#and for white this must be the first time he has truly been himself during all this and maybe even in his entire life

[letsabandonthisworld]

ONE YEAR OF NOT ME DAY 4: favorite scene - the one where they fall in love while holding hands under a pride flag and shouting for marriage equality

[mynameis-noe-body]

marquis de gramont fic

Y/n is sweet and kind and isn't part of Vincent world, but he fell for her anyway and although he's ruthless he has a soft spot for her as she's his wife. A fic of him killing someone and she accidentally sees and get scared and he comforts and cuddles her.

Thank you for the request! I found myself immediately inspired and I wrote it as soon as I could.

I am working on the other requests, too! It will just take a little time :) 🖤

Safe in his arms

Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you (F)

Rating: Teen & Up Audience

Status: Complete (one shot)

The first time he had seen you, truly seen you, was at the Louvre. On a January morning, when Paris was still cold and tormented by a wind blowing from the north, when the fog rose in the city's parks and around its splendid monuments, bathing everything in an intense white, you had waited for hours on those stairs, with your arms crossed, looking at one single work of art. At first Vincent didn't give it much importance. But when the crowd thinned out, around noon, knowing that soon the guests would arrive at his private event — yet another official HighTable lunch right there in Paris — and seeing you still there, fascinated, he approached.

"Madmoiselle, I am sorry. These rooms have been reserved for a private event. You should leave" he had said, coldly.

But you, you smiled. And your smile was sweet. "Can I just ask you for a minute? One minute, and I'll be gone. I've never seen her like this." You looked up dreamily at Nike — that marble statue at the top of the steps, as proud and silent as you'd ever seen it. “She is just so beautiful” you had commented under your breath, as if not to break that spell. "They deprived her of her arms, of her very face. They tore her to pieces. Yet no one has ever managed to take away of her wings."

Vincent, enchanted by your words, so simple and so true, lost himself in your face. His gaze filled with you for the first time. He watched you go, nodding at you when you wished him a good day, and he followed you with wondering eyes until he saw you disappear. He didn't know it yet, but you would haunt his days and his nights from now on.

He looked for you. He had his men search for you until he could find you. Your subsequent encounters must have seemed casual; a casual meeting in the park during your walk, a chat over a coffee, you even met in the library.

You laughed about it. “It almost feels like fate.”

Vincent nodded. Fate, sure.

He wooed you with expensive gifts, luxurious dinners, evenings at the theater, visits to the most prestigious private art collections — but you weren't as impressed as he expected.

“How can I make you happy, mon amour?” he asked you.

"I don't want your money, Vincent, only you."

And so, one spring evening, you found yourselves simply walking through the streets of Montmartre, laughing and chatting amiably, holding hands, exchanging a few kisses without realizing that the night had already passed; at dawn, on the steps of the cathedral, it was just the two of you, two hot cappuccinos and two croissants, watching the sun rise from the east, illuminating a new day.

Soon after, he asked you to marry him. And you said yes.

There was only one small problem. You knew nothing about him.

▪️▪️▪️

You were beautiful. Naked in his bed after yet another night of love, entwined with the ivory silk pillow, your cheeks slightly flushed and your lips so sweet, so languid. Vincent stroked your hair, watching you sleep. You had the power to unleash in him a tenderness that had long been buried, forgotten and drowned in an ocean of violence. There was nothing he loved more than taking care of you, spending hours listening to your stories so simple and yet full of emotions; he was surprised at how you were able to find beauty in the most mundane things. There was no art that compared to the perfect curves of your body in his hands, against his lips, kissed by his mouth, worshiped by his limbs. There was nothing he wanted more, at the end of a day, than to soak in your immense bathtub with you — a glass of champagne, a tray of mini pastries, macarons and fine chocolates, essential oils and perfumes in the warm water and his hand gently caressing your breast, listening to your heartbeat — before carrying you to bed and falling asleep in your arms.

You were his most precious jewel. And because of this, his biggest fear was losing you forever.

Yes, in his world you were a weakness. Vincent had taken every precaution to keep you away from the monsters that lurked in the shadows of his life, but on the other hand it was inevitable that sooner or later the Great Table would learn of your existence. With this, the problems had begun. Vincent was a powerful man and a powerful man always had enemies. Indeed, the more power he had, the greater the number of his nemeses.

House Bisset De Gramont was a peaceful, safe place, far from danger. Immersed in the Provençal countryside, surrounded as far as the eye can see by lilac fields of fragrant lavender, kissed by the sun, it was one of your favorite places to spend long summer weeks. You knew that Vincent was a Marquis, that his family had been extremely wealthy, and that his business took him all over the world... and nothing else. You enjoyed your holidays with a carefreeness that he envied. Vincent watched you tan by the pool, read your favorite novels lying on the green grass of his gardens, paint the spectacle of lavender swaying in the wind, and hoped that nothing would ever affect your happiness.

But that morning, that morning...

There was a knock on your bedroom door. Yet they knew — his men had been well instructed about it and it was forbidden for anyone to come near your bedroom! What the hell were they doing?

Quickly, he stood up and put on a robe, stomping out of the bedroom with frozen anger in his eyes. "What the fuck are you doing? What made you think you could—"

"Monsieur — Marquis. Please listen" one of them interrupted. "We have the man."

The man. Vincent took a deep breath. The son of a bitch who followed you. He had noticed that black sedan since your departure from Paris a week earlier. He was sure it was a hitman sent for you, the easiest target, most disarmed in the face of the capabilities of his enemies. Some had understood that if they wanted to destroy the Marquis De Gramont, they would have to destroy you first. You, who were his strength and purpose in life. His one true love.

Many had tried, that man was just one of many.

Vincent growled, grabbing his helper by the collar of his shirt. "You separated me from my wife at seven in the morning, on a Sunday, for yet another son of a bitch? At least tell me it was worth it!"

"He's here, sir, we thought you would—"

"He is here?!"

They carried him forward. Two other men had tied the hitman with tight ties around his wrists and legs, blindfolded him and were now dragging him forward, holding him by his arms.

