's up?" he asks, curious yet cautious.
"I need to talk to your friend," Lando replies, his tone serious.
Oscar's confusion deepens, and a hint of protectiveness flickers in his eyes. "My friend? Why do you need to speak to her?" he inquires, his tone guarded.
Lando hesitates for a moment, searching for the right words. "I... I just need to ask her something," he says evasively, unwilling to divulge the true reason behind his urgency.
Oscar studies Lando intently, sensing there's more to the story than meets the eye. "Is everything okay?" he probes, his concern evident.
Lando shifts uncomfortably under Oscar's scrutiny, torn between his desire to find you and his reluctance to reveal too much. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assures, attempting to brush off Oscar's concern.
But Oscar isn't convinced, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Look, if you're going to involve my friend in something, I need to know what's going on," he insists firmly.
Lando sighs, realizing he can't keep dodging the question. "It's just... I met her earlier, and I... I need to talk to her," he admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
Oscar's expression softens as he recognizes the sincerity in Lando's words. He may be protective, but he also trusts his instincts when it comes to his friends. "Okay," he relents, nodding in understanding. "She's in my driver's room."
Before Lando can make his way there, Oscar grabs his arm, a serious expression etched on his face. "Look, I know we don't talk about this, butā¦" He hesitates momentarily. "I don't know if you have a soulmate, but she doesn't. And I don't want you giving her false hope, only to disappear the moment someone mentions what's on your arm, or whatever."
Lando offers a reassuring smile. "You're wrong."
"Listen, I don't care if your mark is on your arm or your ass, my point was-"
"It's not about that. It's about her not having a soulmate," Lando interjects.
Oscar's expression turns grave. "What do you mean?"
"Footsteps," Lando responds simply.
Oscar's frustration bubbles to the surface. "What's going on with both of you? First, you mention footsteps, then her." He glances at his teammate, who meets his gaze with a serene smile. In Lando's eyes, there's a glimmer of hope and relief that Oscar can't quite comprehend. Initially, he considers escorting both of his friends to the medical bay, puzzled by their strange behavior regarding footsteps that only they seem to perceiveā
Footsteps that only they can see.
A sudden realization dawns upon Oscar, his eyes widening. "You two are soulmates."
"Hopefully," Lando murmurs. "IāI never thought I had one. No marks, no dreams, nothing. But this morning, I saw footsteps. And then we met, and I showed her around. We were side by side, so I didn't pay much attention. But before Qualifying, I noticed her walking toward your side of the garage, and there were footsteps leading there."
As the realization settles between them, Oscar reluctantly releases Lando's arm, allowing him to continue on his way. However, just as Lando begins to move away, Oscar calls out to him, his tone a mix of seriousness and jest.
"Lando, wait," Oscar says, his voice tinged with playful threat. "Soulmate or not, if you ever hurt my best friend, I'll make sure to crash into you in every single race."
Lando stops in his tracks, turning back to face Oscar with a wry smile. "Fair warning," he replies, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "But I can assure you, if I ever did hurt her, I'd deserve every crash."
The Brit's heart races as he stands before the door, realizing he doesn't need to ask Oscar about the girl when the footsteps guide him straight to her. He wonders if he'd ever noticed those phantom imprints before, dismissing them as mere smudges or dirt. And in a fleeting moment of clarity, he wonders if those same invisible marks had led you to his door earlier, tracing a path he hadn't noticed until now.
As Lando hesitates outside the door, uncertainty gripping his thoughts, he contemplates his next move. Should he pace back and forth until you notice the traces on the floor? Or perhaps he should boldly declare their connection as soulmates upon entering? Before he can settle on a plan, the door swings open.
"Wow!" You exclaim, your initial fright giving way to laughter. "Okay, I probably deserved that. Second time's the charm, right?"
"Uhm," Lando's throat constricts, his words stumbling over each other. In his mind, this conversation had seemed much simpler. "Look, IāI need to ask you something. Do youā¦ have a soulmate?"
Your gaze hardens, but it's not anger that flickers in your eyes, only a hint of sorrow. "We just met today," you confess, your tone tinged with vulnerability. Lando realizes it might be an invasive question; after all, some people prefer to keep such matters private. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes. I mean, no. I meanā" Lando fumbles, his nerves getting the best of him.
"It's alright, I understand," you say, crossing your arms with a sad smile. "You do?"
"I do," Lando confirms, gesturing subtly to the scattered footsteps that crisscross the room.
"Cool," you respond, your expression disoriented.
"No, wait, that's not what I meant." Lando's frustration mounts as he struggles to articulate his thoughts. Was this what it felt like to be stupid in love?
"It's okay, Lando, really," you reassure him gently. "I know some people like to have... fun before finding their soulmate. I won't judge you for that." Yet beneath your understanding tone, a pang of sadness lingers, the thought of forever being a mere diversion rather than a final destination.
"Listen," Lando interjects, laying his hands gently atop yours, a jolt of electricity coursing between them once more. "Earlier today, you saw those footsteps, didn't you?"
"Actually, yes," you reply, confusion clouding your features. Oscar had vehemently denied their existence, leaving you to question your own perception.
"Me too. I saw footsteps this morning. Then I noticed footsteps leading towards Oscar's garage," Lando reveals, his voice soft with emotion. He silently pleads for you not to notice the trembling in his hands. "And now, I see footsteps again. Emerging from the door and heading toward the couch. A circle of them, right in front of the television."
As Lando confides in you, his vulnerability palpable, you begin to piece it together. Your eyes widen in realization as you look around. Although you can't see the invisible footsteps he's describing, you can distinctly perceive a path, stretching from the door to where Lando stands before you.
"Every step leads me to you," he murmurs, his gaze locked on yours with unwavering intensity.
A tender smile graces your lips as you absorb Lando's words, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. "I never thought I had a soulmate," you confess softly, your voice tinged with wonder.
Lando's own smile mirrors yours, a mixture of affection and amusement dancing in his eyes. "Look at that, one thing that we already have in common," he replies, his tone gentle yet playful.
You share a moment of quiet understanding, the air thick with unspoken emotions swirling between you. It's a realization that defies logic yet feels undeniably right, as if the universe itself had conspired to bring you together. Well, it did, didn't it? Maybe you should apologize for all the times your cursed at it.
"And here we are," you say, a hint of awe coloring your words.
"Here we are," Lando echoes, his gaze never leaving yours.
A mischievous glint twinkles in your eyes as you playfully tease, "You know, when I suggested you keep trying to flirt with me, this wasn't exactly the outcome I had in mind."
Lando chuckles, his grin widening. "Well, lucky for me, there's no one I'd rather up my game with than you."
You laugh, feeling the tension ease between you as the playful banter continues. "Smooth talker," you tease, giving him a playful nudge.
"Just stating the truth," Lando replies, his tone lighthearted yet sincere. "Besides, you will have to deal with it for the rest of your life."
Your heart skips a beat at his words, the playful faƧade giving way to a deeper connection between you. "I suppose you have a point," you concede with a smile, feeling yourself drawn even closer to him.
Lando's eyes light up with mischief as an idea sparks in his mind. "You know," he begins, a playful grin tugging at his lips, "I've spent my entire life thinking you didn't exist. I have a lot of making up to do."
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his bold statement, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, intrigued by his playful demeanor. "Oh really?" you reply, a teasing glint in your eyes. "And just how do you plan on making it up to me?"
Lando's grin widens as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, I was thinking we could start here. I can't really go out, but my hotel has an amazing restaraunt" he suggests, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "After that... Have you ever been to Monaco? Or Italy? Maybe after that, we could..."
You can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm, charmed by his playful spirit. "I say you're full of surprises, Lando Norris," you tease, interrupting him, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes. "But I like the way you think."
A bashful smile graces Lando's lips as he chuckles softly. "Great," he replies, his tone now tinged with a hint of shyness. "I've got a meeting to attend, but after that, how about we meet back here?"
"You'll know exactly where to find me."
As warmth floods through Lando's heart, a tender smile graces his lips. In that fleeting moment of realization, it dawns on himāhe'll never doubt your existence again. Not when there's a trail of footsteps leading him straight back to you, a path he'll eagerly follow time and time again.
Lando Norris is a romantic at heart. The universe, in all its wisdom, understood that he deserved nothing less than the greatest of loves.
fun fact i actually hate this
taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed. crossed names means i couldn't tag you) :: @saturnssunflower @sopheeg @minkyungseokie @alexander-hamilhoe @butterfly-lover @cool-ultra-nerd @tomriddleswhorecruxes @everbizzare @chonkybonky @styl1shl1v
#f1 imagine#f1 imagines#f1 scenarios#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 scenarios#formula one imagine#formula one imagines#formula 1 imagines#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris imagine#lando norris fanfic#lando norris scenarios
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bitter to the taste; luke castellan
series masterlist
wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader
synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.
warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end
notes: iām starting to hate this bc i think iāve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (iāve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like itās serious)
Youāve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth.Ā
You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasnāt for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. Youād rather lie back and watch instead.
This flaw of yours is the only reason you havenāt stirred more trouble, you think. Itās the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you donāt have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.
You donāt want to feed it. You donāt know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.
Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. Itās fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when heās in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying.Ā
You donāt know how many times youāve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but youāre sure he doesnāt know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known.Ā
Meet me tomorrow.Ā
It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tenderāhad to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created youāve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you donāt harbour affection for anyone or anything. Thereās not a single thing youāve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. Itās solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but thatās the way youāre supposed to be.Ā
But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest.Ā
His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces.Ā
Heās waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what theyāre doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldnāt be here if it wasnāt.Ā
So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows youāre there. He canāt see you, but he knows.Ā
You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is.Ā
Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. āAre you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?ā
You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. āHi,ā you say flatly, but thereās a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off.Ā
āHello, rotten.ā He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isnāt quite tall enough so he stumbles. Itās so pathetic it almost makes you laugh.Ā
āDonāt call me that,ā you grimace.
āOkay, back to heathen?ā
āDonāt call me that either.ā
āWell, you donāt seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.āĀ
You donāt say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. āAll right, both it is,ā Luke shrugs.
Heās different from last night. Less impatient. You hope itās not because he thinks he has you nowāheās got another thing coming. āI almost thought you werenāt gonna come,ā he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed.Ā
Youāve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. āDonāt know why I did,ā you mutter crassly.Ā
Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. āYes, you do.ā
That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know heās peering at the marks on your neck.Ā
āIf you made me come here just to hook up with me youāre delusional,ā you glare.Ā
āWhat, like thatās not why youāre here?ā He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. āIām a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.ā
This guy is full of fucking shit.
āIāll believe it when I see it,ā you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but youāre a hairās breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like itās terrified of being trapped between you.
He keeps your face still. Heās studying you, and youāre suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks youād share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then?Ā
āYou wanna fight?ā
It takes you a second to react. āWhat?ā
āYou want to fight. Pick up a sword, letās go.ā He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it.Ā
āWhat the fuck are you talking about? I canāt fight.ā
āSure you can,ā he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. āYou need to burn off a little steam.ā
You laugh sharply. āAnd you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?ā
āUh, yeah,ā he grins. āItās the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.āĀ
You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; itās like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you.Ā
You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing itās not the kind used for training. āIāll use the dull one,ā he assures. āCāmon, heathen. I know youāve used a sword before, they force us to.ā
āI usually skip those classes.ā
He laughs. You canāt tell if itās at you or with you. āOf course you do.ā
You donāt like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. Youāre only a little curious about it.Ā
āStraighten your back,ā is the first thing he says once youāve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip.Ā
You begrudgingly do as youāre told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness youāre hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz.Ā
He gives you the barebonesāthe right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time itās for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, youāll bite.
You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. āYou can do better than that,ā he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. āStop going easy.ā
āYouāre going easy,ā you shoot back.Ā
āYeah, but Iād really rather not. Come on.āĀ
Thereās a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used.Ā
āCome on,ā he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. āAll of a sudden youāre playing nice? What are you afraid of?ā
Something flares inside you. āNothing!ā
āThen pick up the sword and fight me.ā
You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you donāt care. āThere we go,ā he nods. āAgain.ā
This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it?Ā
He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but itās still not enough. Luke doesnāt let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, youāre not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since heās so sure he can take it.Ā
āNo wonder youāre so angry all the time,ā Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. āYou donāt have a proper outlet. Maybe youād be nicer if you didnāt sit around and complain all day.ā
āShut up,ā you gnash your teeth.Ā
āJust saying, maybe you should do something about it.ā
Youāre getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom.Ā
Luke keeps egging you on but you canāt hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think youāre smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open.Ā
Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But itās a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.
The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin.Ā
āShit,ā you say. āFuck.ā
You donāt sound sorry, you donāt think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. Itās a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. āKnew you were going easy,ā he remarks through a wince.Ā
You ignore him, looking down at the injury. AĀ gash across his abdomen. Itās bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you donāt play camp games.Ā
āIāve got thick skin. Iām fine,ā Luke says casually. āIāve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.ā Heās no longer scrunched in pain, and youāve got a feeling heās telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because youāre sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry.Ā
You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. Itās mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. āJust give me the gauze, thatās all I need,ā Luke gestures.Ā
āShut the fuck up, Iām doing it myself.ā Youāve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees.Ā
āMost people just say sorry.ā
āYou pushed me,ā you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Lukeās smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. āI told you I donāt fight.ā
Youāre not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesnāt say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. Thereās no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. āMy bad,ā you mutter.Ā
As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. Itās obvious heās staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you donāt engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on.Ā
āGood?ā You ask instead, exhaling.Ā
āGood,ā he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once youāre standing. The night stills.Ā
āIām guessing youāre adding āattempted killerā to your list of horrible qualities,ā you go on to break the silence.
He holds your gaze unyieldingly. āIād consider that a pro, actually.āĀ
You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you canāt bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. āI will give you one, though,ā he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday.Ā
He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. āYouāre too tense.ā Another kiss behind your ear. Itās not enough. āDo you even know how to have fun?ā
āI donāt want to have fun,ā you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.
Lukeās breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.
He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassingāyou think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. Youāve never needed something this bad, youāve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and itās difficult to worry about anything else.Ā
Until he pulls away. Like a dick.Ā
He doesnāt go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. Itās a muddling mix of frustration and longing youāre starting to associate with him. āDude,ā you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing.Ā
āLetās go for a swim,ā he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.