Vincent was inflamed with terrible anger. "Don't you ever dare bring one of them into my house again! My wife - my woman, she's in the next room sleeping and you bring one of these worms into my house!" the Marquis grabbed the knife from his man's pocket. "Kill them and get rid of them! This is my order!" and with a mechanical gesture of the wrist, making it seem so simple, he threw the blade and it pierced the assassin's neck. He gasped for just a second. Blood ran down his wounded throat and, now dead, he collapsed in the arms of his captors. It was only when a trickle of blood reached the white marble floor that, with a short, anguished breath, you attracted attention. And with terror in his eyes Vincent turned away.

You had just woken up, you were wearing his shirt, you had walked silently barefoot to the ajar door. And you had seen it all. You had covered your mouth with the palm of your hand, but this was nothing compared to the terror you felt when you saw the blood. The death. A murder. Your Vincent, your sweet, caring husband, who had just killed a man. Stepping back, trembling, you risked fainting. You suddenly felt pale, weak, powerless, completely disconcerted. Cold shivers ran through every fiber of your body. But before you could fall to the floor, Vincent had rushed to catch you. Lifting you into his arms, he had carried you back to bed.

"It's okay, mon amour" he whispered, kissing your forehead. You were shaking and crying. "No one will hurt you, you are safe with me, ma chéri."

You pointed to the door, now closed. "That man — I saw, oh God, I saw that man! You killed him! Vincent, my God, oh no. No, no — you killed a man!"

He shook his head. The more you trembled, the tighter he held you against his chest. "He was an evil man and he would have hurt you if you had let him live. He had been paid for this, my love, for you."

"Me?" you exclaimed, horrified. Your face twisted into a grimace of disgust and terror. "What have I done wrong in this life to deserve death?!"

Vincent chuckled. It was really fun. “Oh dear, you married me.”

You tried to move away from him, to squirm, to slip away from his embrace, but despite managing to slide against the other end of the bed Vincent took your hand, your wrist, and dragged you towards him again. Laying back on the sheets, he held you down with his entire body. "I am a very powerful man. And powerful men must protect themselves, and protect those they love." He caressed your face wet with tears. He found them so innocent.

You stammered, still shocked at the sight of that blood, that death, that ruthlessness. "Then we should hide!"

Vincent laughed even harder. "There's no hiding from this! It will always be a part of me, darling. But I can assure you of one thing. If there is a safe place for you in this world, then this is right here, by my side." He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. He hugged you, rocking you gently.

" I love you" he whispered, "and I live for you. I am willing to kill — to die, if necessary, for you. I ask only that you continue to love me as you always have. I am still me, always your Vincent. You can do this for me, mon amour?"

He left the ghost of a kiss on your lips, and covered you both with the sheets, stroking your hair to help you fall asleep again. Before closing your eyes, answering his question, you nodded softly. "I love you, Vicent."

He smiled.

[thestrangesthell]

"Let's get married on your favourite holiday."

"Will you marry me on Halloween?"

"That's in two days!"

I re-watched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (casually, this time) and ended up slowly descending down another theory stairwell.

Rory's pathetic proposal uncovers a previously-unknown (though unsurprising) fact about Lydia:

Halloween is her favourite holiday.

While this detail comes as a shock to absolutely no one, it triggered a brand-new headcanon to emergency land straight into my brain.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice could have been set at literally any time of year. The season has very little impact on the plot (with the exception of adding to the overall atmosphere and aesthetic). The main driving force is a few comedic gags with the Shrink Heads, Trick-or-Treaters and sets up the plot device for Astrid to fall head-first into Jeremy's trap.

Why does that matter?

Well, let's talk "psychic" connections.

Now, whether you believe Betelgeuse truly has a "psychic connection" with Lydia or not, it's fair to say the man is 100% spying on her.

Black and white motifs appear throughout the movie, insinuating a persistent presence of Betelgeuse. The first time we see this is during the Ghost House footage. A painting can be seen on the back wall and, in the night-vision camera, appears to be black and white stripes (or wiggles - if we're going to get really specific).

Again, we see black and white stripes on the man in the audience (whom Lydia "mistakes" for Betelgeuse) and later with the clown costume kid at Astrid's school.

Lydia also outrightly says:

"I feel this [his] presence."

There's not much more I can say here to convince you that Betelgeuse is an omni-present false protagonist.

The long and short of this point is that Betelgeuse is constantly checking up on Lydia. Whether it's to make her see him, sense him, miss him - it's all a part of his plan. The key thing is that he is able to do it.

Now, let's jump back to Rory's shit attempt at a proposal.

In this scene, Rory specifies Halloween is Lydia's favourite holiday. If we consider that fact that Betelgeuse is omni-present, he learns this too (although I'd place a lot of money on the fact he already knew and/or assumed this).

Now, let's jump in the line again, but this time, to the scene where Lydia summons Betelgeuse.

"I can't believe I'm doing this..."

After confirming that Lydia's daughter "is screwed," Betelgeuse bargains with Lydia for something in return in exchange for his help.

No where in this scene does Betelgeuse suggest or directly insinuate marriage. He simply asks for a way "to get away from her [Delores] permanently."

This could range from any number of things from Lydia's help putting a stop to Delores' plans to an outright exorcism.

It's Lydia who assumes that marriage is what he is after.

But look at him. He isn't going to complain. The man is delighted.

Anyway.

My point is that Betelgeuse must know that Lydia is engaged. Rather than make it awkward for her, he lets her make the call as to whether or not marriage is on the table.

Although I'm sure he also knows she's not exactly enthralled by the prospect of marrying Rory.

Now, let's cut to the wedding itself.

"If I don't do it now, I'm never gonna do it!"

I can't help but wonder, was Lydia talking about marriage in general, her marriage to Rory, or her marriage to Betelgeuse here.

(Side note: I headcanon that Lydia never got married. Not even to Richard. But that's a post for another day...)

After making make Rory make a fool of himself (say that three times fast), Betelgeuse sets the scene. He knows time isn't on their side, (yet still sings 90% of MacArthur Park like a lovesick idiot) and does some very specific things that round off my entire point:

He changes Lydia's original dress to something more of Lydia's taste. We know he was present while Lydia and Rory talked wedding plans in Charle's study, so we can assume he also saw what Rory ordered in from Soho.

He pulls out a lipsynch/floatation number à la Jump In The Line (which Lydia begs the Maitlands to do in the 1988 movie).

He gives her his literal heart.

And (most important to my point), he "crashes" Lydia and Rory's wedding to make sure it still takes place on her favourite holiday.

The wedding in Beetlejuice (1988) is as romantic as it is slow and steadily paced. That is to say, it's a complete shit show.

Betelgeuse is a manic mess of pleaseletmeoutintothelivingworldpleasepleaseplease and rushes everything in order to get his freedom. The idiot even forgets to have a ring at hand...or, ya know...finger.

Another sidenote: While I (personally) DO believe he has some type of strong feeling for Lydia in the first movie, he clearly wants his freedom more than a wife. He's been hurt by love before and literally snorts at the idea that he has to get married in order to get out "for good."

So...why is Halloween so important?

It's a day that's special and meaningful to Lydia.

And Betelgeuse is trying to make the wedding special and meaningful to her.

With a dress she would love, a song, floating in the air with her, calling her "one of the loves of my [his] life", taking it slow, throwing in a cheeky head spin to keep it strange and unusual - doing it all on Halloween.

He pulls out every single stop to make it as perfect as he possibly can.

Plus, if my headcanon that Lydia has never gotten married is true, the least Betelgeuse can do is embarrass Rory even further and make his attempt look even more pathetic.

So...yeah. Halloween was more than just a spooky setting. In my heart, anyway.

Happy Halloween 🎃

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Id love to see how DOG! Konig actually first saw Reader or even when he knew he fell in love with her <3

König saw reader first time on TV :)

It was one of those boring moments when the latest mission was done and he was coming down from his adrenaline/testosterone/cortisol high, channel surfing at the base with a blank stare.

He passed this one channel that never had anything worthwhile to watch, except this time—wait a minute—there’s some cute girl whipping egg whites there. He changed the channel out of habit but immediately changed it back again, his eyes boring to the screen where this woman was making lemon tartlets.

He pays attention to the nice voice… Nice lips… Her hands, very delicate when she decorates each tart with raspberries and mint leaves. It’s always hot in his opinion when a girl prepares dinner or dessert, and this cutie is doing both. She has a sad smile and a pair of depressed eyes, her body language reminds him of tortured prisoners on the brink of confession. The despair in her eyes resembles the look on women just before they cum, and it drives him fucking nuts.

She’s fucking perfect… So weak, just a poor little thing who’s trying to hide, probably hates the camera and her audience, every small prick she has to work for and with.

König binges her whole show within a few days from some streaming service, even faps during or after watching – just a few times because in a few episodes, they filmed her breasts and hands a lot, although it must be said it’s that helpless look in her eyes that truly makes him cum hard… He fantasizes about arriving at her studio with his guns blazing, wondering how she would react when he stains her cute little tarts with blood. How she would react when she sees a big, able man come to take what’s his – would she kneel and beg him to save her life, or would she gasp and look like a stupefied goldfish when he pulls his dick out after the bloodbath and tells her to give it a kiss?

Next thing he does is he googles her, finds a few articles in some lousy girl magazine where she mentions she has “learned to make peace with solitude” and that “time spent alone feels good nowadays”. Ja, sicher! Poor little thing is lying her eyes out, anyone can see that. She tries so hard to be brave, looks so fuckable when she sighs and looks down at the food she just made like it’s the only thing in this world she can do right. Just cook some food and decorate dumb pastries, looking like a spoiled little princess while she’s doing it.

He gets his hands on the actual, physical articles and keeps them in his locker because they include pictures of her. Finds her on social media and looks at her Instagram feed first time in the morning and last time before bed, chuckling to himself from how pathetic she is, so fucking desperate to get attention... He has a collection of screenshots on his phone: one of his favourites is, surprisingly, not a picture of her delicious ass, trying another dumb hobby that’s supposed to be trendy. It’s the one where she’s smiling at a big mug of coffee in front of her, looking like a cute little kitten who’s been offered a treat. Or her on the beach with a big straw hat on her head, looking at the waves and smiling a big, silly smile, her worries forgotten for a moment. Her at a party, all dolled up and practically begging to get fucked, holding the waist of some weak civilian he could kill with one punch.

But his ultimate favourite is a selfie she took while she was out on a walk. She’s without her makeup, wearing a simple old faded t-shirt, looking up at the camera with a fake smile and those sad, pleading eyes, silently begging for someone to take the pain away. She’s unprotected, and lonely, so pitiful that König would do anything to teleport beside her right now and haul her away like a sack of whimpering potatoes thrown over his shoulder.

Is no one going to fucking come to her rescue and spoil her to bits, is no one going to fuck those dumb little thoughts out of her head? What the fuck is wrong with men these days, he doesn’t understand, but he’s not going to watch this ridiculous shit for a moment longer…

(If you asked König when he realized he was in love with her, he would answer it was love at first sight. Or… maybe… that one time when she asked where she put the cream. She was talking to herself while the cameras were rolling, looking helpless, lost, and dumb because she literally had one job... König found that very endearing.)

[nartothelar]

I was seeing the comic of Emmets self destructing behavior even after he and Ingo reunited and wow… that implication it’s not the first time…

How many times must have this happened? How many times until Ingo knew snapping him out by a gentle hand on his shoulder? What bad habits did Emmet develop while being on his own? With "Ingo" encouraging him to be more healthy? Just so deliciously dark! I love it?

On the other hand how much strain Ingo's body going through when he has his moments he sees "the man in white" his body switches to "life-or-death-mode" receiving a little bruise could cause him to fall into full panic mode and try to treat it like a lethal wound if not for Emmet snapping him out of it and calming him down again.

While both have their moments of seeing their subconscious guardian angel both react differently.

Emmet is apathetic towards "Ingo" dismissing him since he’s not even there. He reacts mentally.

Ingo’s whole body could react to small bruises and injuries like they could kill him and depending on his support to get through it. He reacts with his whole body.

Also when Ingo’s aware he’s probably insecure about all the scars he’s got on him now. How many times he almost died… he doesn’t want the real Emmet to know. It’s bad enough that "the man in white knows"…

YES YES!!! This analysis is so perfect!!! If you'd allow me to ramble a bit...