Youāre homicidal. āAre you fucking serious?ā
āYes, heathen. Letās go for a swim, come on.ā
Heās rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. āBut IāI donāt have my bathing suit,ā you string out.Ā
The smile gets more boyish. āWow, whatever shall we do?ā
Itās another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. Youāre going to kill him.Ā
āFine,ā you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips youāre pulled to the lake.Ā
Itās a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesnāt seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you donāt like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. āArenāt you going to at least come in?ā He asks, but you donāt look at him.Ā
āI donāt like swimming,ā you lie.Ā
āAt least your feet. Itās nice, I swear!ā
A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. āPlease,ā he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy!Ā
You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. āFuck this,ā you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and youāre not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you.Ā
You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. āCome in,ā he urges.Ā
āNo.ā
āJust your legs?ā
āNo.ā
āGods, Iāll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!āĀ
Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. āSo fucking difficult,ā he mutters, and your pulse flickers.Ā
āSorry, what was that?ā You let yourself grin for the first time all night.Ā
āNothing,ā he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. Youāre pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees.Ā
He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. āStop dripping on me,ā you complain.Ā
āSorry.ā He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. āFeel bad about teasing you all night,ā he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. āI really did want to see you.ā
The irony that heās still teasing is not lost on you. Youāre not loving how desperately warm youāre starting to feel. āWhyās that?ā You lean back on your palms.Ā
āYouāre a very interesting person,ā he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. Heās pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow youāve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh.Ā
āYouāre fucking evil,ā you scathe.Ā
He looks up at you from between your legs. āYou have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.ā
āYeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. Youāre playing infection roulette, Castellan.ā
āSee? Youāre so mean.ā He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. āAnd here I am anyway, making it up to you.ā
You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. āLuke, you canāt be serious.āĀ
āMmhm.ā He leans forward to kiss right under your navel.Ā
You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. āSomeoneās gonnaāsomeoneās gonna hear us.ā
He snorts, āNo they wonāt. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. Weāll see.ā
A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. Youāre going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. āWhat is wrong with you.ā
It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air.Ā
āAre you going to be nice?ā He asks against your skin.Ā
āAre you going to be quick?ā
His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, āSwear.āĀ
Thatās all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids.Ā
You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises.Ā
The next time you need Lukeās med kit, heās already awake.Ā
Itās been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a ā¦ something with you.Ā
āDo you ever sleep?ā You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree.Ā
āCould ask you the same thing, heathen,ā he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so youāre both okay with it. Youād hate to give up this feeling, but he doesnāt need to know that.
This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real.Ā
Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. Youāre young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. Youāre having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. Youāre both greedy, insatiable people, so thereās a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Bloodās angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, itās hard to tell which is which.Ā
āLuke,ā you whisper. āLuke.ā
āIām up,ā he grumbles, peering up at you. āYou shouldnāt sneak into my cabin.ā He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didnāt notice you were there till you were right in front of him.
āWorried someone will catch me? You should know better.āĀ
He follows you outside so you donāt wake the other campers. Thereās a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever.Ā
āWhat is it, heathen?ā He asks as the door closes behind him. Itās so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. āYou donāt usually want to put up with me more than once a night.ā
āDonāt have a choice,ā you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. āWhereās your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.āĀ
āYou mean after you lightly grazed me?āĀ
āJust tell me where it is, Luke.ā
Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. Heās silent behind you for a second. āWhy?ā He asks.
āBecause I need it.ā
His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something ā¦ youāre not sure you like. āOh, heathen,ā he murmurs. āWhat happened to you?ā
You guess itās a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. Thereās a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side.Ā
āJust the usual. Pissed someone off.ā It hurts the skin on your lip thatās caked with blood.Ā
He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he canāt see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. āYou need to go to the Apollo cabin,ā he concludes, brows pushed together.Ā
A laugh slips past your broken lips. āNo fucking shot. They would not help me.ā
āWhy not?ā
āBecause one of their shit-eaters did this!ā
The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Lukeās brain. He blinks absurdly. āAn Apollo guy beat you up?ā
āNot beat up. Just ā¦ tussled.ā
āHow much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.ā
āGods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.ā
His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. āAlready wasnāt sleeping. I might as well help you,ā he shrugs. āI move the kit every once in a while so some other campers donāt ravage it.ā
āI donāt need help.ā
Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. āHey, whatāā you swat at his arm.Ā
āYouāre ridiculous,ā he huffs. āCome on.ā
Itās strange. Lukeās never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. Youāre disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now heās dragging you around? āThis isnāt such a big deal, Luke,ā you badger. āIām fine.ā
āSure, whatever. Wait right here.ā He lets go of you and only then you realize youāre in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, āDonāt worry, Iām just gonna go inside and grab some things. No oneās gonna jump you.ā
You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway.Ā
Itās a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, āHeathen?ā Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you.Ā
āNice haul,ā you comment. Thereās an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. āHowād you get them?ā
He smiles widely. āEveryone loves me, heathen. Itās not hard.ā
āā¦So you stole them.ā
āYes, but only because Iām too tired to talk to people and Iām protesting for your sake,ā he rattles off. āNow hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.ā
The two of you make your way down to the docks again. Itās morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least thatās what he tells you.)
Heās stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol.Ā
Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. Youāre not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. Youāre less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.
āCome,ā he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you.Ā
Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. āWhat did you do to earn this, anyway?ā He asks, head tilted to the side.Ā
Youāre hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. āThe usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.ā
āYou did not,ā Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad.Ā
āYouāre allowed to say youāre proud of me, Saint Castellan. I wonāt tell. You can be mean.ā Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away.Ā
āYouāre always gonna be meaner,ā is all he says back. āThis is gonna hurt.ā
Itās all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. āShit, ow!āĀ
āStop moving your mouth.ā
āFuck,ā you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth.Ā
Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you canāt shy away. āIāll kiss it better,ā he teases. āAlmost done.ā
You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. āSerious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?ā
A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. āNot you too! I donāt need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesnāt anyone get that?āĀ
āIām not asking why. Iām asking how.ā
Heās oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why youāre like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Lukeās eyes, sleep doesnāt seem to be on his radar.Ā
āI just donāt care,ā you admit, shrugging. āI donāt care about any of them. I donāt care about what they can do to me. I donāt care about anything.ā
āā¦What about the Gods?ā
It makes you cock your head. āHuh?ā
āYou wouldnāt care about them, either?ā
You think, but only about which words to use. āNo,ā you decide, āThey donāt scare me. Theyāre nothing. What are they gonna do to me?ā
Luke snorts, almost nervously. āUh, punish you for saying that, for one.ā
You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. āHow? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? Iām telling you, I donāt care. I donāt care about anything. Itās all just nothing to me. Iām fucking unpunishable, Iād like to see them try.āĀ
Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing.Ā
The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. āUnpunishable,ā he murmurs, like heās testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. āWeāll see about that.ā
You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldnāt be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart.Ā
Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if heās been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong.Ā
āHow do you feel?ā He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, theyāve been hushed.
āUm, better,ā you reply.Ā
He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. āDid you at least get the other guy?ā He asks between kisses. āLike, did you hurt him?ā
āNot really,ā you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame.Ā
āWhy?ā Heās made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear.Ā
āIām not a fighter.ā And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, āIām a killer.ā
Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. āGuess one of us has to be.ā
Thereās no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. āStay in my bunk, heathen,ā he offers. āLeave in the morning.ā
You think youāre making a mistake when you agree, but it doesnāt feel like one.Ā
The next day, after youāve left Lukeās bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely.Ā
But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didnāt mean a single damn word.
luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz
rotten taglist: @thaliagracesgf
leave a pm/comment/ask if you'd like to be added to a taglist :)
#perrieās fics#rotten to the touch#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x you#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan smut#luke castellan pjo#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#charlie bushnell#pjo x reader#luke castellan fic
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can i get keeper!simon whose only purpose is to the forgotten graves in the small town he resides in. he moves through the moonlit cemetery like a phantom, taking great care to only step on dew-kissed grass (a small yet impactful detail you've noticed). he wears a mask; not of cloth but something solid, firm. you've heard rumors, that it's to shield himself from the gaze of the dead while others say that he's a dead man himself, hiding decaying flesh and exposed bone.
every night, you watch him with a burning curiosity from your window that fogs up with every quiet breath.
his steps are measured as he approaches a headstone, placing his lit lantern on the dampened soil before brushing away fallen leaves and moss, revealing faded names. he reaches into his waistband and brandishes a knife with a blade the length of your forearm. it gleams under the full moon's silver light as it slices through the ivy that's begun to creep over the tombstone.
his solitary path leads him toward the leaning blackened oak tree with branches that resemble skeletal fingers, eventually melting into the shadows, completely out of sight.
you sit straighter on the windowsill, elongating your neck to see if you can get a glimpse of the man, or thing, that walks with the dead. nothing.
(he sees you, however. oh, how warm you must be with the glowing hearth behind you. how comfortable you must be in your simple, long-sleeved night dress.)
pretty little poppet. haven't your parents told you that curiosity killed the cat? or maybe he'll keep you for himself, a reward for all his hard work. grave keeping isn't for the light of heart, after all.
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Lineup of metallic dragons, as they appear in my personal setting. From left to right:
Gold: Among the largest and most politically ambitious of dragons. They rarely use their immense might to seek dominion over humanoid races, instead investing their First hoard (typically sea-jewels and their own shed scales) in the success of kings and cities that answer only to them, thus expanding their own wealth through mercantile success. Their wisdom spans generations, making them valuable advisors and patient strategists.
Copper: A mid-sized dragon, and the most playful. Their fascination with humanoids lies almost exclusively in how they entertain themselves. These glittering tricksters make their lairs in the hearts of theaters, theme parks, circuses, and other locales of escapism, stretching and bending the laws of reality to the awe and delight of their audience.
Silver: The smallest and most ephemeral of dragons. Though solitary among their own as all dragons, they are fascinated by the social lives of humanoids. They may spend a majority of their lives playing pretend as ordinary folk, using their silver tongues and seemingly inexhaustible work ethic to worm their way to the top of a corporate ladder or the heart of a secret society, only to leave it headless when the game is won and they seek a fresh start elsewhere.
Bronze: Smallest after silver, and cheeriest of dragons, perhaps because they remain the closest of their kin to Mother Sea, from whence the first dragons are said to have crawled. Likewise their motivations seem the most simple: to create paradise at these sacred shores. They are lorded as guardians of beaches and shallow seas, yet their vision of perfection may prove so infectious that those who visit forget the world beyond the gentle surf and glittering sand, and those who are wrenched from it find Elsewhere hollow by comparison.
Brass: The tallest, and loneliest of dragons. These flightless behemoths roam the desert in their youth, taking in everything from the goings of the skittering beetle to the rise and fall of cities. But over centuries they grow so tall they can no longer interact intimately with the many subjects of their interest. Instead they totter aimlessly from place to place, magically broadcasting their vast repository of histories, biographies, and opinions on the weather to anyone who might be there to listen.
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I was looking at poetry that Jane Austen might have read and I came across Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. She sounds like an amazing woman. She thought her governess was dumb, so she hid in the family library and, "She taught herself Latin, a language usually reserved for men at the time. She secretly got a hold of a "Latin dictionary and grammar" and by the age of thirteen, her handling with the language was on par to most men. Furthermore, she was also a voracious reader."
She married an ambassador to the Ottoman empire and brought smallpox inoculation back to England. She was also a poet and important writer. In addition, she laughed at poet Alexander Pope (he is quoted in Austen's works) when he declared his love for her. (pictured below). (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Mary_Wortley_Montagu)
The fact that someone heard about this proposal and then painted it is *chef's kiss*
(Edit) Here is the poem I used in a story:
A Hymn to the Moon
Written in July, in an arbour Thou silver deity of secret night, Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade; Thou conscious witness of unknown delight, The Lover's guardian, and the Muse's aid! By thy pale beams I solitary rove, To thee my tender grief confide; Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove, My friend, my goddess, and my guide. E'en thee, fair queen, from thy amazing height, The charms of young Endymion drew; Veil'd with the mantle of concealing night; With all thy greatness and thy coldness too.
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Grey ghost as your dragon ...
. Grey ghost was a considerably shy dragon.
Although shy may not be the right word to describe him, more like introverted and prone to avoiding people. He isn't particularly fond of the ruckus that humans make. They're so noisy, and nosy.
. Cattle would disappear in the hours of daylight, often in days of heavy fog and engulfing dark clouds. All common folk know to herd in their livestock on particularly cloudy/foggy days as to dissuade the grey ghost from paying them a visit.
. Befitting his name, he hides in the clouds. shrouded with silver and dark shadow as he soars silently upon the wind like a haunting phantom, the beat of his wings like a windstorm or hurricane.
. He's a very silent flyer. Arguably the quietest dragon out of all of them. He drifts and skulks like a ghost.
. His wildness is that of a bird of prey. Poised and exact, silent and puffed with pride. If he were to bond with you, you'd get to delve more into his guarded personality. He's mostly withdrawn, but he certainly wouldn't mind your company.
. Humans, to him, are both predator and prey. He's seen what they are capable of, seen how the dragon-lords have captured and saddled his kind. At first he would be very hesitant of you, shying away and flying off whenever he was given the chance, but no matter how often he hid from you, he was never too far. You'll swear you can see him on the corner of your eye whenever your sights are set to the sky. You'll hear the beat of his wings as he'd silently cruise in the sky over your head, watching you. Observing you.
. Bonding with this wild dragon would take patience and delicacy, but once you were granted his precious trust? Oh he would be all over you.
. His leathery pale wings are worn from constant flight, so he would love whatever pampering you'd give him. Soothing Salves upon the aching muscles of his wings, cleaning his silvery scales around his face, or simply allowing him to sleep with his head nestled close to you or in your lap, he'd be a happy dragon. Humans have always been off limits to him, so he's exploring this side of humanity. The goodness. The kindness. The pack bonding that they seem to hold for anything and everything. You're his experience.
. He loves flying with you. He'd not even mind the saddle, almost eagerly letting you fasten the dragon-saddle upon him as he impatiently awaits for you to clamber on so he can show you how high he can soar. Be warned however- he's going to test you. See how high or fast you can tolerate his dance in the air, how much courage his little human has, and how worthy they are of riding him.
Be mindful to hold on tight to the reigns, you're going to need it.
. He'll take you over deep oceans, vast forests and treacherous mountains. He'll take you to the stars and the moon, fly you as close to the heavens that you can possibly reach your whilst within in your mortal body. He especially loves flying through billowing storm clouds and rainclouds. The rush of wind under his wings, the fresh cool rain on his scales, and the claps of thunder that makes his heart skip a beat. You may return from your flights a little drenched and shivering, but it'd be so worth it.
. He would probably not tolerate the dragon pits. He hates the confinement, and the thought of being cramped in there with other bulky dragons. All growling and huffing and bellowing fire, stepping on tails and talons. He's a solitary creature. Grey ghost likes the company of himself and you.
. Instead he would find a perch nearby. A cave perhaps, or a nice spot near the shoreline. He likes the bubbling seafoam and the glittering silver fish in the water.
. He loves seeing you every morning. When you leave the castle grounds, there you will find him. perched upon a cliffy hillside, or perhaps near the tide pools- his dark silver scales shimmering with seaspray. Your greetings are often reciprocated with a huff or a bellow of smoke, before he nestles his neck and wing down for you to climb upon his back.
. If you are bonded with him, it is possible you share a common interest. Perhaps you harbour some introverted tendencies, or maybe you are a little shy and anxious. You could also just want to go against the grain and do things at your own pace and style, whatever the case, you will both see a part of yourselves in one another. He gets it- he understands. Loud noises, gossip, prodding words and eyes- they're all too much. He'll take you to the tranquility of the clouds and stars, and he'll be your greatest strength and protection- just like you are his greatest peace and joy.
#hotd#hotd grey ghost#dragons#hotd dragons#dragon headcanons#grey ghost#grey ghost dragon#got#got dragons#headcanons
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I Died With Her
Eris Vanserra X Fem Reader
Summary: Beron discovers your mating bond...A cruel prophecy fulfilled.
Content Warning: Death of Main Character, Murder, Unnatural cruelty, Beron's demise.
Word Count: 1.1k
A/N: Its short and angsty...and I may be persuaded to make a part two. I also apologize if this one is not my best. I'm in a slump but this
Erisās blood ran cold as he entered the throne room. His brothers grinning in cruel delight. His father standing in front of a throne that he did not deserve. Beronās hand threaded through the now tangled mess of your hair. Forcing you to look your mate in the eye while your knees dug into the concrete. Tears streamed down your face as you met Erisās russet eyes. Memorizing every sharp angle of his beautiful face, every freckle that kissed his pale skin, try to remember the feeling of his soft, thick locks through your fingertips. Memorizing the sweet scent of the fall breeze, embers with a hint of cinnamon that brought you so much comfort. Your beautiful mate, best friend, love of your life.