Emmet's self destructive tendencies have been going on for a while since Ingo's disappearance. He has his Elesa and his depot agents to support him/remind him to not truly forget about himself (Elesa trying to take more time off from her job to check on Emmet/invite him out to lunch to make sure he eats, the veteran depot agents frequently checking up on him during the day/encouraging him take more breaks/interrupting his smoke breaks "accidentally", ect) but it's been hard to say the least. It will take some time for these habits to truly go away even with Ingo back, especially on his bad days.

BUT ALSO YEAH! Ingo! If Emmet appears at the corner of his eye suddenly or he sees him from a distance (any sort of blurred visage - as the man in white always appeared as) he might have a knee jerk response - a sudden urge to run or seek safety - but ultimately it won't be too serious.

His body reacts the most drastically when he is already in a state of injury and Emmet is within eyesight. Elevated heart rate, shortness of breathe, blurred vision, body tremors: his adrenaline levels will spike to an unnatural level causing a ton of stress on the body, since his mind is basically telling his body that he's on the brink of death. The quickest way to calm him down if it were to get this bad would be to have Emmet out of his sight until he can calm down...Not very ideal when the source of one's panic works the same job as you, in a work environment where slight injuries aren't too uncommon

[zriasstuff]

Tutoring lessons pt.2 - Blaise Zabini x reader

Blaise, against his will, has to be tutored. However, what seemed like a painful way to spend time at first, gets more pleasant over time. Perhaps even extremely delightful.

fluff but who knows what can happen in the future (here’s pt.1 too) Hopefully i am somewhat feeding the little amount of Blaise fans with this.

Blaise came to you with the biggest grin on his face, as if he just learned how to smile.

“Guess what?”, he asks, as he’s seating himself opposite of you like always during your tutoring sessions.

“You found a million hidden gold galleons?” Given how happy he looked, you wouldn’t even be surprised if that was the case. He looked so energetic too with his big doe eyes and fidgety body movements, that it automatically made you cheerful.

“No, I’m afraid my news is not quite as amazing as that, but nonetheless still pretty awesome”. He inches closer to take a seat next to you.

“Geez, what is it?”

“I got my very first Outstanding on an assignment!”, he finally reveals. He even proudly holds up his paper, shoving it in your face.

“Blaise!”

“I’m so proud of you!”, you exclaim at his achievement. You know he worked so hard to better himself. The past weeks have truly been a statement to what he is capable of, if he just tried.

“Me too.” Just when you thought his smile couldn’t get any bigger, he revealed more of his perfect pearly whites to you. You’ve noticed his ridiculously good looking face before. Seeing him happy for once instead of in an incredibly stressed state made all the difference too.

“So how should we celebrate?”, you ask him. Celebrating his achievement should be good for his long term self esteem. And if it serves you too by allowing you to spend more time with him then so be it.

Not that you’d ever admit it, but being associated with him made you cooler. Not just amongst the people in your year, but younger and older students too. It never hurts to be seen with him, or have him talk you up to his popular friends.

Of course your friendship wasn’t just to improve your image. It was nice to spend time with him. There’s a good amount of similarities, but also differences that made conversations interesting.

He fumbles with his sleeves for a second, drawing your attention to his arms. Perfectly muscular arms. He thinks for a second before he says,

“I don’t know, you decide how we should celebrate.”

“I think I…” Before you remember what you wanted to say, your eyes go from looking him in the eyes to his lips. You don’t know what it was today, that you kept getting distracted. Did he do something different today?

“Seems like you’re the one having a hard time focusing today”

“What? I’m not staring”

“What?”, he shoots you a confused look.

You felt the physical need to facepalm yourself at this moment. What exactly happened? Not that he would he judging you, you think.

Suddenly you thought back to all your tutoring sessions with him. Him, as in the heartthrob of so many girls. And you alone got the privilege to spend so much one on one time with him. It felt weirdly powerful. He must like you. Not just because of the grades and all, but personally too. Right?

“Wait, I forgot I actually have something to attend to”, he sighs. His gaze averts yours for the first time in minutes.

Why did you feel so disappointed at that?

“Well today is your day. Do what you like”. The tone with which you said that probably suggested you were hurt, which is crazy. He didn’t even do anything wrong.

“Some other time though”, he said pushing himself up from his chair at the same time. “See you, and thanks a bunch really. Couldn’t have done this with you.”

Is that all he thought of you then? Just the girl who tutors him. At this point you needed to pump the brakes. Everything is as it always is and was with Blaise. Yet interacting with him today seemed so much more like a challenge. He didn’t ditch you, you tell yourself. He likes you. But what if there was more? Could there be more? Did you actually want more?

…

Dumbass Theodore Nott, Blaise thinks to himself on his way back to his dormitory. Just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants and has to keep banging girls in their shared room, Draco wants to hold a roommates meeting. Why couldn’t he just do it in the bathrooms like everyone else. And Draco was a pain in the ass too. When it’s his girls, it’s fine. But god forbid anyone disturbs his peace.

He grinds his teeth together when thinking about his missed opportunity with you. He could’ve been with you tonight, but no. Those two assholes we’re ruining everything. It’s not like he could just dip. They wanted to come up with a fresh set of rules to ensure a peaceful cohabitation, and of course he has to throw his two cents in. Otherwise it’d be pimp city.

It was the evening already, but god forbid he could’ve spent an hour or two with his cute and smart tutor.

[purplesoulcollection]

What if...

So i will based my scenario based from their official art. Hope you like it ' 33 '

Deon might initially seem like an unusual baby to his parents and older brother. After all, who wouldn't be taken aback by the arrival of an albino child?

However, as time goes on, his parents make an effort to set aside their surprise and embrace their child, despite the whispers from neighbors suggesting that Deon is either adopted or not their biological child.

Cruel, on the other hand, develops a deep familial love for baby Deon. Being so young, he doesn’t see Deon’s differences; instead, he finds joy in them. Deon looks cool in Cruel eyes.

"My brother must have been an amazing person before, look at his hair, it's as white as snow!" Cruel exclaimed, gently running his fingers through Deon's soft hair.

Sadly, from the moment he born to the world, Deon has struggled with a frail body and frequent illnesses. His sensitivity to light and recurring fevers make it hard for him to stay well.

As a result, the hospital feels like a second home to him. His parents are often busy working to cover Deon's medical bills, which means they can't visit him as much as they'd like. Deon, feeling guilty for their absence, keeps his complaints to himself, believing it's his fault they can't be there.

Deon had a tough time expressing his emotions as a child, largely because his parents were often absent, leaving him mostly in the company of his older brother.

Eduardo, Caver (the demon king) I don't know his real name, and Cruel share a close friendship, and they are all around the same age. they met and were friends from university.

Caver was very happy when he met Deon, as he was the first to reach out and invite Deon for a chat, taking the lead in forming a friendship.

Deon, being quite sensitive, found himself a bit uneasy with the close interactions, especially since Caver was overly familiar, making it hard for him to feel comfortable.

On the other hand, Eduardo seemed indifferent towards his ailing younger brother, Cruel, merely offering a casual greeting. Yet, for some reason, Deon felt drawn to Eduardo, perhaps out of sympathy or a sense of familiarity that lingered in his mind.

As a result, Deon also found himself connecting with his brother's friends.

I believe Deon will gradually become accustomed to Caver's friendly nature and will develop a deeper connection with Eduardo. Cruel felt a sense of joy knowing that his younger brother finally had friends who could engage with him, even if they were not his peers.

Although Deon attended school, his status as an albino led to social isolation, prompting him to leave and pursue private studies, especially since his frail health made regular attendance difficult.

As he matures, I think he will become healthier and stronger. Thus, the sickly Deon of his childhood will eventually grow into a much healthier individual.

And indeed, he also formed a bond with his nephew Eduardo, who, along with his siblings, truly cherished their uncle.

Alethea, Elphidius, and Deon eventually became friends, all sharing the same age. Deon feels a stronger bond with Elphidius since they are both guys, while he views Alethea as the little sister he never had.

Their friendship dynamic often involves Elphidius and Deon teaming up to play pranks on Alethea. Although she gets annoyed with their antics, she usually ends up forgiving them in the end.

In the modern world, Lofty's troops represent the patients who are close to Deon, standing by him as he battles his pain.

Since he spent a lot of time in the hospital, especially when his brothers couldn't be there, these friends provided him with the encouragement and comfort he needed during lonely times.

And then even after he started feeling better and no need to be hospitalized anymore, Deon frequently visited the hospital to check on those who had supported him in his fight against illness. Yeah so Deon still have the loyalty for those who are also rarely visited by their families.

Deon also wears unique glasses to protect his sensitive eyes from bright light.

Deon in modern times is actually popular with women. But when women want to get to know each other, Deon is the first to shrink and the women lose interest in him.

On the other hand, when he's hanging out with his friends, they easily steal the spotlight, as they are all quite attractive. But nobody is being interested to having romantic relationship yet.

They all still busy to enjoy their peace.

The end

I don't know whether they will have a partner or not. It all depends on their fate and whether I will make a fanfic or someone will be inspired by my fiction.

If i have to make the fiction, are you interested?

[besaya-glantaya]

Thoughts on Alex being wrong and loving it

Red White and Royal Blue (2023 movie)

Remember the little quip Henry makes about admiring Alex's willingness to admit when he's wrong? It's such a great moment of foreshadowing, especially since Henry has no idea just how right he is.

Alex prizes himself on being someone who is skilled at reading people, at seeing the person beneath the surface, but he's never come across anyone quite like Henry before.

Alex must be used to people hiding who they truly are - he's been steeped in American politics for years - but he probably isn't expecting anyone from such a legacy of historic power and entitlement to be, at their core, an actual cinnamon roll.

Their initial meeting also comes at a time in Henry's life when any chink in his armour reveals only pain and anger, leading Alex to assume that what lies behind the carefully controlled façade isn't pleasant.

This assumption is only reinforced by further antagonistic interactions, fuelled by Henry's attempts to balance civility while protecting his heart as Alex consistently pulls Henry's metaphorical pigtails.

The fallout from cakegate forces them into extended periods of proximity and we see Alex start to glimpse pieces of the real Henry beneath his bland public persona. Each further piece that's revealed surprises and delights Alex and it's a joy to watch Taylor Zakhar Perez bring those moments to life.

Allow me to ramble about some of these:

1. Alex's pause of panic followed by surprised relief as Henry suavely responds to the interview question, "How did you end up on the floor of Buckingham Palace, covered in cake?" Alex's relief is two fold: he was floundering with no idea what to say (shouldn't have rebuffed Henry's request to prepare for this interview, Alex...) and Henry's answer is not at all what Alex was expecting. Henry could easily have attributed the event to clumsiness or tomfoolery on Alex's part - even just by subtle implication. That wouldn't have been out of line with some of Alex's answers (e.g., "Three words to describe Henry? Um... White, blond and British.") but Henry chooses a more protective route, deflecting attention from Alex, which comes as a pleasant surprise. [Of course he can't show this, so instead retaliates with something as annoying as possible. Cue side eye from Henry.]

2. Alex's big-eyed expression of sympathy as Henry tells him the Palace insisted on parading him around while he was grieving for his father. It's the key moment Alex realises he's built a lot of assumptions on a misunderstanding and has probably treated Henry rather unfairly.

3. Alex frowning at Henry talking and laughing with the little girl in the hospital bed. He's seeing Henry through a new lens and realises this picture doesn’t fit with a lot of his previous assumptions.

4. Alex shaking his head at Henry's joking attempt to decline an invite to his NYE party that most people would kill to get. "That's perfect, you kill me and then I won't have to go." It's the first time Henry uses his sharp wit to share a joke with Alex, rather than directing it at him in a fit of pique. It's an olive branch and I don't think Alex was expecting such easy forgiveness.

5. The sublime series of text based interactions where Alex is surprised and charmed by Henry flirting (under the guise of gentle ridicule).