If only you had had more time.
Eris was staring at you as well, memorizing your sweet doe eyes, the plump curve of your lips, your smile, the warmth of your skin against his. The things he may never get a chance to encounter again, your laugh, your soft snores as you laid on his lap, the way you would scrunch your nose when reading your book, or how your body eased and relaxed simply being near him. How you were his equal in every way and how his body sang in harmony with yours. Clearing his throat he placed his cool mask on, āWhat is the meaning of this?ā
Beronās smirk was cruel as he yanked your hair back causing you to yelp. āI found something that belonged to you. I must say the bitch was hard to find.ā Eris snarled as Beron released his grip and kicked your back, your hands and knees preventing your face from colliding with the ornate flooring. āShe is yours isnāt she, Boy?ā
āI would never sully myself with a common whore.ā Lies, lies. The words felt like ash against his tongue. You lifted your head only slightly, and the solitary wobble of your lower lip broke his faƧade. Eris met his fatherās gaze with fury in his russet eyes and fire roaring through his veins.
āThere he is. Eris the lover.ā Beron taunted pressing his foot against your back forcing you down on the cold marble and you cried out. āI didnāt raise you to be a romantic.ā Beron snarled.
āYou didnāt raise me at all.ā Eris retorted his lip curling upward.
Beron quirked, āI should have known. Well, itās a good thing I handled that problem already.ā The High Lord of Autumn clapped his hands forcing his weight down on you causing you to whimper in pain. You reached out for Eris, only for one of the guards to intentionally step on your delicate fingers and you bit back your scream. As the guard approached with the head of Erisā mother detached from her body.
Eris felt the bile rise from his throat at the sight and he clutched at his chest.
āEris, I want you to listen to me.ā The Lady of Autumn held her son close to her bosom. Eris, barely six, snuggled close to the warm scent of his mother. āOne day, you are going to find your mate.ā She smiled and tucked a loose strand of his copper red hair behind his ear and the young fae leaned into his motherās touch. āWhen you do. You need to promise me to take care of them. Love them with all your heart.ā She gripped his chin, āYou keep them away from your father. Run far away from here.ā
Eris scrunched his face, āI donāt want a mate. I want to be with you forever.ā He smiled up at his mother, He tilted his head as he watched his motherās eyes line with silver. āMama, why are you crying?ā
She pressed her soft lips against his forehead, āI just love you so much, My little flame.ā Leaning her head against the top of his, āYou can be with me for as long as you want.ā
āGet off me!ā You shrieked bring Eris to the presence, flames licking his skins as two of his brothers grabbed a hold of you to keep you in place as Beron fetched for a blade and Erisā flames banked out. Your eyes found his once more and she mouthed āI love you.ā
He mouthed those three letters back and then bolted toward his father, but not before two of his younger brothers grabbed him and forced him on his knees. Tears began to form, blurring his vision, he desperately tried to blink away to memorize every crevice of your face. āEris,ā Your voice cracked, and Eris could feel your fear and love shot down the bond to him and he felt his heart breaking. āI will see you in the next life. Being your mate has been the greatest gift the cauldron could ever have granted me.ā Eris let loose a broken sob. āPromise me. You will move on. You will find reasons to smile. Love freely. Remember that I loved you.ā
Eris could barely see, his breathing shallowed as the pain flooded his entire body. āI love you, Little Flame. Iām so sorry.ā
You smiled, āIām not. Being loved by you was the closest thing I would get to The Mother. If I could do it over and never change a thing.ā Tears streaked your perfect face and yet being the brave female, he knew you where you straightened your posture. And the last words Eris heard, your sweet voice echoing through the throne room. āLong Live the High Lord of The Autumn Court.ā Her eyes drifted to Eris as the eldest Vanserra son watched his father approach. āEris Vanserra.ā
The sword sliced through the air and Erisās scream thundered through the entire continent. Erisās body moved on its own, consumed by rage and grief and the numbness that came with the bond deteriorating. In the manner of thirty seconds, Eris Vanserra had lost everythingā¦
And then he saw red.
Refusing to look at the floor, not wanting to see your head detached from your body. He refused to think about the plans he had made with you, a wedding, a family, a life of freedom, a chance to run away. Gone. At the hands of the man who was laughing with his brothers about your demise.
No one disrespects his mate.
Eris had no memory of the events that occurred when he rose to his feet, but when he was done, the entire throne room was in flames, the screams of his brothers and his father drowned by the familiar crackling sound of his flames. Letting the throne room burn, he exited out into the forest, your headless body in his arms. Eris felt nothing, the gold thread that once shined bright, fell limp and became ash. As Eris buried your body in your favorite clearing, he knew one thing was certain.
Any kindness he held in his heart died with you.
Story Taglist:
General Tag: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning
@velariscalling @daycourtofficial @prythianpages @writingcroissant @itsswritten
@illyrianbitch @acotarxreader @pit-and-the-pen @nocasdatsgay @labyrinth-of-stories-and-stars
@ninthcircleofprythian @thelov3lybookworm @riddlesb1tch @lilah-asteria
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@marvelbros-oneshots @mybestfriendmademe @le
#sarawritesstories#sitdownwithsara#acotar fanfiction#eris imagine#eris acotar#eris vanserra#eris x reader#dark Eris#eris vanserra x reader#eris vanserra angst#no happy ending#acotar#acotar series#acotar x reader
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No thoughts, just Punk!Simon.
Punk!Simon who dresses like he shops exclusively at Hot Topic. We're talking band t-shirts, combat boots, leather anything he can get his hands on. His style is bold, accessories maximized, and his entire wardrobe can be condensed into one of three colors: black, gray, and dark gray.
Punk!Simon who likes to wear lots of jewelry. Thick chains, bulky rings, decorative pins pressed into his jackets. His pieces are mostly silver and always real, none of that fake, turn your skin green shit. Keep him far away from metal detectors because he will set them off.
Punk!Simon who listens to only the grungiest of grunge rock music. Ask him for recommendations and he's spouting off six or seven bands that are so underground they may as well reside in the Earth's mantle. Don't leave him in charge of the playlist when driving together unless you want a bad case of tinnitus for the next four hours.
Punk!Simon whoās tatted up to high heaven. You thought he only had his left sleeve done, until you saw him working out without his shirt on one day. Turns out it doesn't just stop at his shoulder, but continues downward, wrapping around his trunk like vines of black and gray ivy.
Punk!Simon who's sporting more than one set of piercings. You ask him how many he has and (with a smirk) he tells you six, and you try to take a mental tally of the ones you've seen. 1) eyebrow 2) industrial 3) nostril 4) snake bites 5) areolas 6) . . . 6) . . . . . Huh. Where's the sixth?
Punk!Simon who experiments with a little body modification. Not just the normal piercings and tattoos, but things many people would consider to be on the more extreme side. Stretched lobes, sharpened canines, . . . bifurcated tongue? š
Punk!Simon who, on an uncharacteristically unmasked day, grabs your attention as you enjoy a round of drinks with friends. One minute you were sitting there, chatting, just minding your business, and the next your gaze was locked onto Simon's tongue as it darted out from in between his plump lips. You tried not to let your eyes linger, but you couldn't help it. You'd never seen something like that before in person. A tongue split right down the center, cut with surgical precision from the looks of it. It had clearly been done on purpose, not an accident or deformity, but you hadn't expected to see it as you watched him lick away a bourbon droplet from the corner of his mouth. As you stare, said mouth then curves slyly, impish, into a grin just shy of wicked. The movement makes your eyes dart upwards, where they meet Simon's, and he's giving you a look that says one thing: Caught you.
With that taunting expression, Simon turns in his seat, plants his elbows on the table, and blocks out the rest of your group as he asks lowly, āSomethinā the matter, sweetāeart?ā
His tone makes you startle, eyes rounding in surprise, mouth fluttering open and closed like a flailing fish. āN-No, I wasā Iā Youā Iāā
āWha's wrong?ā His brow furrows, teasing. āCat got your tongue?ā
Oh, the bastard.
But the reminder has your gaze dropping back to his lips unthinkingly, almost like you secretly wish he'll grant you another peek for your sick fascination.
He doesn't, keeps that serpentine tongue tucked within the confines of his jaw, but it's like he can read your mind because his smile curves further, drawing even closer to you as he says, āCurious?ā
It's like the rattling of a deadly snake's tail, the way he hisses out the question. It means to warn you of danger ahead, of expert predation, of total and utter annihilation should you let him take a bite.
You drag your eyes back up to his smoky ones, half expecting to find slitted pupils that speak of poison. There isn't, just a mirthful quirk to his brow, and a solitary nod is all you can offer him in return.
āāS alright.ā He tips his chin in encouragement. āGo on, then. Ask.ā
Another glance to his lips as you rummage through the dense brush that entangles your brain. Plucking one of the first you find, you ask, āDoes it hurt?ā eyes moving back to his.
That earns a little chuckle from Simon, an even smaller shake of the head. āNot now that it's healed,ā he tells you truthfully, cheek dimpled in amusement. A beat passes, him waiting for another of your questions, and when you don't conjure one up, he jokes, āThat it?ā Clearly, he expected a barrage.
You take a second, searching for another, then simply, āWhy?ā
āWhy what?ā
āWhy'd you do it?ā
Simon raises his shoulder in a shrug. āDunno. Wanted to do somethinā fun; different I sāpose,ā his reasoning is as carefree as his voice sounds. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. āPlus, ās more useful than you think,ā he tacks on at the end, something mischievous glinting in his eye. Deception maybe. Bait definitely.
Useful, he says? You doubt it. Having a second tongue sounds like a burden honestly. You'd have to learn how to talk, eat, and drink all over again, just like when you were a small child. But if he said so, and with such confidence, then it begs the question: āHow?ā
How is having a second tongue useful?
Throughout your entire conversation, Simon's maintained steady eye contact with you, his focus never faltering from yours. But now, as your brow creases in confusion, Simon breaks away, lids lowering as he gazes down at the floor. He rolls a thought around his head for a moment, that cheeky look still etched into his face. When he huffs an amused breath through his nose, it only deepens his smirk that much more, and then slowly, painfully unrushed, his eyes rake up, up, up your body, until settling on yours once again.
The look he gives you now is dark, a grin like the devilās as he peers up at you. The tip of his forked tongue pokes out as it makes another swipe across his bottom lip.
No thoughts, except for Punk!Simon who takes you back to his place and shows you just how useful two tongues can be.
#split tongue simon riley my beloved š¤#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost cod#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#cod mw2#call of duty#modern warfare 2
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Open Door 1
Warnings:Ā non/dubcon and other dark elements. MyĀ username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: silverfox!Thor, side of silverfox!Loki
Summary:Ā you're neighbour needs a little extra help after an injury but starts to expect too much of you.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Iām happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ā¤ļø
āThank you again for all your help,ā Thor says as he shifts on the couch. His weight draws a creak from the frame as he grips the back cushion and tries to reposition himself. āI must admit, I have a hard time accepting any.āĀ
Your neighbour is always friendly enough. He waves or says hello or good morning, but you never really stop to chat. Not until you witnessed his avalanche of groceries as he attempted to balance his bag between his crutches. It was too heart-rending a scene to ignore.Ā
Despite his size, you got him inside. He grunts and you rush over to help prop his leg up on a pillow. He grits as you gently lay the cast on the fluffy bundle. He groans and leans back against the armrest.Ā
āAh, the shame,ā he decries dramatically.Ā
āI donāt mind,ā you insist. āReally. I couldnāt just watch you struggle.āĀ
āToo sweet,ā he praises, his silver hair glinting in the low lamp light. āI didnāt know there were still neighbourly neighbours.āĀ
āWell, Iām not that nice,ā you assure him. āI got all your groceries away and you have your tea. I gotta get back to my desk. Work.āĀ
āAh yes, of course, of course,ā he waves you off, āI could not infringe further on your day.āĀ
āItās no trouble. You can text me,ā you assure him. The soft smell of chickory wafts in the dim air.Ā
Your eyes wander as you make your retreat. The decor is a blend of brass and walnut. Warm in a visual way. Itās a space that has been long lived in.Ā
āBefore I go, youāre good?ā You ask as you stop in the doorway.Ā
āIām wonderful,ā he assures you. āYouāve already done too much. Once Iām back on my feet, I promise I will be certain to repay you.āĀ
āYou donāt owe me anything,ā you assure.Ā
āSays you,ā he counters.Ā
You chuckle and leave him. You canāt be too bothered by the interruption. Your work is tedious and most of it solitary. Working from home is flexible and freeing, but it can just as often be constraining.Ā
After smelling the spicy strain of tea you brewed for Thor, youāre in the mind for a cup of your own. Apple chamomile. Calming but not tiring.Ā
You sit and go back to work. Itās a fair bit of excitement in the usually dulcet neighbourhood. You sink back into the monotonous tasks. Check, check, check. Done, done, done. But why is that doing that? Ugh, itās not supposed to look that way.Ā
Your alarm goes off, notifying you that your day is fifteen minutes from over. Itās a necessary reminder otherwise youāll work three hours over and not realise. You wrap up your work and leave yourself notes for what needs to be done the next day.Ā
You yawn and grab your empty mug and phone and go back to the kitchen. Your phone vibes once. A missed message. You unlock it and check the waiting text. Itās your neighbour. Sent thirty minutes ago.Ā
You tap on the convo and frown. Thereās only the picture of a ceiling and the edge of the wall. Oh, that canāt be good.Ā
You hurry to the front door and step into your shoes. You shuffle down the steps, slightly off-kilter, and cross the street. You get to Thorās porch and knock, breathless as you wait for an answer.Ā
āBrother, is that you?ā He calls from within.Ā
āNo, uh, itās me,ā you say back through the door.Ā
āYes, I figured you were hard at work.āĀ
āCan I come in?āĀ
āPlease,ā he hollers back.Ā
You turn the handle and find him in the entryway, lodged in the alcove beside the stairs awkwardly. You want to ask what happened but youāre sure he wouldnāt want to recount that story. You come forward and tuck your phone away.Ā
āAre you okay?āĀ
āI got restless. Tried to do a bit of dusting,ā he looks at the feather duster on the other side of the hallway. āI didnāt realise it was such tight squeeze and...ā he wiggles his shoulders between the wall and the cub shelf that houses various shoes, boots, and accessories. āI anchored the thing you see. Itās not giving.āĀ
āOh,ā your brows ripple. Itās a strange situation and youāre not sure youāre strong enough to help. āRight...āĀ
āYou could get a screwdriver. I can reach to undo the anchors, at least enough to get free, I think,ā he says.Ā
āRight, a screwdriver,ā you nod.Ā
āIn the utility cupboard. Right by the back door,ā he instructs.Ā
You give him one last look. He canāt be comfortable. Heās a big man and his shoulders are cramped between the small space. His leg is also jutted out in the cast as his other is bent to take pressure off.Ā
You go to the backdoor and find the dark wooden cabinet mounted on the wall. You open it and take out the small toolbox. You bring it back to Thor as he groans again.Ā
āStar,ā he says, āplease.āĀ
āSure,ā you shuffle through and hand him the star driver.Ā
āGreat,ā he grunts and raises his arm up awkwardly. He twists as best he can and angles his hand toward the shelf. He fumbles and knocks against the screw. He growls in frustration. āToo tight.āĀ
Before you can response, a voice drifts through the open door. āFirst, I must come and fetch you off the basement floor, and Iāve come again to save you from yourself.ā The dark-haired man with streaks of silver in his long locks proclaims, unimpressed. āOh, and I see someone has beaten me to it. What a wonderful detour this has been.āĀ
āBrother, wait,ā Thor says. āYou can help. Iām... stuck. Iām afraid it might be a two-person job, as it were.āĀ
āCertainly, would be,ā the man drones as he comes closer. āYou hired a nurse?āĀ
āNeighbour,ā Thor supplies and reaches up. āPlease, Iām losing feeling in my tailbone.āĀ
āPerhaps in your brain too,ā the man quips.Ā
āRight,ā Thor wiggles his hands impatiently.Ā
You take his right and the man takes his other. Thor counts and you haul him up onto one foot. Heās so big, he nearly falls into you but the other man catches him by his shoulder. They are almost of a height but the man with the black in his hair is much thinner.Ā
āYou should consider hired help,ā his brother reprimands.Ā
āI am not helpless.āĀ
āSure not.āĀ
āUm, thanks,ā you say to the man. He looks down his nose at you.Ā
āLoki,ā he offers his hand formerly, āthe brother. I should apologise on his behalf. He can be overly needy.āĀ
āIām just glad heās fine,ā you say.Ā
āMm,ā the man hums and his eyes slit skeptically, āwell, then, brother, do I need to stay and chaperone or can I be on my way?āĀ
āGo,ā Thor huffs in agitation, āthank you both for your help.ā He faces you in particular, āI owe you.āĀ
āAs ever,ā Loki agrees and spins on his heel.Ā
You smile at Thor, āyou sure youāre okay?āĀ
āIāve spent enough of your time and effort,ā he gently squeezes your shoulder, āI will be sure to use my crutch next time.āĀ
#thor#dark thor#dark!thor#thor x reader#loki#dark loki#dark!loki#loki x reader#silverfox au#au#drabble#series#marvel#mcu
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Yandere! Keigo Takami General Profile
Yandere! Keigo Takami x fem! reader
Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, implied masturbation, possessiveness, lots and lots of guilt, Stockholm Syndrome/you've kind of lost it by the end, mentions of eating/eating healthily, mentions of murder, Dabi makes an appearance and is directly responsible for your kidnapping, insinuation that Keigo's jerked it to some rather icky nasty stuff of yours, non-consensual photography, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
WC: 15K (genuinely how)
DARLING PROFILE:
Smart
If Keigo was pressed to describe his type, the very first thing that he would blurt out is intelligent. He wants a woman that can match him in terms of intellect. Someone who can follow his quick-paced jokes, his sarcasm, someone that keeps up with him, really.