6. The iconic "I can't believe how wrong I was about you," while he and Henry are as close as two people can get.

7. My all time favourite: Alex's reaction to Henry pointing out the yellow roses on his tie. Henry employs this in a sweet distraction during a moment of all encompassing anxiety for Alex. It's enough to bring Alex out of his fog, to realise how much strength he draws just from Henry being there to support him. The way Taylor says "Oh my god. I'm so grateful you are here," is perfection.

I'm a gooey mess thinking about all the future moments where Alex is surprised and overwhelmed by Henry's kindess.

[Sobs]

On a related note @mulderscully has a great post titled: Alex's headshake of Love™, which captures several of these moments, and more, in perfect gif form.

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

This post was actually a shortened/kind of summarize version of the following post that has been sitting in my draft since August.

oOo

Spoilers for the few last chapters of Tokyo Revengers

More than probable use of wrong verb tense, possibility of typos and sentences which make no sense

Not a native English speaker

oOo

When he first saw her - and he realized he was about to see her before the hospital became visible in the window of the car - he cried.

He couldn't have hold it back. Apprehension had twisted his guts during the entire trip, each step sinking the realization deeper in his mind and yet he didn't dare to word it. The information had been an abstract thought - he couldn't find the word to make it take shape. Then he saw her, in the bed, exhausted, he didn't remember her not being exhausted. She smiled to him. It was easy to notice her eye-bags when her eyes became crescents of moon, almost close but never enough to stop looking at her youngest son. Her angel.

It had been five days since him and Takemichi came back, he had been so caught up in his new joyful - almost utopian - reality to think about what would happen on the following Wednesday. He didn't stop crying the day they came back either. He tried to. But the sight of Sanzu without his scars alongside Baji, Emma and Shinichiro got the better of him. It must have been an unusual look on his face, even back then, because Shinichiro let him have the day off of school. Sanzu and Baji left without him, concerned, and he wished he could have stopped Emma. He wished he could've trapped her in his arms and not let her go - but he had been too busy doing it to Shinichiro to hold her back.

He hadn't left his brother's side the entire day. And Takemichi didn't left his (later that day when he finally went back to his home - after lots of crying because 'I'm so glad you're happy' and lots of concerns and of 'are you sure you're okay, Mikey-kun?' - he got scolded by his own mother for skipping school. He most likely told her that he was 'helping a friend and couldn't leave him alone'. To be honest, Mikey indeed hadn't wanted Takemichi to leave him. He needed him to show him how to get used to it. It was new. It was confusing. He didn't know how to deal with all of this. He had never been tall, but the world became even bigger. He didn’t remember being so small. Everything felt unreal).

He didn't leave his brother for the weekend either. Shinichiro had been worried sick the entire time. Mikey simply couldn't help himself, he cried and cried every time the relief and happiness struck him. They were alive. Everyone. Everyone was.

(He barely slept, scared that if he closed his eyes it'd be taken away from him.)

(Shinichiro stayed up all night, working on his bikes. Checking on him every hour, agitated that his brother wasn’t sleeping.)

And it was not until Wednesday of this week, when Shinichiro jokingly said he must be truly insanely sick to not jump in the car the moment he could, then jokingly (and worriedly, really worriedly but he tried not to show it) asked if he hadn't forgotten something while holding up Mikey's old blanket, it wasn't until then that the thought that everyone was alive really set in.

He walked in the hallways of the hospital, surrounded by the whiteness of everything, as if he was in a trance. One of his hand was holding Shinichiro's, the other his old blanket. Emma and his grandpa were walking in front of them. Mikey was walking more slowly than how he was used to. But his surrounding were surreal - they weren't distorted but he put one step in front of the other as if they were. He had no idea how he was supposed to act. His grip had tightened around Shinichiro's hand and Shinichiro did the same thing in an attempt to comfort him, a painful confusion twisting his face.

The door opened. He saw her. She saw him. He froze. Time stopped. Shinichiro put his hand on his shoulder, then lightly shook it. He fell apart.

It hadn't been tears of joy.

Perhaps that's why he didn't think of her prior to that point. Everyone was alive - but they wouldn't be forever. But that was okay, because they would have time to live and he would have time to grieve and they'd all be old and happy and-

His mother had only a few months left. It was October, next year when the roads would be covered by the snow, she would die the same way she died the previous time. It couldn't be prevented.

He put his hands on his face, hiding it, ashamed. Crying in a public space was much more shameful than at home or alone. The feeling made him cried even more despite trying his best to hold everything back. He denied any sound to come out from his throat but his shoulders kept shaking. He could feel everyone's eyes on him. It was horrible. He hated it.

His old blanket was near his face now, and as if he wasn't so caught up in realizing his mother was alive enough, it finally clicked in his mind - 'it' being the reason his mother's scent was all over his old blanket. He must have been an idiot, for thinking it was because he was back in the past and it didn't have had the time to go away yet. Five days of holding it nonstop (for comfort, for it to absorb his tears, and because mom's scent is still here, I can't believe I haven't forgotten it. It's been so long) and he hadn't figured it out. (What could he have done if he did, anyway? But cry more?)

His palms were drenched in tears. And mucus. Crying was such an ugly thing to do, how could Takemichi do it so often?

Shinichiro (nobody had said a word, he wondered what their body language communicated) pushed him ever so gently forward. Mikey didn't protest and walked until his legs hit the hospital bed frame. Two hands - cold and safe - pulled him up and he followed, climbing on the bed his hands still on his face.

His mother’s arms caged him against her chest, fingers stroking his hair and caressing his back with care. A sob slipped out from the barrier of his lips, a flow of them quickly following. He didn't have neither the energy nor the want to stop it. He gave in to the comfort and didn't find it in himself to feel guilty about it.

Nobody made a sound but him with his awful uncontrollable sobs. He felt as if his throat and chest were being compressed. He was so, so exhausted. When was the last time he moved freely without an invisible weight crushing his body? When was the last time he rested without guilt suffocating him? And of course, when was the last time he lived without the curse carved in his veins?

It was too much. Too much changes. Too much hopes. Too much memories. What was and what could be, what would be, everything Takemichi and him had to plan - all too much.

Sano Manjiro didn't fear anything, but he did stress some times.

And he was letting it all out, everything he had held back for who knows many years because he was in his mother's arms and despite knowing he could be there again only for a limited number of times, despite knowing pain was near, he felt safe and unable to be convinced of anything else but that everything would be okay. His mom was comforting him, how could it not?

After a while (could’ve been ten minutes or two hours for all he knew) breathing finally came back to him, stabilized. He hated crying. It was more bearable when Shinichiro or his mom held him and hid him from the world.

He had turned his head to look at the room, quietly weeping. Shinichiro, Emma and his grandpa left at some point. He only noticed it after finally calming down in his mother's embrace.

He told her the same thing he told Shinichiro when she asked what was wrong - that he had had the worst nightmare. Then did his best not to say any detail as she - just like Shinichiro had the previous days - pressed him to share what he had dreamed of.

There was relief with confessing to his mom what had happened, even vaguely. His heart became lighter, getting rid of that burden. His mom was trust, his mom was safety. He could tell her that he had dreamed of losing every person he ever cared for one by one and how agonizing it had been. He could bitterly admit he was responsible for it happening, that it was all his fault. And he could also reassure her, saying that she didn’t have to worry, that a hero came to save him and promised to give him a happy ending. To give them all a happy ending.

He had woken up from the nightmare, and that was all that mattered.

His mom didn’t agree with him. She said that even though the nightmare hadn’t ended as one, it didn’t change the fact it affected him. That he shouldn’t shove it aside because it was over but rather do what he was doing at that moment : cry and look around for someone to listen and to console him, to do it as many times as he needed.

Mikey was of the idea that what was over, was over and remembering it wouldn’t do any good.

She softly scolded him with kind and loving eyes, removing the drying tears on his cheeks and they returned to tranquil silence.

His mom started humming a familiar lullaby, one he had had forgotten the lyrics of. He lost track of time, glad to spend the rest of eternity here. He exceeded the time he usually spent paying visits in the hospital. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay here forever, in perfect peace.

His conscience drift away without his notice.

When he woke up, he was on Shinichiro’s back, walking through the entrance of their house.

They walked by the calendar in the living room and Mikey didn’t want to count the remaining weeks before his mother’s passing.

Who was to say it’d stay the same ? It was his greatest fright at the moment - that she would die before the day he remembered her death happening. Or after. He didn't want to lose her again, but the uncertainty of when she would die was eating him alive.

Her dying before would make him panic because she wasn't supposed to, her not dying on the day he remembers her dying would make him panic because then when will it happen? He couldn't hope. He could only apprehend the inevitable.

Because that's what it was. Takemichi and him could try all they want, but they could only stop preventable death and it wasn't one. At the end of the day, people are meant to die. This included his mom, this included everyone else from his loved-ones to complete strangers. Death in itself was inevitable.

He cried again.

He had cried a lot during the first few weeks. Takemichi had hold him close and tight. He had cried too.

Takemichi really did cry for everything. Mikey remembered when he used to think such people were weak.

Takemichi suggested he tells his mother - about his past life. Perhaps under the guise of a nightmare (like he had done up to that point). That it would help. Mikey had no clue how telling his mother he killed someone would help, but he considered it (if only because Takemichi was the one to suggest it). This night, he pondered whether Shinichiro would've told their mother or father he killed someone if they had been alive. Then he realized Shinichiro wouldn't have ever killed anyone if their parents had been alive.

And their mom will die just like their father did. It was unavoidable.

This was the truth he didn't want to face.

She would die again and so would everybody else.

There was no other end to this story, beings live to die.

Beings live to love and grieve.

(He had to find a way to be the first to go.)

[arainbowofchaos]

Forbidden Euphoria [Chapter 1]

As you have been working diligently for three years at a prestigious company, a new younger colleague is recruited into your team. Despite his inexperience, it seems that his natural charm allows him to receive forgiveness for any shortcomings. As you find yourself growing more and more obsessed with him, fate pairs you together for a business trip.

Or : During a business trip, you realize that Jungkook does indeed have experience in a non-professional domain, and it doesn't bother you in the slightest.

Tags: Jungkook x Reader, Jungkook isn't monogamous, Reader has fallen hard for him, future smut and futur angst

Length: 2.4k words

A/N: This is a first part and if you like it I'll add the next part soon. Let me know what you think.

Next chapter

...

As he just arrived in the company, it's as if Jungkook had always been there. He has this way of fitting in effortlessly anywhere he goes. At first, you had your doubts. His attractive appearance seemed suspicious. However, as the weeks went by, he managed to convince you otherwise. He always showed small gestures of kindness at work and didn't hesitate to stay late with you to help wrap up projects. This man was eager to learn and always willing to lend a hand. 

When your boss assigned you to team up with him for a two-day trip to Seoul to secure a crucial deal, you were afraid of being alone with him. It wasn't about mistrusting him; it was the growing awareness of your own feelings that made you nervous.

So perhaps you have become somewhat obsessive, and you must admit it. You can't recall the last time you thought about anything other than Jungkook. But it's safe to say that it's been quite a while. You're aware that it's not the healthiest lifestyle, but you don't care. If God has placed this man in your life, it must be for you to enjoy yourself. Or, to torture your mind, it's either one or the other. 

The way he constantly lingers in your thoughts, you can't seem to move on. If you were to let him know what's truly on your mind, he would probably run away. You're so overwhelmed by his presence that you don't even know what you truly want. But you know that you'd like to find out. You've never felt this way for any man before him.

…

And there you are, making your way to the hotel lobby, feeling uneasy. Jungkook stands at the entrance, he’s on the phone with someone. He is dressed in a loose white shirt and leather pants. He looks ridiculously handsome. You can hardly believe that such a man could be single, but then again, you don't know all about his private life. You're not interested in the details. You don't care if he's in love or not. You don't want to feel your heart breaking. It might be selfish, but you believe it's better this way. He's already out of reach as it is.

As you descend the steps and reach his level, his eyes light up. You hear him murmur a goodbye, immediately hanging up his phone. He greets you with a big smile, "You look beautiful," he compliments you. You pretend that his words don't affect you, but inside, you're boiling. The natural way he makes you feel important, for some reason you know he's sincere. 