He finds it wildly attractive when a woman is confident in her own knowledge, and ideally his darling would be knowledgeable in an area he knows next to nothing about.
He likes hearing them spiel on about something theyāre passionate about ā and he'll be listening, intently, with a hand under his chin and eyes glossed over because while their words are interesting, watching them is really whatās fully engaging him. Thereās something wonderful about the way that theyāre able to answer all the questions he prompts them with, never missing a beat and fully dissecting his question before giving their best thoughts back.
Itās just wonderful, and although heād never divulge any sensitive information to them out of fear for their safety, thereās something euphoric about knowing that if he really wanted to, if he could, he thinks they would understand how he feels.
He thinks they could understand how careful he has to be, how he has to think out his every move and word dozens of times in advance, making sure everything is exactly how it should be.
And really, this helps Keigo feel less lonely ā itās less polarizing and solitary if he knows that his darling could support him, even if he wonāt tell them anything.
Just the knowledge makes him giddy, his heart beating faster because it feels so very good to not be alone.
Witty
Similarly to their intelligence, Keigo needs a darling whoās able to dish out what he serves. A witty, silver-tongued darling would have him constantly on his toes, finding that speaking with them is entertaining and leaves him wanting more.
His darling isnāt boring, or a drag to speak to ā their stories and commentary leave him on the edge of his seat, growing addicted to their voice and finding himself wanting more more more, eagerly asking all sorts of follow-up questions that he normally wouldnāt bother with.
And really, this is one of the first signs that his feelings for them have ventured beyond friendly ā heās never been this invested in someone before, never wanting to interact with them so badly, never wanting to be around them and hear their voice and watch their lips move to form syllables.
He finds his darlingās sense of humor to perfectly match his own, leaving him winded and often more flustered than heād care to admit.
Theyāre just so cute ā the knowing little look they send him when they crack a bad pun that leaves him chuckling, the way their face scrunches up when they make an accidentally dirty joke.
Itās endearing, really, and it only makes him fall for them harder, his desperation to see them growing stronger with every passing day because god, theyāre just so perfect.
Civilian
While Keigo is capable of developing an obsession with a fellow hero, itās unlikely.
Part of what draws him to his darling is their innocence ā they donāt understand the realities of their society, how violent and horrible the darkest members are, how much crime and unrest fills the city streets right under their nose.
Itās the way his darling is able to be so happy and carefree in the face of such terror that draws Keigo in ā they practically radiate positivity, talking about their own mundane life and managing to lull Keigo into a false reality that he, too is simply a civilian.
That he isnāt a double agent with a non-existent sense of self, that he isnāt bursting with stress and anxiety at any given time. Itās a nice reprieve, really, and itās one that he slowly begins craving. The moments of peace and tranquility addict him, causing him to view his darling as a sort of stress-reliever, someone he can go to when things become too heavy, too dark, too much.
He wants to hear about everything happening in their lives ā their crazy neighbors, annoying coworkers, the cat they saw crossing the street, the latest thing broken in their apartment. He wants to know about the mundane things, the things heās never experienced and never will experience.
His darling is a sort of portal to a totally different world ā what he could have had if he hadnāt been born into the family he was, if he hadnāt had inherited his quirk, if he hadnāt have done this or that.
His darling represents possibility, a side of Keigo that he desperately, desperately wishes he could embrace ā which is why he slowly begins fantasizing about a future with his darling, always complete with a nice little house, a few children, a pretty ring on their finger, and complete domestic bliss.
Itās a dirty fantasy to him, really, something far off and dreamy, but with every interaction he has with his darling, it only stronger, and he only grows more desperate.
Empathetic
Keigo needs someone who is able to see past the layers of persona he puts on as Hawks and instead see him. Keigo Takami. He needs someone whoās able to listen to his words and comfort him, to see the frightened, abused boy he still is at heart.
The idea of a darling whoās able to understand him on such a deep, raw level leaves him feeling equal parts terrified and relieved, because heās never really had someone there for him before.
The concept of a companion, of someone to rely on and love and cherish is such a foreign concept to him, and although he finds the idea enticing (having watched more than his fair share of rom-coms and trashy romance movies), Keigo doesnāt believe that heāll ever get to experience it.
His life is too busy and hectic, and having a woman to hold and love and protect would add too much unnecessary strain. Except once he meets his darling and he feels seen for the first time, things begin changing. No longer does he find himself alone, internally grappling with his real identity and his hero identity, slowly losing himself with all the stress and obligations towards the commission.
No, heās not alone because he has them ā his darling, the one whoās smile and a simple brush of their hand leaves him breathless, feeling like a little kid with a sense of wonder and hopefulness and love that makes his heart pound in his chest.
A darling thatās able to incite these feelings in him is really the key to catching his attention in the first place ā a cruel fate, really, considering his darlings is only trying to help him, only trying to help reassure him that he doesnāt have to be the ever strong, ever cool Hawks in front of everybody.
Itās a noble thought, really ā but ultimately one that dooms his darling, forcing the blond to latch onto them with incredible strength and never, ever letting go.
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Clingy
It takes quite a while for Keigoās obsession to form. Heās never really had the time nor desire to get close enough to someone to even consider a relationship, and while heās a had a one-night stand or two, that one night of intimacy is the closest heās ever gotten to someone. Heās just not emotionally available, and for very good reason ā heās lived his entire adult life (and much of his youth) completely under the Commissionās control, his every desire, action, and thought controlled by others.
Itās sad and some part of him knows it, pitying himself even, but Keigoās just not interested in developing any kind of romantic relationship with anyone. He doesnāt have time, and thereās a small part of him that questions if heās even able to form that kind of a connection with someone. A childhood full of abuse, training and emotional neglect has fucked him up in more ways than one, and heās genuinely unsure if heās even capable of something like love, if heād even be able to give someone a healthy relationship, his heart.
He swears off romance, finding it trivial and just not something for him, but things begin changing the longer he knows you, the longer heās around you and spends time with you. His feelings are purely platonic at first ā youāre funny, someone he finds himself actually getting along with and not dreading seeing, and itās always a pleasure when he happens to run into you when heās out on patrol or just wandering around the city in a rare moment of free time.
(And at this point, it genuinely is random ā thereās no pre-planned meetings, no orchestrated attempts at just so happening to run into you, no attempt to follow you or know your location at all hours of the day. Itās just fate, really.)
He slowly warms up to you, deciding that he actually really likes you, and as the weeks turn into months, thereās this feeling that starts tugging at his heart. Itās this strange phenomenon where when heās lost in thought, planning out his next moves in making sure he balances his double agent lifestyle, thereās this lingering thought of you.
Heāll gear up in his hero suit, shrugging the jacket on over his wings and checking himself over in the mirror, only to let his hand linger over his jacket lapel. Heād never noticed the small speck of blood on the tan material ā had you? It was surely an enemyās, some criminal that heād roughed up a bit too badly before capturing, but it was still an unfortunate sight. His lips quirk down a bit as he thinks of whether youād noticed it when youād ran into him at the end of his patrol yesterday ā you hadnāt mentioned anything, but maybe you were just being polite.
Something about the thought of you seeing him with blood on him leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
Itās not until a notification on his phone gets his pocket buzzing that he snaps out of his small reverie, blinking at his reflection and feeling a small bit of confusion settle over him. Why was he thinking of you? Surely it wasnāt your blood, and you hadnāt been present during any of his fights yesterday ā why had the thought of you popped into his mind?
Keigoās not sure, but he pushes aside the thought as he jumps off his balcony, the wind catching his wings and letting him soar towards the Hero Commission building.
He doesnāt give it much thought, but then it happens again the next day; heās out on patrol, flying a good ten feet above the skyline of this particular neighborhood, when he sees a woman walking with a bouquet of flowers. Theyāre pretty, he supposes ā roses mixed with some greenery and tulips, the kind of perfect bouquet youād see in a rom-com or some cheesy movie.
He smiles a bit, seeing the way the woman was sighing down at them with a dreamy look on her face, and before he can stop himself thereās this flash in his mind of you with flowers in your arms. Theyād be a different color, of course ā your favorite color, and maybe even a different flower. Whatever one was your favorite, thatās what heād get you.
He freezes as the last thought flits through his mind, his wings freezing too and causing him to falter a bit mid-air, desperately flapping them to stay afloat. What the hell?
He doesnāt like it, at first ā the way youāre slowly seeping into every aspect of his thoughts, always some little twinge of you sitting at the sidelines, an idle thought of wow, youād look great with that shirt on or a small question of would she like this?
It makes him uncomfortable, because he doesnāt know how to deal with this strange new development ā sure, he's heard all about love and falling for someone, because while he may not look like it, heās watched his fair share of chick flicks and raunchy romances.
But still, this is different ā itās different because itās him, because itās you. And itās different because Keigo notices, as time passes, that none of those films or stories mention just how all-encompassing the feeling is, or how it makes him want to swing by your apartment every night, flying outside your window and letting those honey eyes scan the room to find your familiar figure.
They donāt mention anything about the desire that eats him up at night, how he seems to see you in everything around him ā his pillow is soft, but heās sure your stomach would be softer. His dining chair is comfortable, but having you sit in his lap would make it more comfortable.
The ratty shirt with the massive holes cut in the back is loose on him, but where it looks sloppy on him, youād manage to look cute, heās sure. It scares him, if heās being honest, because he feels his control over himself slowly slipping through his fingers ā he canāt stop himself from checking over you when he knows youāre at work, repeatedly flying through the area when he really doesnāt need to, just to make sure thereās no villainous activity.
(And always keeping an eye out for you when he knows your shift is over ā he always gets too nervous and chickens out, but one of these days he swears heās going to swoop down and pick you up, holding you in his arms as he flies around with you, chuckling in your ear and pulling you flush against his body under the guise of āsafetyā ā just please ignore the hardness you feel against your back or the labored breaths in your ear.)
It scares him that he canāt stop himself from suddenly paying much more attention to your every word, listening to you like youāre spouting holy epiphanies as you tell him about your coworkers or this new film you watched, biting his lip and nodding along, letting his eyes occasionally flick down to your mouth as quickly as he can, just so you wonāt notice.
Thus starts a troubling pattern ā Keigo starts slowly craving learning as much as he can about you, because with every thought that pops up into his head, he finds his knowledge about you is sorely lacking. He doesnāt know what your favorite flower is ā he canāt get you that bouquet he was fantasizing of.
Ā He doesnāt know where your favorite take-out place is ā he canāt surprise you with dinner on nights he can tell youāre tired. (He can tell because heād followed you home from the air and noticed your slouched shoulders and the way youād looked on the verge of tears when youād stubbed your toe on the uneven sidewalk, but still.)
He doesnāt know what size shoe you wear ā he canāt pick you up those new shoes he thought youād like, or get you a new pair of those fuzzy, warm socks he noticed were looking a little ragged in your laundry bin.
Ā He doesnāt know what your ideal date is, so he canāt plan one with the knowledge that youād be as happy as humanly possibly, all smiley and bashful and shy, all because youāre with Keigo himself.
It frustrates him, and he figures it wouldnāt hurt to look into you just a bit more ā heās got access to all kinds of information, security clearances associated with his status as both a hero, an agent of the Hero Commission, and an agent of the Meta Liberation Army making pretty much any piece of information he wants to get his hands on accessible. Heās getting access to your computer and phone, sifting through your search histories, contacts, even your bank accounts and government information.
(How else would he be able to start depositing occasional bits of money into your account, gifts he knows you wonāt notice because you never check your transaction histories? You may not know about them, but he does, and it makes him feel good, important when heās gifting you a hundred dollars here and there, making sure you have a cushion so that you can spoil yourself and indulge in all the things he knows you want to, but you donāt have the funds to do so.)
Heās designating a specific feather to slip into your purse or pocket, attached to your person so that he can track where youāre going, feeling the vibration against your back when youāre talking, when youāre shivering because youāre cold, when youāre standing or sitting or laying or moaning and gasping and shaking ā
(Heāll always stiffen up when the feather heād managed to slip into your jacket starts vibrating with the sound of your cries, his cheeks and neck feeling unbearably hot as he starts to sweat, wings twitching uncontrollably and rushing to the nearest bathroom, clutching the sink and grimacing because god, youāre moaning so damn much, you must be touching yourself and heās not even there to see it, not able to watch you fall apart ā maybe youāre even thinking of him, of how heād fuck you nice and deep, pushing your knees up to your ears and groaning your name over and over while he fills you full of his cum ā Heās in the bathroom for a suspiciously long time, and when he comes back with his pants just slightly askew, Dabi will cock a brow but not make a comment.)
Heās even going so far as to set up cameras in your apartment, having broken in one day when you werenāt home, making sure theyāre placed in inanimate objects so you donāt find one and get scared.
(Though, he canāt deny that the image of you running to him in fear, crying and clutching onto him and telling him that someoneās stalking you has a very nice ring to itā¦ Ultimately, though, he knows itās best for you to not take on the stress and burden of knowing your every move is being watched, recorded, stored onto his phone and computer so that when he canāt sleep at night or is particularly stressed from all the lying and sneaking around, heāll have something pretty and sweet to look at, something calming and relaxing, something that makes him sigh and his lips quirk up into a small smile as his thumb rubs the technology, imagining it was your cheek.)
Itās a slow slide into his obsessive tendencies, but once his feelings for you have formed in full, Keigo is a lost cause ā and once you end up trapped with him, forced to depend on him for everything, this trait will only present itself more strongly, becoming harder and harder to ignore because he wonāt bother hiding it anymore.
Youāll be scared and apprehensive every time he arrives with a glass of water right when you were beginning to feel thirsty, but really, you should know better. Youāll be unnerved when he presents a new bottle of shampoo to you right as you start itching to shower, but itās inevitable.
Keigo knows you better than you know yourself, after all ā and he just wants to keep you happy, keep you safe. He's just in love, and doesnāt he deserve someone to love?
Doesnāt he deserve to be happy too, to finally, finally have something all to himself, something thatās his?
Protective
Frankly, though Keigo hides it well, his protectiveness over you is unbearable. Heās a seasoned pro-hero who spends a good amount of time with villains, and as a result heās more than aware of just how dark of a place the world really is. He has intimate knowledge of just how many horrible people are hiding in plain sight, all the violent and horrific crimes they commit, and just how often they manage to escape unscathed.
And of course, he also knows just how many innocent victims get wrapped up in their schemes, often resulting in injuries and trauma and even death. And while Keigo generally is disapproving of murder, heās even more staunchly against the concept when itās your death, when youāre the lifeless body thatās laying on the cold, hard cement, blood pooling around your head and your pretty eyes staring aimlessly above, your fingers cold and your neck bruised and oh god oh god ā
The realization that the way he feels for you has wandered into romantic territory is the same moment that he realizes that you could very easily be one of the civilians he was just a hair too slow to save.
Heās helping an older woman crawl out of a pile of rubble left behind from a stand-off with a villain, part of the building having collapsed in on itself, and all of a sudden he sees something sticking out from below a large, cement cylinder ā a foot, stained red at the ankle, and immediately he feels sick.
Evacuations arenāt always successful, and oh, look at that ā the footās complexion is oddly familiar, and he swears heās seen that nail polish on someone elseās fingers before. Bile actually rises up the back of his throat as he realizes that everything about this unfortunate soul reminds him of you, even down to the hair dotting her leg. Itās a hard pill to swallow as images of you bloody and bruised flash through his mind, each one making his chest tighter than the last.
It leaves his fists clenching and his jaw tight enough to make his teeth hurt, and itās in that moment that his body almost seems to operate on autopilot ā the images of you battered and too injured to be helped are still swirling through his mind as his feet leave the ground, his wings beating faster and faster with every second, his desperation to reach you strong enough to get his heart practically racing out of his chest.
The wind is whistling in his ears as he flies to your apartment, his muscles aching from the exertion, his lip caught between his teeth as he mentally chants that youāre okay, youāre okay, please God you have to be okay.
Itās only once he lands on your apartment balcony and sees you clumsily doing your dishes in the kitchen sink that relief floods his system, his entire body sagging against the railing as he finally lets out the breath heād been unconsciously holding back.
Youāre okay.
Youāre alive and breathing, and as his eyes scan every exposed inch of your skin, he canāt find even a speck of blood. A hand comes up to rest over his heart, and Keigo swallows, Adamās apple visibly bobbing with the weight of the motion.
He spends longer than heād care to admit on your balcony that evening, those yellow eyes watching like a hawk as you move about in your tiny apartment, mentally assessing each and every movement. Youāre pretty like this, he thinks ā youāre entirely unaware that youāre being watched, but thereās something about seeing you be so natural and free thatās exhilarating, making his heart pound and his cheeks flush pink because this is what youāre really like when no oneās watching. It makes his chest ache to see it, his gloved fingers reaching out and pressing against the glass of your sliding door, the urge almost unbearable to be with you and hear what heās sure is you singing along to some horrible song.
Heās idly wondering if you cook all your meals, and thatās why you have so many dishes ā would you cook for him? He's a lousy chef and frankly a bit picky about his food, but heād eat anything you make for him with a bright smile and trembling fingers, eagerly wolfing down the food and being nearly brought to tears because you made this for him.
Heās imagining the way youād let him hold you at night, sharing a bed with you and your body pressed snugly beside his, an arm draped over your side and your soft breaths tickling the expanse of his chest. Itās a pleasant thought, but all too soon his phone is buzzing and heās brought out of his reverie, glancing at the time and sucking in a sharp breath because itās been an hour and a half of him just sitting here, gaping like an idiot at you.
Embarrassment creeps up his spine, but before he jumps off the balcony and heads to the Commission to report back, he spares a final glance over his shoulder at you, and the smallest of smiles sits on his lips, something warm blooming in his chest.
But from that moment onwards, Keigo slowly becomes more and more consumed by the idea of just how truly unprepared you are for any sort of villain encounter. You have a quirk, sure, but itās minor and not especially useful, and it certainly wouldnāt help if you were to be cornered in some dark alleyway, or if you were to hear your front doorās lock being picked, or if you were to be caught in the crossfire of a villain robbing a bank.
And itās small things that remind him of these facts ā he'll see you trip over seemingly nothing, losing your footing and stumbling for just a moment, and immediately fear is sitting heavy in his gut because god, youād be dead meat running from a villain. Itās endearing, of course, but itās scary.
He hears you giggle sheepishly and rub the back of your neck as you admit to your friend over lunch that youād forgot to lock your door when you left for groceries yesterday, his skin and feathers bristling and a small prick of anger bubbling inside him because are you asking to be the next tragedy covered on the news?
Ā He takes you out for dinner (that he hopes youāll think of as a date, even if the restaurant is a simple diner that he knows you love) and sees a bandaid on your finger, his voice a touch lower than his previous joking tone as he asks if youāre okay, did you hurt yourself? Your response of how youād accidentally caught the sharp edge of a razor in the shower makes his entire body tense, both at the idea of you in the shower and at the idea of your blood being drawn, of the way youād probably hissed and bit your lip, the pain acute. Youāll notice the way he freezes up, this look on his face that you canāt quite describe, but soon heāll be flashing you that familiar grin, taking a sip of his soda and telling you that unshaved is better, hasnāt anyone ever told you that?
(He likes the way you roll your eyes and pretend that you arenāt embarrassed by his comment ā at least, he hopes thatās how youāre feeling, because the comment made him himself a little hot under the collar.)
Everything you do is a reminder to him that youāre weak, and itās this constant mantra that moves Keigo to take his own measures to ensure your safety. Heāll offer to walk you home from work every day, waving off your concerns by telling you that his patrols end right around that time anyways so itās no big deal.
(They donāt ā they tend to end much earlier, but this way he can fly around for a bit, trail you from the air and keep his eyes trained only on you, all with the luxury of lying when you notice his presence about how his patrol areas happen to line up with the district you work in.)
Heāll tell you that heās sure your cooking is good, but he knows what place has the absolute best lunches ā and would you look at that, itās not too far from your apartment! Maybe youād be interested in getting lunch with him sometimes? He knows the owner pretty well because heās always in there, maybe he could even get the both of you a loyal customer discount.
(Heād only started eating there because a late night of watching you through your apartment windows had led to his stomach growling too much to bear, and heād strolled into the twenty-four-hour establishment absolutely ravenous for food, still glowing from having watched your sleeping face.)
Heās even making unsolicited, subtle remarks about your own habits designed to get you to change some of your more problematic traits ā heāll tell you that eating breakfast is actually very good for you, heās heard that people who skip breakfast tend to have bowel problems.
(Itās delivered as a joke and you snort because heād been a little graphic with a bad pun thrown in there, and as Keigo basks in the sight of your smile and the sound of your laughter, he hopes that youāll remember the sentiment ā you need to be eating properly, after all.)
Heās telling you that crime rates have been awfully high in your neighborhood lately ā itās recommended for all civilians to avoid speaking to anyone on the streets ā just for safety purposes, of course.
(And because it dramatically reduces the number of men you interact with, something that makes both his protectiveness and possessiveness cool ever so slightly because that means one less man that you could meet and fall for and want and love-)
And why shouldnāt you believe everything that he says? Heās the number two hero, a man whoās saved more lives than you could imagine ā how could he not be the authority on safety? Who are you to doubt anything he tells you, any advice he gives you?
And Keigo knows this ā which is why heāll start pushing further and further with time, trying to convince you to drop anything dangerous at all; did you know that more people cut themselves with knives than with all other cutting tools combined? You should really be careful, you know ā besides, sometimes recipes are better with whole tomatoes!
(Really, he just wants to avoid seeing a knife in your hands ā youāre not trustworthy with something so sharp, even if the sight of you in the kitchen slaving over the stove is strangely adorable, strangely right.)
Did you know that most animal attacks are from dogs? Maybe you shouldnāt consider getting that cute puppy youād been gushing about ā you just never know.
(Really, Keigoās just worried that youāll end up spending all your time and attention with said puppy, leaving him with only the most meager scraps that wonāt be nearly enough to satisfy him, and while heās serious about the dog attacks, heās mostly just selfish. Plus, an animal companion would make slipping through your window late at night almost impossible.)
Did you know that the vast majority of murder victims are women? You should probably take him up on his offer to be your personal chaperone ā consider it a favor for a friend, heād told you.
(Though heād been gritting his teeth as he said the word āfriendā, even the feel of it on his tongue making something ugly twist in his gut. The way he feels for you certainly isnāt friendly ā it canāt be, not when heās imagining waking up with you every morning, the way your lips would taste, how youād look on your knees staring up at him while you gag and choke and suck so hard your cheeks hollow out.)
And once youāve been kidnapped, this trait is only furthered, his paranoia eating away at him because he knows youāll be rebellious, that youāll want to lash out and hurt yourself and hurt him, and just the thought leaves him buzzing with anxiety, stress eating away at him because he absolutely refuses to let you get injured in any way.
You have to stay pristine ā his gorgeous, precious partner that he loves, the only woman whoās ever made him feel something so strong. You have to be okay ā because if you arenāt, then he isnāt either, and the only thing more dangerous than a powerful, cunning man living a double life is a broken, apathetic man who wants everyone to know just how little life means now that his other half is gone.
Controlling
His controlling tendencies manifest as a result of both his extreme protectiveness, and as a sort of coping mechanism from the lack of control he has over his own life. He does love you ā at least, he thinks this is love.
(If itās not love, then Keigo doesnāt know what the fuck this could possibly be ā what else would cause him to be thinking of you at all hours of the day, his body physically aching and yearning to be with you? What else could cause his breathing to hitch and become so uneven when youāre in his presence, his quirk nearly out of his control as his feathers ruffle and flutter and come down around you like some sort of cage?)
He loves you, sure, his obsession festering into something darker, deeper, more unmanageable and impossible to come back from, but thereās a part of him that begins exerting this control over you as a way to satisfy himself.
By dictating your life, itās almost like heās dictating his own ā like he gets to choose what happens, like he has self-autonomy, like he isnāt just a puppet being used by others. Itās euphoric, cathartic, and this only furthers his dependence on you ā not only do you make him feel something warm and gooey and suffocating in his chest, but you also make him feel calmer, more grounded, more whole.
But as lovely as it is for Keigo to finally get a grip on his own mental health, this has rather disastrous effects on you ā even before heās stolen you away, these controlling tendencies are present. Of course, theyāre difficult to spot when Keigo is still just the handsome, flirty hero who seems to have a soft spot for little old you. Youāre in a metaphorical honeymoon phase at that point, beyond flattered that someone like him has noticed someone like you.
And so, you donāt really notice the way that he tells you to stop hanging out with a particular friend that you keep rambling on about. Theyāre going through a hard time, youāre sure of it ā itās the only reason theyāve been so snappy and distant lately, and itās only natural for you to bear your burdens to Keigo, telling him how they were rude to you last weekend, how theyāve been ignoring your calls, how youāre at a loss because what could possibly be happening?
And Keigo will grit his teeth, his smile tight and visibly strained as he clutches onto his coffee cup with white knuckles, eventually telling you wow, that really sucks, some friend. Maybe you should stop hanging out with them ā obviously they arenāt as invested in the friendship as you are, sound like theyāre not as good of a friend as you are, frankly.
Itās good advice, all things considered, but itās presented in a way that flatters you, that makes you sound like youāre the reasonable, good friend and theyāve simply dropped the ball. And so, youāll follow his advice ā that friend isnāt contacted again, and Keigo personally sees to it that youāve blocked them, having gone in and manually done it on your phone while you were fast asleep.
You wonāt notice how he makes subtle comments about what you should order when youāre at a restaurant together ā heāll never make comments about your weight, but heāll prompt you to eat something healthier, something more, something thatāll leave you happy but nourish you as well. The comments are again difficult to spot ā when he opens up the menu, heāll pipe up and tell you that theyāve got that salad you were talking about the other day ā you know the one? Yeah, sounds good ā do you want to split it? I think we should get some extra chicken on top, too.
(Once the salad arrives, of course, youāll be eating the majority ā Keigo will nibble at it, picking at it and making a bit show of always having his fork packed with the greens ā and a lot of the chicken ā but youāll be the one shoveling food into your mouth, feeling full by the time Keigoās eaten roughly ten bites.)
You wonāt notice it much at all, really ā which is why itās such a shock to one day wake up in Keigoās luxury, king-sized bed, the soft white sheets smelling like fresh laundry and the pretty red, silky pajamas heād changed you into feeling foreign on your body.
But just like his more needy and clingy tendencies, Keigoās controlling nature will start to show itself once heās stolen you away. Thereās no point in hiding how he feels now, is there? Youāre aware that heās in love with you (he tells you every fucking day, after all, with a hushed voice that sounds much too vulnerable for you to bear and a barrage of kisses along your jawline and neck), so whatās the point in dialing down some of the more questionable aspects of his infatuation?
Heād kidnapped you out of paranoia, and now that youāre with him constantly, heās able to really, fully control your actions and the things youāre allowed to do. Heās not too dehumanizing with it, but thereās a lot of limits on things that you normally wouldnāt even think about ā youāre allowed to watch TV, but only for an hour a day and only specific channels and programs heās approved.
(Generally, the cutoff for what he considers āappropriateā for you are things without graphic violence, nothing terribly sad, and nothing that would cause you tension or stress. So, all horror movies are off the table, all dramas, all action films, really only leaving the things he wouldnāt mind watching with you ā romances, mostly, and the occasional film with much more erotica than he realized. His face will turn red as the actors moan and whisper hushed I love youās, his yellow eyes nervously flicking over to you from his spot beside you, his fingers itching to reach out to you, the blanket covering you both suddenly feeling much too hot.)
Youāre allowed to eat what you want, but with a few very strict guidelines ā you canāt have anything over a certain amount of grams of sugar, nor are you allowed to consume anything that isnāt paired with a vegetable. Heās forcing you to eat protein, and if you donāt eat meat heāll count out a specific number of nuts you must consume that day, just to make sure youāre getting proper nutrition.
He especially loves if youāll let him feed the nuts to you, or any food, really ā he likes to feel needed and helpful, and to have you looking at him with those pretty eyes, the fork pressed against your lips while you swallow and thank him for the foodā¦ It makes Keigoās breathing get a bit heavy, his mouth watering because god, he wants to use that fork after you, would you think thatās weird?
Heās not taking away any of your basic privileges like dressing yourself or using the restroom alone, but Keigo has a way of making you feel pathetic without even trying to; thereās just something about the way he looks at you, all soft smiles and wide eyes, his palms always clammy and nervous, his touch always hesitant but eager.
He wonāt explicitly create a schedule for your daily life under his thumb, but youāll essentially be in one, anyways. He leaves for work in the mornings, parting from you with a very, very tonguey kiss, and while heās gone on his patrol all day, youāll cycle through reading a few of the (pre-approved) books heād gifted you, practicing your art skills, practicing your musical skills, and staring out the fifteen-story window, the one-way, bulletproof glass not giving you even the option to crack it if you wanted to brave the fall.
Youāll be stagnant, really, something that Keigo doesnāt appreciate at all once he notices it happening, but it doesnāt change the fact that he absolutely canāt relinquish control ā youāre his, and even if youāre unhappy, Keigo will be damned if he gives up caring for you and making your decisions for you. Thatās love, isnāt it? He knows whatās best for you, so why canāt you see that? Why do you fight him and tell him heās a monster, a horrible, horrible man?
He just wants to keep you safe and happy and loved, so why are you making it so fucking difficult?
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
While Keigo isnāt too terribly possessive as far as yanderes go, he really only has so much self-control. Of course, he doesnāt like seeing other men around you, those already narrow eyes of his growing even sharper and smaller because he does not like this.
But what sets Keigo apart from others is that while heās enraged, anxiety and anger prickling at his skin and causing goosebumps to litter his entire body, heās smart. Heās good at reading people, at fully assessing situations and making split seconds analyses, and thatās exactly what heāll do whenever he sees you in a situation where another man is showing interest.
Heāll examine the manās face ā is he smiling? Laughing? Serious? Frowning?
Smiling and laughing generally means one of two things ā either the man hopes to become friends or acquaintances with you, or heās flirting and he thinks itās going very well. Keigo canāt decide which option he hates more.
A serious expression or a frown normally means that the man is trying to create a mysterious air ā to embody hypermasculinity, to try and lure you in by looking the part of the strong, dominant man whoās only weakness is you. It makes Keigo cringe, his nose scrunching up in a wince as he thinks of how terribly stupid this man must be to think youād fall for something like that ā he obviously doesnāt know you or your intellect, at least not like Keigo does. Nobody knows you like Keigo does ā not even yourself.
Heās looking at the manās body language ā if heās leaning towards you, he probably has less than innocent intentions, either trying to intimidate you or get close to you to fulfill some sick, perverted urge.
(An urge that Keigo knows all too well ā the urge to feel you, to touch you, to smell you, to have your skin against his. Itās an urge that heās had to fight more times than he can count, stopping himself from scooping your into his arms and burying his face into the crook of your neck, his hands roaming every inch of your body because god, you smell good and youāre so fucking pretty and your voice is like heaven to his ears and you feel too damn good pressed against him like this and fuck you drive him absolutely insane.)
If the man has his hands in his pockets, that generally signals to Keigo that heās not as confident at this as heād like you to believe, showing the hero that the man is more than aware that youāre wildly out of his league, that really the man should have absolutely no business speaking with you.
Keigoās noticing the distance between your body and the strangerās ā if itās more than three feet, heās able to take a small, minimally relieved sigh because at least the man isnāt likely to try something. But if heās closer to you, dangerously close to being in your space and making you feel uncomfortable, immediately Keigoās wings are flapping, the movements harsh and unconscious as his fists tighten and he grits his teeth because heāll be damned if he lets anyone make you uncomfortable.
And heās analyzing your body language, too, of course ā if you like the interaction, if youāre pleased by the attention, if youāre scared, if you want to leave, even if you want to leave with the stranger himself. And while Keigo wishes he was wrong, the moments where you actually seem to be enjoying the flirting of a stranger make him bristle, a deep scowl settling on his face while insecurity and panic grip his heart because he has to stop this before it's too late ā before you let yourself get wooed by another man before Keigo even gets the chance to fully earn your trust and adoration.
Seeing you approached by potential rivals for your love really brings out the worst side of Keigo ā it brings out all the skills the Commission drilled into him, those eyes of his dissecting the other man like heās merely a slab of meat, the blond finding every possible point of weakness in the manās stature or attitude, just so Keigo can understand the full scope of what heās competing with. Just so that Keigo can understand exactly how he can be better than this loser ā how he can impress you and get you acting all bashful and dismissive of his witty flirting just like you should be.
Jealousy isnāt too pretty on Keigo, and while he wonāt just blindly murder any man that steals your attention for even a moment.
(Heād lose his hero status very quickly, no matter how much he sometimes wants to send a feather clean through their neck, slicing their head off and feeling not a smidge of remorse because now heāll finally stop running his mouth at you when youāve clearly already been chosen to be Hawksās woman ā the number twoās sweet, important little partner that he absolutely cannot lose).
His patrol had felt incredibly long today ā no large villain sightings, with only a few petty muggers making the time pass. Keigo sighs, wings flapping and wind whipping in his ears as he eagerly scans the streets below.
Normally, youād be walking to the grocery store right around now ā heād noticed you were low on eggs, so it was only a matter of time before you braved the cold autumn air. Suspicion immediately pricks along Keigoās spine, however, as he slowly flies along the path that you take to the store. Youāre no where in sight ā he doesnāt see your familiar jacket or notice the way the sunlight glistens off your hair, and immediately something uncomfortable is settling in his gut.
This wasnāt like you ā youād told him once that you prefer this time of day for your shopping because the store is the least crowded, and Keigo knows how you feel about interacting with strangers. And yet, youāre missing ā something that makes him immediately pick up his speed, brows knitting together and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Eager eyes scan every sidewalk as he quickly makes his way to your apartment complex, every second that he doesnāt see you only furthering the feeling of dread slowly eating at him.
Heās near the point of whipping out his phone to call you and check the tracker heād installed into your phone when he lets out an audible sigh of relief, having spotted your familiar form on the sidewalk below. Youāre only a few blocks from your apartment at this point ā and with a look of disgust, Keigo identifies the reason why.
Thereās a man with you.
Youāre standing and speaking with him, tucked away at the corner of the sidewalk, and immediately the feeling of panic is replaced by anger, his shoulders tensing up. As he swoops down and lands on the top of the building above you, he cranes his neck to get a better look at this man. Keigoās never seen him before ā youāve never interacted with him in all the months heās been watching you, leading him to believe that this man is a stranger.
Keigo taps his foot impatiently, trying to decide if this is good news or bad news. On the one hand, itās always good news to know that you donāt have many men in your life ā Keigo should be the only one, really, the only person, even, not just man.
But it also means that this stranger probably stopped you to strike up a conversation, which can only means two things ā either the man is asking an innocent question, or heās interested in you. Interested in you, as in wanting to date you, to kiss your pretty lips and hear you whisper those three words and bend you in half and make you scream and moan and gush-
Keigo grits his teeth, left eye twitching slightly at the mere thought of this man being brazen enough to approach you like this. And based off the way he keeps steadily stepping closer to you and you keep subtly shifting away from him, Keigo suddenly understands exactly whatās going on.
He hesitates for only a moment, a small pang of doubt registering in the back of his mind (wondering if this is how you look when youāre with Keigo himself, that annoying insecurity revolving around anything romantic and anything with you once again filling him with false worries), before heās jumping from the rooftop, landing with a small grunt onto the sidewalk a few feet away from the two of you.
Clearing his throat, he walks with a bit more urgency than normal towards you, slinging an arm around your shoulder and leaning in.
Whatāre we talking about? Keigo asks, yellow eyes fixed on the man, any semblance of a smile gone from his face. His chest is puffed out ever so slightly, wings spread to make his physical presence as big as possible, to make him as intimidating as possible. Immediately youāre jumping, slightly embarrassed and slightly relieved at Keigoās sudden presence. He feels you relax slightly against him and tries to ignore the way his throat goes dry and his pupils dilate ā heāll relive the memory of you feeling safe around him later tonight, but nowās not the time.
The man steps back immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking at the hero sheepishly, guilt written all over his face. Keigo scoffs under his breath, examining the manās face in closer detail. Heās somewhat attractive, and that same nagging voice comes back, idly wondering if youād prefer brunettes like this man over blondes like Keigo, or if you preferred slightly taller men, because this stranger is easily a few inches taller than the hero. He frows, biting the inside of his cheek and willing the thoughts to go away ā at least until heās sorted this out.
Oh, Hawks, hey man, I didnāt ā weāre not talkinā about anything. Nice to meet you, miss. The man fumbles for his words, before quickly backpedaling and practically running the opposite direction, peeking over his shoulder every once in a while and wincing.
Keigo holds his ground, not moving, keeping those eyes locked on the manās figure until heās eventually a good block or two away. Only then does Keigo turn to you, his cheeks a little pink as he flashes you a smile. Heās still got his arm wrapped around your shoulder, and he gives you a small squeeze that he hopes isnāt too forward ā he wouldnāt want you to get the idea that heās after the same thing that stranger had been.
(Though really, isnāt he? He just wants all of you, not only your body ā and he can take much better care of you, canāt he? Better than that gangly, sleazy man ever could, better than any other man ever could.)
Heās brought out of his small reverie by you profusely thanking him, telling him that the man had just approached you out of nowhere and you didnāt know how to leave the situation without it potentially escalating.
Keigo only smiles lazily, nodding at you and telling you not to worry, that heās a pro hero, so itās kind of my job, you know? Though for my favorite civilian, I donāt mind working overtime.
He winks at you after that, feeling only slightly anxious that youāll find the action too arrogant, but you only blink owlishly at him, mumbling something about feeling guilty that itās āovertimeā. Keigo waves off your concerns, releasing your shoulder and trying not to show loss on his face.
You thank him again, smiling at him in a way that gets his knees very close to buckling, but he just clears his throat and nods, saluting you playfully and letting his wings flap, already a few feet in the air as he tells you to enjoy the rest of your night and to call him if any other creeps show up. Youāre still smiling as he flies back over the roof of the building, but you donāt notice how he stops, peeking over the roof to see you make your way in the direction of the grocery store.
A small smile sits on his lips at the sight, smaller and more genuine than the smirk heād been wearing moments ago.
Knew it, he thinks earnestly, already mentally predicting what youāll pick up from the store. And as he hovers back into the air, cracking his neck and knuckles, he decides following you there couldnāt hurt ā just in case any more men decide to mess with his woman.Ā
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:
Keigoās obsession with you is overwhelming, terrifying, and pushes him to do a number of things that force his morals to be flung out the window of favor of keeping you safe, happy, his, but thereās still a few things that he canāt push himself to do, even with you in mind. One of these things is to steal you away.
Ā Kidnapping you is not something he wants to do ā he may nurse a few beliefs about how youāll eventually forgive him for being so obsessive and domineering over you, but Keigo isnāt stupid. He knows your image of him will never recover if he presses the chloroform-soaked rag up to your mouth and coos at you while you fall limp and into his arms.
He knows youāll never truly forgive him if you wake up one morning in his apartment, breakfast in bed waiting beside you while he stares eagerly down at you, apologizing for having to be so extreme but trying desperately to convince you that he had no other choice, that he did it for you, that he did it to keep you safe.
He knows it wonāt go over well, and Keigo already feels so unsure of how to properly court you and make you genuinely like him and not just Hawks that he doesnāt want to do something even slightly risky. He already knows that stalking you, breaking into your home at night to restock your refrigerator and lay beside you on your bed is crossing enough boundaries and grounds for you to be seriously afraid of him, but kidnapping you is a line he simply isnāt willing to cross.
At least, thatās how he initially feels ā until something drastic happens, something that seriously threatens your safety and Keigo canāt just simply sit back and allow it to happen. And of course, itās fucking Dabi ā Keigoās stomach drops when he hears you mention something about running into a man on your way over a cozy cup of coffee in a local cafĆ©, the air warm and smelling of espresso.
Heād picked the cafĆ© because he knew it wasnāt super busy ā as much as his pride swells when civilians notice him and beg him for autographs and photos right in front of you, it also makes him nervous because the last thing he wants is to come off as cocky or arrogant or rude.
(Plus, the thought of making you jealous of his fans ā especially the adoring women ā gets his heart racing, his face and ears feeling hot because it makes him feel good that youāre being possessive over him, but he really doesnāt want you to worry. Heāll always be yours.)
But now heās wishing it was full to the brim, voices chattering and making it difficult to hear the way you describe a man with so many piercings and a pretty serious skin condition came up to me, he knew my name! Keigo, why do you think he knew my name? Do you think I should be worried?
Heās stiff, every muscle in his body tense and his grip on the coffee cup in his hand so tight that it shatters, coffee and ceramic shards getting everywhere. Heās still staring at you, though, even as you gasp and stand up, running to grab some napkins and wipe up the still steaming coffee. Thereās some on his hand but he doesnāt seem to care ā to even notice, really, if the way heās just staring and not even flinching is any indication.
Your brows furrow as you wipe the drink off of him, chest heaving slightly as you ask him if heās okay, if it hurts, if heās even listening to you. Keigo just swallows, still looking at you, before telling you with an unnervingly flat voice that itās certainly weird, but I wouldnāt worry about it.
You donāt mention it again, instead trying to ignore the heavy atmosphere and the way heās looking at you, all wide-eyed and not a single bit of emotion on his face. Itās scaring you, to be honest, and youāre quick to give him a small side hug and thank him for meeting you for coffee. Keigo mumbles something back as he watches you walk away, something prickling at the corners of his eyes that almost feel like tears as he imagines how Dabi couldāve possibly learned about you.
Heād been so fucking careful ā always making sure to not let his phone ever directly point at your face or your address, never explicitly saying your full name in case he was being bugged, never even breathing any bit of information that the greedy bastard could get his hands on.
And yet, itād all been for nothing ā because now that Dabi knows about you, everything has changed. Youāre in danger, because although Keigo believes that Dabi wonāt immediately kill you, he canāt simply rely on his gut ā youāre in danger. And although heād promised himself he wouldnāt snatch you away, that he wouldnāt betray your trust and make you hate him, he doesnāt really have a choice now, does he?
And so, with a heavy heart and red, puffy eyes, Keigo slips into your apartment, the sleeping pills heād mixed into your water sitting on your nightstand leaving you out like a light, even as he fabricates the crime scene. Heās shattering your window to mimic a home invader, tangling up your sheets and leaving dirty prints coming out your front door, your clothes ransacked and your television and computer destroyed.
It has to look real, after all ā faking a death is difficult but heās done it before, and as he soars away across town to his own apartment, with you clutched in his arms and your hair tickling his neck, Keigo can only whisper apologies against the crown of your head, squeezing his eyes closed and hoping that even in your unconscious state, you can feel how terribly, terribly sorry he is.
Of course, even though your kidnapping isnāt the idea situation for you or your captor, Keigo still tries to make the best of it. He doesnāt pretend to think that youāre happy with him ā he expects the crying and screaming when you wake up the next morning, his expression carefully neutral as you accuse him of being a villain, a creep, even though it makes his chest ache in a way no injury ever has, his lips feeling numb because god, he canāt breath with how you look at him in disgust and hatred.
Itās horrible ā but he grits his teeth and bares it, avoiding the pillows (lush and top-quality, of course, covered in sheets of your favorite color) youāre throwing at him, not saying anything until youāve had your fill. And really, his explanation once youād calmed down enough to listen to it isnāt nearly enough ā heās at a loss for words, really, looking at you with such honest eyes that it only makes you cry harder.
Heāll tell you that I need to keep you safe, and I ā Iām selfish, so this is the only way. Itās lackluster and itāll have you despising him, but as the days slowly pass, youāll find yourself growing less and less enraged at him, instead growing more and more complacent about your new life.
Because really, Keigo absolutely fucking spoils you. Heās certainly not hurting financially, and he wonāt bat an eye at buying anything and everything he thinks you could possibly want.
Heās getting takeout every night, ordering all your favorites (without having to ask you, of course, something thatād scared you at first, but thereās something about the way he eyes you as you eat it that makes you pause, his small, almost shy question of do you like it sounding rushed and nervous) and making sure to pick up snacks and goodies on his way home from almost every patrol. He loves to see you smile, and even in the beginning, when youāre still afraid of him and betrayed, the way your lips quirk up ever so slightly into the shadow of a smile when he hands you your favorite snack makes him gulp, something warm and overwhelming and hopeful bubbling up inside him.
Heās buying you pretty necklaces and jewelry that remind him of you, all the pieces startlingly within your tastes, his memory of the jewelry you used to wear so acute and strong that he knows your style even better than you do.
All of the clothing he buys for you (mostly comfortable clothing, lounging shirts and sweatpants and giant blanket ponchos) fits you perfectly, almost seeming to be tailored with the way they fit around your bust, hips, ass, shoulders, and thighs.
(He wonāt buy you any formal clothing, however ā heās faked your death, and he canāt exactly take you out for a nice date now, can he? He wouldnāt mind doing a candle-lit dinner in his own apartment, maybe sprinkling a few rose petals over the table and cooking you something that he really, really needs you to like, but he knows you arenāt willing. Youād thrash and refuse, not eating his food and looking at him with those eyes, the ones that are hard and calloused and sting with pain. So, he instead purchases the pretty dresses with low tops and slits up the leg, storing them in his spare closet so that you never see them, so that you donāt feel forced into anything more than you donāt want. Kidnapping is enough ā romantic dinners would be amazing, the kind of thing that Keigo thinks about with a small, sad smile on his face as he watches you sleep late at night, but certainly not a thing that could happen. Absolutely not ā at least, not any time soon.)
Heās embracing each and ever artistic and creative passion youāve ever had, buying you unfathomable amounts of supplies and instruments of the highest quality, waiting with baited breath to see if you like them, hoping with his hands clutched into fists at his side that youāll smile at him, that youāll look at him in anything other than hate ā and perhaps, if heās lucky enough, youāll even thank him.
(Just the thought makes him shiver, a blush rising from his chest all the way up his neck because he canāt not immediately imagine the way youād thank him ā perhaps youād give him a kiss, full of tongue and spit and moans, or maybe youād even sink to your knees for him, telling him that you appreciate his thoughtfulness, his love, how he works so hard to keep me safe, wonāt you let me thank you, Keigo? Please?)
Itās wishful thinking, of course, but Keigo tries to do everything humanly possible to keep you as happy as you can be given the situation. Of course, heās still controlling, laying down rules that youāll be too afraid to disobey, because although Keigo is soft with you and treats you like youāre made of glass, youāve seen the televised fights, the way his knuckles are sometimes bruised after patrols, the way he snaps angrily into his phone when the Commission calls him with yet another assignment. Heās still dictating what you can eat, how much contact you get with the outside world, your limited sources of entertainment, anything and everything. But he tries his absolute hardest to respect you in every other way, if only to perhaps plant the seeds of you one day growing to tolerate him, of you one day even perhaps loving him.
And so, Keigo forces himself to do the hardest thing of all ā not physically crowd you. Heās always wanted to be touchy with you, the years of not having anyone to hold or even give platonic physical affection causing him to be touch-starved, and so once you come into the picture?
Well, heās only a man ā he canāt help but imagine the way your hand would feel in his, fingers intertwined and your soft skin pressed against his own rougher hands.
He canāt help but imagine kissing you, feeling how soft and gentle your lips would be against his, how you taste, how youād make little sighs and whines when he starts kissing you harder, deeper, letting even just the smallest sliver of his desperation for you shine through.
He canāt help but imagine pulling your body against his own, keeping every inch of you flush with him while you watch a movie together, his fingers toying absentmindedly with your hair, deep exhales sounding from behind you each time he leans in to catch a whiff of you.
He canāt not imagine the way youād get all shy and bashful when the hand thatās been running up and down your sides suddenly dips lower, cupping at your ass while he lowly mumbles your name, telling you that he canāt hold back anymore, angel, canāt I have a taste?
Heās being good ā heās forcing all those urges and fantasies to the side, not putting you in a position where you feel forced into physical contact of any kind, sexual or otherwise. Heās respecting you, prioritizing you, even if it slowly destroys him. Having you right there, stuck with him, permanently bound to his side makes him want to grab onto you and never let go, to latch onto you like some sort of leech and take everything you have to offer and then some. It drives him fucking crazy, but he knows heāll get nowhere by forcing anything onto you.
And so, he holds his tongue, forcing his hand to not reach out and touch, forcing himself to not say the compliment on the tip of his tongue thatāll likely make you more uncomfortable than flattered. Heās good, and eventually youāll end up slowly coming to tolerate him. Sure, heās kidnapped you and sure, youāre still understandably upset at him, but isnāt he right? Youād seen the man that approached you before Keigo stole you away ā if heād attacked you, what would you have done? Youād have hoped and prayed that Hawks would have shown up, that youād been saved because you were too weak and incapable of doing it yourself.
So maybe heās right ā maybe you do need him, like he tells you late at night when he thinks youāre asleep. He sounds like heās trying to convince himself, sounding more and more sure of himself as the night wears on and he repeats aloud that heās keeping you safe, Iām keeping you safe, I know you donāt understand it now but someday youāll realize that I only took you to keep you out of harmās way.
And once you get past that barrier of hatred and animosity, itās disturbingly easy to let Keigo take full control, to give into him in every possible way.
Youāll stop fighting his diet planning, youāll gladly thank him for any book he gives you as entertainment, youāll eagerly listen when he tells you about his patrol and how he encountered so many villains whoād done horrible things. And Keigo will notice this change in your attitude ā itās too early to tell and heās always been too pessimistic to be hopeful, but you almost seem to be liking him. Youāre starting to revert back to the woman he first became obsessed with ā all smiles and laughter and snarky comments that left him choking on his drink.
And he canāt believe it ā he has to pinch himself, staring at you in shock with a flushed face as you make some comment alluding to him being ātoo handsome for his own goodā, the fork in his hand clattering down onto the plate. From there, itās a steady trajectory up ā youāll start getting even more little knick-knacks, shiny things and expensive things that he leaves in pretty, bow-wrapped boxes for you, a card written in his best handwriting that says something along the lines of for my angel.
Itās cheesy and makes you laugh a bit, but Keigo keeps doing because god, please laugh like that again, say his name while you do it and maybe even reach out to touch his shoulderā¦
He jumps at the opportunity to further your changing opinion of him, determined to make you like him, determined to let him love you like he knows he can ā like heāll do anything to prove to you.
PUNISHMENTS:
As a general rule, getting Keigo upset with you is kind of difficult. He views you as his own personal slice of heaven, the only thing that he truly has. Youāre the only thing that belongs to Keigo Takami, not Hawks, not the Commission, only him, and because of that he tends to idolize you.
Youāre his first real romantic partner, his first real romantic experience, and the combination of that plus his intense, pitifully strong desire to please you makes it hard for him to stay angry at you for any significant period of time. And so, while heās far from the ideal captor (too clingy, too controlling, too awed when he looks at you), Keigo will avoid punishing you at all costs.
He just doesnāt see the point ā he doesnāt want you to hate him any more than you already do, and the thought of purposefully hurting you makes him feel physically ill. He hates seeing you in pain ā itās part of what drove him to steal you away, after all, the terror he felt at knowingly putting you in harmās way. Heās protective and frankly anal about your health, and so to purposefully bruise your pretty skin or make you cry makes him angry enough to want to hit something, angry enough to literally writhe in his own rage.
And so, Keigo swears off any sort of physical altercations with you ā heās just too strong and youāre just too weak, and it would break him to know that he was the source of your pain and misery.
(He knows he is, already, but he canāt be the source of it physically, too, otherwise he might just shatter, feeling entirely numb and carrying out his missions like a robot, utterly unaffected by the world because he hurt you, and can he even call himself a decent hero, a decent man after that?)
However, while causing you physical harm is off the table, Keigo is realistic enough about your situation to know that punishing you entirely is something he canāt avoid. You will act out, heās sure of it ā heād be concerned if you didnāt, really, and so heās expecting you to lash out at him and try to hurt him. If he were you, heād do it too.
But as much as he expects this behavior and wouldnāt fault you for it, Keigo knows that if he wants to make any progress, if he wants to give you even a chance at eventually growing complacent (itās a selfish desire, really, but itās the only route he can see to where youāll be even remotely happy, or at least not fighting tooth and nail at all costs), he has to establish repercussions for when youāre throwing tantrums or acting poorly.
It feels condescending and Keigo hates it, but he decides that where physical punishments fail, he must rely on emotional ones. Itās manipulative and it makes Keigo feel dirty, disgusting, like a poor excuse for your so-called-protector, but itās his only choice. He has to get you into shape, both for your sake and his. Itās the only choice, he swears.
You really hadnāt meant to stumble upon something you werenāt supposed to find, really. As a general rule, you donāt snoop through Keigoās things ā heās a clean freak, first of all, the apartment he keeps you in minimalistic with everything in its correct spot. Itās classy and pretty, sure, but itās boring, and can you really be blamed for wanting to explore after a few weeks cooped up in this penthouse?
Certainly not ā which is how you find yourself tiptoeing into Keigoās bedroom ā heād brought up the idea of sharing a bed multiple times only to be outright refused by you, and so he kept his things in this separate room. And it wasnāt explicitly off-limits, your captor never actually telling you that you couldnāt venture in. And so here you are, opening up the tall, wooden cabinet in the corner of the room and immediately sucking in a sharp breath at what you find.
Youād known Keigo had stalked you, the confession slipping from his lips early on into your captivity and the evidence difficult to deny.
(How else could he have known all your preferences before you ever voice them, knowing the way you like your morning drink, the products you use in the shower, hell, even the way you sleep ā getting the pillows you like, pajamas similar to your own, even the type of sheet you prefer.)
Youād known, sure, but this ā this is something else entirely. The cabinetās housing a variety of items that send a chill down your spine because theyāre yours.
An old bottle of perfume sits on the corner, the brand name smudged off from wear, and you bite your lip as you notice itās still got just a bit left, though not nearly the amount you remember when itād gone missing a few months ago. Your nose scrunches at the thought of him using your perfume, and bile rises in the back of your throat as you start imagining exactly how itād been used, for what purpose and how often for that much to be gone.
Thereās a few old lip balms sitting there, organized by flavor ā cherry at the right, then melon, then mint, then peach and coconut. You donāt bother looking at them closely, too nervous to find signs of usage from someone other than you. (Which is good: the mint flavored Chapstickās missing a chunk, with Ā what looks like teeth marks sunken into the material.)
Thereās an old hairbrush you thought youād left at a friendās place, still a few tufts of hair left between the bristles, though something seems to be crusted against the handle, and you wince at the thought of what that could possibly be. Youāre scared, really, your heart screaming at you to stop searching, begging you to not look deeper because you donāt want to know what else heās stolen from you, but your mind urges you to keep going, some sort of sick urge to know exactly what heās taken, why heās taken it.
(Though, you think you already know ā the way he leans in close to smell you when he thinks heās being subtle is telling, as is the way he has you sort out your used period products into a separate waste container, telling you that it's because the pads he gives you are compostable. Youāve seen the way the bags linger, though, staying in his bathroom, blood sometimes sitting under his nails when he emerges, eyes dilated and licking his lips at you.)
But as soon as you spot the photographs, you crumble.
Of course youād known he was stalking you, following your every move and watching you at your most vulnerable, but somehow this is worse ā thereās dozens of them, stacked neatly in piles that you canāt even begin to understand. Leafing through them with shaking fingers, they only seem to get worse and worse, images of you laying on your couch, cooking, doing your makeup, changing into your bathrobe, sleeping, and oh god, thereās even one of you on your bed, legs spread and fingers thrusting and rubbing and oh god youāre going to be sick-
The photographs fall from your fingertips as you shakily take a few steps back, the sound of the front door opening and Keigoās call of Iām home making panic swim in your veins. Heās quick to come find you, asking you in a voice thatās edging on concerned where you are, but when he steps into his bedroom and spots you against the far wall, hands covering your mouth and the wooden door open and askew, Keigoās clenching his teeth, jaw working.
Oh, is all he has to say, and it snaps you out of your horror.
Oh? Thatās it? Thatās fucking it, Keigo? What ā what is this? Youāre sick, a sick freak! Why do you have my stuff? Whatās wrong with you? Youāre yelling, pushing yourself further against the wall, and he can only frown, irritation and worry eating away at him because god, hearing you so upset is physically hurting him but thereās nothing he can do.
You werenāt supposed to see that, itās, uhā¦ He trails off, mind racing and panicking as he tries to think of what to say, but you donāt let the silence sit for long.
Thereās something wrong with you, youāre a fucking monster! You think youāre a hero? Stalking some poor civilian, stealing her shit, photographing her while sheās sleeping? Youāre disgusting, a horrible, twisted, sick creep! Stay away from me!
Youāre crawling backwards away from him as he comes towards you, his hands in front of him as a sign of peace. Youāre crying, he can see, and it only makes his chest ache more, shame and self-loathing away at him because youāre right ā heās sick in the head, he knows it, but he canāt help it.
I know, I know, calm down, youāre going to hurt yourself if you donāt stop crying, angel ā
It's the wrong thing to say and he immediately knows it, because you give him a glare that makes something sharp dig into his heart, so much so that he physically clutches at his chest, wincing and averting his eyes from yours.
I hate you, Keigo, you whisper, and it makes something ugly come from his throat, a mix between a gasp and a whimper. I hate you I hate you I hate you.
Heās frozen for a moment, before swallowing, nodding his head and blinking the tears out of his eyes. I know, he starts, before turning on his heel and walking towards the doorway to the bedroom. I know you hate me, but youāre stuck with me.
And with that he walks to the front door, slamming it behind him and leaving the apartment empty. You stay curled up on the ground for a few minutes, still crying and hiccupping, the influx of emotion making your head ache. Youād been here for weeks now, and you thought youād moved on from these crying episodes, from these emotional outbursts, but something about the photos had opened the floodgates.
After another ten minutes, you shakily get up, still rubbing at your eyes and avoiding looking at the wooden cabinet. You all but sprint to your own bed ā the bed he gave you, at least ā and curl up on top of it, letting your eyes shut and exhaustion fall over you. Itās not until you wake a few hours later that you notice Keigo still hasnāt returned home yet.
That was odd ā heās not on shift, and it was the middle of the night by now. Where was he? Shaking your head, flashes of the photographs race through your head, forcing you to stop thinking of Keigo. The night is quiet as you make yourself something small to eat ā a piece of bread and a small amount of the low-fat butter Keigo eats, the apartment still eerily quiet.
You fall into a restless slumber soon after, your dreams filled with the sensation of something ā someone ā watching over your sleeping form.
When you awake, thereās still no sign of him ā everythingās quiet and empty, and you bite your lip, equal parts relieved that heās nowhere in sight but also slightly concerned. The feeling looms over you as the day slips away, his presence still gone. Itās not until two days later that Keigo finally returns home, and by that point the paranoia at his absence leaves you perking up when you hear the faint jingling of keys.
Youāre immediately on your feet, practically tripping as you run to the front door, eager for him to return, eager to not be all alone and scared ā something youād realized about a day ago. Youād actually been afraid of his absence. Perhaps it was survival, wanting to make sure you had enough food and someone with the locks to all the keys thatād be able to let you out, or perhaps it was that you needed him. Maybe you needed some human contact, the total silence and your inability to contact anyone driving you stir crazy.
Regardless, you wait with eager anticipation as Keigo opens the door, those yellow eyes immediately catching yours, his expression carefully neutral though you can see something behind the practiced apathy. Itās relief, you think, and something else ā something more desperate, something more vulnerable, something that makes you launch yourself into his arms, nearly knocking the wind out of him as he stares wildly down at you, shock written all across his face.
Heād expected that youād be relieved that he came home, happy to have your source of food and care back, but not this excited ā he swallows, frantically trying to not focus on the way your body is pressing against his and how he can feel all of you, instead letting his arms hesitantly wrap around you, not wanting to scare you.
Youāre saying his name, he realizes, and he furrows his brows, closing his eyes and letting the sound ring through his ears. Itās wrong to be enjoying your clearly distraught state and he knows it, but he canāt help it ā youāve never initiated physical contact like this before, and is it really such a crime to be enjoying it?
Iām here, angel, ām here, he tells you, petting a hand over your hair and letting you squeeze him tighter. Please never leave me again, Keigo, please!
Youāre begging him, he realizes, and it forces him to hug you just a bit tighter, his wings coming down to join the hug to. Closing his eyes again, Keigo lets out a slow, deep sigh, relishing in the way youāre clinging to him for comfort, begging him to never leave you for a moment.
And as he whispers a small Iām yours, Iāll never leave you again, you can only nod against his chest, disgusted with yourself for this display of your dependence on him. Because really, when had you become so fond of your captor? The photographs are still on the ground in his bedroom, all the things he's stolen from you sitting in that damned cabinet, but you find yourself not caring.
As you breathe in the now familiar smell of his cologne, hear his heart pounding away in his chest, you find that you donāt care about anything, really ā because perhaps what heās been saying along is really true.
Maybe you are in need of protection, needing him to provide for you. Because youād been left alone for three days, and what do you have to show for it? Panic, loneliness, fear that heād left you behind? Maybe you really are just as weak as he makes you out to be ā and as you slowly pull back from the hug, you find yourself ever so briefly being thankful for him.
Thankful that youāve finally, finally found where you belong: by Keigoās side, letting him fawn over you and keep you locked up like some prized pet.
OVERALL DANGER:
6/10
Keigo is less dangerous and more paranoid. He has so many alter egos and warring identities that once you come along, encouraging him to just be Keigo around you rather than Pro Hero Hawks or PLF Hawks, he canāt let you slip away.
Thereās something about you that doesnāt leave his mind ā perhaps itās your mannerisms, your looks, the way you speak, how you walk and how you smell and how you think. Maybe itās some twisted form of fate, or some long-repressed part of his quirk thatās beginning him to finally find a companion, a mate, someone to share himself with.
Regardless, once Keigoās obsession forms, heās a lost cause ā heās thinking of you constantly, unable to stop his mind from wandering into idle thoughts of what youāre doing or how youāre feeling. He finds himself unconsciously trailing behind you, watching over you from above with those sharp eyes of his narrowed in on your form, studying and memorizing the curves of your body underneath your clothing, the way you walk ingrained into him so deeply that when he closes his eyes all he sees is you.
His paranoia grows as his obsession does, too, the worrying realization that youāre weak making it difficult for him to ever part from you, anxiety swimming in his gut because what if you get hurt and he isnāt there to help you? What if you get into trouble and he isnāt there to swoop and be your savior?
(Some sick, twisted part of him almost wishes you would run into trouble, just so he could put himself into the position of being your knight in shining armor, of making you swoon for him, feeling the way youād be so very grateful and want to make it up to him in any way you could. He forces the thought down, disgusted with himself for fantasizing about you being in danger, but during long nights where he tosses and turns in his too-empty and too-cold bed, the thought of you looking at him in such awe and gratitude makes something warm, wet, and shameful throb to life between his legs.)
He does eventually kidnap you, yes, but as time passes youāll find that slowly youāll stop caring about how he keeps you trapped by his side, how he controls your every day life, how he forces you into all sorts of loungey, comfortable clothing that always smells like him. Because really, Keigo is awfully pathetic ā he thinks heās good at hiding just how badly you affect him, but you can see the way he perks up when you enter a room, looking so hopefully and lovesick as he gazes at you that it almost hurts.
Youāll be able to tell how his heart is racing in his chest when you get close to him, his breath turning ragged and his palms so sweaty that when he wipes them on his pants they leave wet marks. Itās pathetic, sad, cute, and as time passes with Keigo as the only person in your life, slowly youāll begin wondering if being loved by him isnāt bad.
Is what Keigo can give you ā protection, adoration, reliability, devotion ā really so bad? Is it so bad to just be loved?
And Keigo will be there waiting for you once you finally come around, his hands trembling as he hugs you, burying his face into your neck and you swear you feel something wet against your skin, his tears tickling you as his shoulders shake. He just loves you, and how cruel can you be to reject him, to leave him without the only person heās ever cared for?
How could you be such a monster?
#yandere bnha#yandere mha#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere my hero academia#yandere hawks#yandere keigo takami#hawks x reader#_lee's profiles#_keigo takami#_bnha
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A Practical Discussion of Eligible MDZS Bachelors During the Second Life
So I keep seeing discussions floating around about like "why aren't any of these people married" and "are JC's standards too high?" and other assorted nonsense, so I have decided to put together a ranking of like "if a practical minded historical* woman wanted to get ahead politically with the LEAST amount of #suffering, what rankings would she give these guys." Because I've been really fond of @dangermousie's poll options, I'm calling this girl Potato.
*Historical fantasy more or less given that we assume that Potato is also a cultivator.
Jiang Cheng There are many reasons for this but 1) Jiang Cheng's in-laws consist entirely of (1) bratty nephew who doesn't even live at his house full time, 2) there are no other meddling in laws or sect elders given that Jiang Cheng is the only one! 3) he is reasonably good looking, well off, and has social status by this point in the story. Potato can probably win over a bratty nephew! Downsides include: if Potato doesn't like spicy foods oh dear, but honestly we don't know what Potato's spice tolerance is so it could still work out!
Nie Huaisang: Being married to NHS would be an exercise in perpetual embarrassment, and it's unclear if his budget line items ever since Da-ge died are any more detailed than "Summertime Sadness." There are worse people to marry, but why anyone (including Potato) would willingly choose to marry NHS for political benefit eludes me. He is ranked higher on this list than any Lan largely for the sake of "his mom was probably not in solitary confinement" and "there are likely no dietary restrictions present in his house." but the other downsides include "he's probably going to go INSANE" at some point but silver lining on that front is that he's really not a very good cultivator, so it probably won't be as bad as NMJ's insanity bender? Potato could rank him lower than any Lan options tbh.
Lan Xichen There are also many reasons why Mr. Zewu-jun is not an ideal marriage candidate for practical reasons but this largely has to do with his family. There's 33 favorite grandpas who seem to have opinions on the regular. The in-law trouble would suck tremendously. There's 5am wakeup calls and 9pm bedtimes and no meat or alcohol. There's like between 3000-4000 rules Potato will have to remember and actually follow! His mom spent her entire married life mysteriously in solitary confinement. #Yikes!
This seems like an unwise place to marry into. Potato could do better.
Lan Wangji See above except for the part where he doesn't even like Potato and only thinks about WWX all day.
Lan Qiren I am uncertain about Potato's investment in #HotDilfsInLocalArea but 3000-4000 rules and many of Zewu-jun's problems.
Jin Guangyao He's already married and he's never cheating on his incest marriage, and he has his ex's head in his bedroom closet. Also #Yikes. Potato could do better than this too.
Basically: Potato should either aim to marry Jiang Cheng or go to live as a hermit in the woods.
#this is a joke post but#honestly Mianmian had the right idea here#the eligible bachelors are like#āJiang Cheng is winning by a country mileā and then āthere's also these other guys I guess?????ā#meta#my meta#laugh rule
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hiya!
Could you do Prince Nuada from Hellboy 2 and reader?
This one has taken me a while- Also thank you for reigniting the LOVE I had for Prince Nuada! Ugh! So sexy!!
I do hope this is to your liking since it did take some warping.
1. I gotta keep Nuada and Nuala alive so the ending didn't happen
2. Introduce elements from the comics aka Hellboy had adopted siblings.
OKAY ENJOY! I TRIED HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Half Breed
Prince Nuada x FemReader
Support me on Ko-Fi I'm poor!
After the fortunately failed suicide attempt from Nuala which had horribly injured both twins- Nuafa had been captured and the two rushed back to the Bureau for emergency treatment, Which fortunately allowed the Elves to survive the whole ordeal.
Nuada had been placed in custody of B.P.R.D first as a high level prisoner for many months after his attempt to wipe out humanity.
After being in solitary confinement for far too long a deal was struck with him to work for the organization due to his knowlege of the world and to get out of solitary help all that had been damaged.
He had agreed- begrudgingly and because Nuala insisted.. it had been nearly a year of this all- When something interesting took place.
Nuala and Abe walked down the corridors together, talking about recent books they had shared before Abe paused.
"Oh?-" He looked around calmly before seeing the warning lights come down shining blue instead of the normal red for emergencies.
"Is there an emergancy?" Nuala questioned, a bit nervous of what it could mean, But Abe gently touched her shoulder with his gloved hand.
"No no- Just a old friend. Everytime she visits her and Red play a.. Game of sorts like tag" Abe explained, Nuala smiling at hearing this. Nuada who had just returned from a mission turned the corner seeing his sister and the fish man, frowning but looking to the lights.
"Whats this?" He asked shortly, Abe repeating his answer from before.
"Warning lights for a Game?" He questioned, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Well they are only allowed to have this game once a year and for 5 minutes- mainly due to the property damage that always happens" Abe said truthfully as the elven twins looked surprised by this. A childish game causing property damage?
As if right on cue there was a loud crash the trio turning to see Hellboy running full force in their direction like a train.
"MOVE MOVE!" He yelled loudly, as he ran past them. This was the fastest any of them had seen him run even in a life or death situation, right as he was about to turn the corner a black boot came barrowing down on the side of his cheek, knocking him to the ground hard before the smaller figure ran down the hall Red had just gone through.
"You're it!" She yelled and the trio watched- There running past was a women. Dressed in all black leather tactical gear with her silver hair in a long braid, the ends a sunset gold- (Y/S/C) skin with unique etchings found in only elvish culture paired with amber eyes. It didn't take a genius to figure see what she was-
"Timer Abe!" She yelled, Abe looking to the small watch he carried.
"4 minutes and 26 seconds left- Also happy youve returned safely" He called out to (Y/N) who dashed down the hallway.
Nuada eyes widened as he couldnt help but follower her with his gaze, something about her drew him in. The trio sticking to the walls as they tried to follow the action- it was like a massive battle taking black between a giant and a tiny titan. While Red was slamming into walls cracking cement with his weight and arm- (Y/N) was doing flips and hung to the light fixtures above to keep an advantage.
"Happy to see you too!!!"
He could only describe himself as being mesmerized by her.. Every turn, giggle and jump just seemed to bewitch him and it terrified him.. It wasn't till a loud alarm snapped him his gaze making him jump a bit in surprise- the game was over it seemed and Hellboy returned with his sister, the demon clearly glum from losing.
Nuala eyes widened as she watched (Y/N) jump around Hellboy with a happy smile at winning the game. Figuring what she was but disbelieving of course even after this entire endeavor. A leath-fola. A Half-Blood Actually existed in this world? The embodiment of a union between a human and one of his own kind-
"I win Red! So that's 28 for me and 25 for you. Best luck next you!" She said cheerfully as Hellboy grumbled and pushed her head away with his small hand.
"Yada Yada short stack-"
She noticed the looks of the two meeting their gazes and Nuada immediately felt his heart beat pick up- Confused by the sensation he glanced to Nuala assuming it must be her however she seemed calm and relaxed.
"New Agents?" She questioned looking at the twins, Abe nodding with a 'smile'
"Prince Nuada of the Bethmora clan.. This here is my sister Princess Nuala" He introduced both formally, watching how her smile seemed to radiate as he spoke. It made him feel like he had had stepped into the sun for the first time in years..
"It's lovely to meet you both! It's so lovely to have new faces here in the facility" She said cheerfully, reaching out in a friendly matter and patting both twins on the shoulders.
It felt like Nuada had been shocked by the most pleasant bit of electricity that left him flustered and confused. His sister finally glancing at him as she felt his emotions and gaze a smile, a twinkle of what could only be described as mischief in her golden gaze.
"Yes.. new faces... now if you'll excuse me" Nuada said quickly before dismissing himself- trying to control the panic that was eating him on the inside and the warmth that bloomed in his body. He practically ran back to the space he was forced to call a room and lock himself inside. Nuada stood in his room pacing back and forth. His mind racing and heart uneasy- unknowingly for hours as he tried to calm himself from the sudden feelings that seemed to slam into him.
A knock on the door bringing him from his thoughts as he quickly opened the door, surprised to see his sister standing there in a evening gown.
"Sister, what are you doing up? You should be resting.." He said softly, allowing Nuala into the room.
"I can not rest with you so worked up brother" Nuala said softly. The prince sighing as he realized he had kept her up and took a seat on the corner of the bed, Nuala sitting next to him as well.
"Well- It sounds like she is your fated partner" She pointed out and Nuada immediately felt anger in his blood.
"You're thinking about the leath-fola (Y/N)? Right?" Nuala said softly as she rubbed her brothers shoulder to comfort him. He frowned at being so obvious and also for the form of comfort.
"Yes- She... makes me uneasy" He says, lying a bit to avoid the words he wanted to use. Nuala smiling at this.
"Do not speak such foolish things-" He hissed, Nuala flinching at his harsh words.
"I am not fated to a mortal of all beings" He started but Nuala held up a hand.
"She is not a mortal however brother.. You saw" Nuada was ready to argue but couldnt- his face twisting up.. The damn half-breed was not his fated partner NOR was it going to be the siblings of the demon.
He would prove it...
For the first few weeks that (Y/N) was there, Nuada had been rude and snide. Hissing insults about her mixed blood, shoving past her or even straight up ignoring her. He expected she would take the abuse since she didnt say anything about it but he had been wrong- so terribly wrong.
It took only one time calling her "Dirty" in terms of her blood to get the hardest punch he had ever taken to the nose- It made his eyes water and fall to a knee infront of her..
She grabbed his silver hair and pulled him close so they were eye to eye-
"Listen here- Keep insulting me like this and I'm going to tear your ass a new one. I don't give a Flying fuck if your a price or whatever- I will fuck you up" She hissed at him-
Nuada felt more confused then he ever had before- The pain seemingly going with the fluttering warmth he felt in his face and blatant arousal that was Damm near impossible to miss- (Y/N) seeing his widened eyes and the flush of color on his pale face, like he was frozen and her own golden eyes traveled down at noticing some new movement.
"O-Oh-" Was all she said- Clearly just as surprised as Nuada was at this point. Her fingers carefully releasing his silver hair as warmth went to her own cheeks.
Nuada wanted a blade to the heart at this point...
#x reader#hellboy#Hellboy Golden Army#prince nuada#Princess Nuala#hellboy 2 the golden army#hellboy 2004#abe sapien#halloween#happy halloweeeeeeen#dark elf#elf x reader#half elf#teratophile#monster fucker#monster fuqqer#monster fudger
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