"Thank you, you don't look bad yourself," you reply. He chuckles softly and comments, "That's a start. We should get going; they're waiting for us." Of course, you have work to do: it's not a romantic date but a business dinner. You're getting paid tonight, and your role is to secure the contract under favorable conditions so that your boss praises you.

As you look at Jungkook, you could almost believe that you're about to have a romantic moment. Why does he need to make you feel special? You've never had any colleague like him. You try your best to maintain a professional distance between you two, but his eyes shouldn't be looking at you with so much interest.

You both exit the hotel and head towards a taxi. Of course, he opens the door for you before getting into the car himself. Can he ever lose his manners? If he were at least rude, it might help you a little. While on the way to the Korean barbecue restaurant, you see him tapping on his phone. His eyebrows slightly furrow. You're not sure if he's focused or upset, but it's none of your business. You sigh and look out the window, watching the city lights pass by. It's been so long since you've been in Seoul; you've missed it without even realizing it. Suddenly, Jungkook breaks the silence and interrupts your train of thoughts: "Do you think we'll close the deal tonight?"

"We don't have a choice," you affirm. "Our boss will kill us if we mess up this deal. Follow my lead, and everything should go smoothly," you want to reassure him. 

He nods, a smile on his lips. He looks at you intensely before retorting, "I'm lucky to have you with me, you have so much experience."

His words make you blush slightly, as you sense a double meaning. You're tired of holding back, and you want to wipe that smug look off his face. "I do have more experience than you, indeed. I'm older, and you've only just arrived, so listen to me carefully when I give you instructions," you calmly respond. 

"Are we still talking about tonight's deal?" He playfully asks. You roll your eyes and pretend not to listen to him anymore.

But after a moment of silence, he slowly moves closer to your side of the seat, and you can almost feel his breath on your ear. Your eyes are still fixed on the road through the window. Jungkook's next words leave you speechless as he whispers softly, so softly that only you can hear: "I do have quite some experience."

You turn towards him, slightly flustered, and he decides he enjoys seeing you like this. He chuckles and moves away again. You swallow hard and try to calm yourself. He doesn't know how you feel. As long as you manage to remain professional, you should be fine. You may carry some emotional scars from this. You'll have to replay his words in your mind later, imagining the kind of experience he could have been referring to. With an angelic face like his, all fantasies are allowed.

…

The evening went very well as planned. To your great relief, Jungkook and you make a great team. He handles the clients in his own charming way, and it works like magic on them. When you finish, Jungkook is almost tipsy. He's the one who drank the most; this way you didn't have to force yourself, and you thank him for that.

You both respectfully say your goodbyes to the clients as they leave. Jungkook looks delighted and congratulates you, "You were so convincing, it was remarkable."

"It was teamwork, and I have to admit you did well," you honestly reply.

Jungkook looks at you with his big round eyes, surprised. "Does that mean you're finally happy to have me as your partner?" he asks. You avoid the question with a laugh, but you realize that he sensed your initial reluctance to go with him. You feel a little guilty. You want to be honest with him, but something holds you back; you're afraid of saying too much.

"Come on, let's have one last drink," he insists. You want to tell him that it's more reasonable to go back to the hotel, but you don't feel like it. You want to enjoy his presence a little longer. He's had some drinks and is even more cheerful than usual. "Okay, but just one, we have an early flight tomorrow," you agree, trying to be cautious about the situation.

As he takes your hand in the street to lead the way to the next bar, you convince yourself that it's because he's drunk. You decide to follow him. His hand is warm and soft, and it paralyzes yours because this simple touch makes your head spin. It's so natural for him to touch you, while you're not used to it. For you, it's overwhelming.

…

The music is in full swing, and Jungkook is even more charming when he's tipsy, if that's even possible. The pink light dances on his face. You can tell he's in high spirits, and you enjoy seeing him having a good time.

You talk about work, but not only that. He tells you about his latest trip to the capital and the restaurants he got to eat at (this man loves food!). You can't help but smile as he passionately talks about fried chicken. Due to how adorable he looks, you've certainly let your guard down.

"Do you want to go outside for some fresh air?" he asks, a bit shyly. 

You accept his proposal, the air inside has become stifling. Together, you head towards the exit. He has already paid for all your drinks, like a true gentleman. It's hard for you not to consider this evening as a date.

Once on the sidewalk, you watch Jungkook take out his pack of cigarettes and place one between his perfect rosy lips. He exhales the smoke, and you find it strangely alluring, even though you usually dislike smoking.

His phone vibrates. Throughout the evening, you couldn't help but notice that his phone kept lighting up every five minutes. You don't understand why he's ignoring it. Finally, you ask the question that's been bothering you, even though you already regret being intrusive, "Is it your girlfriend texting you?" You try nonchalantly. 

"It's not my girlfriend. Not officially," he admits. Your heart skips a beat in your chest. Of course he's seeing someone. "Now," he continues, "what I really want to know… is why you care." you fear that the pounding of your heart might give you away.

"I'm just trying to make conversation, you should probably answer her, though." 

You know you're getting involved in something that's none of your business, but the way things have unfolded forces you to defend yourself.

 "You pretend not to like me, but I'm starting to think otherwise," he says with confidence, and he's absolutely right.

You remain silent, simply gazing at the dark sky, feeling embarrassed and unsure of how to respond. Suddenly, you feel a hand grabbing your wrist. Once again, his touch burns your skin. You can't contain yourself anymore. He has a way of pushing your buttons.

"Is that why you took me out for a drink tonight? So I could tell you what I really think of you?" you retort.

"Yes, I want to know," he admits. He looks shy, and so young. Your stomach knots at the thought of him knowing how you feel.

"I think you're the most exasperating colleague I've ever encountered.” You begin. “You believe everything is owed to you because you're charming, and everyone overlooks your mistakes because of that. Even tonight, you only convinced them with your natural charm." You pause to catch your breath, the emotions swirling inside you."What drives me crazy is that you've wrapped me around your finger too. It's impossible to resist you, apparently."

He responds, his expression softening. "I didn't expect that," he confesses, looking genuinely surprised. "I didn't realize how much my actions affected you.” His voice has changed in tone. He looks almost sad, and you already regret your words. 

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "It's been quite an intense evening, and I need some rest, let’s go back to the hotel," you suggest. 

Jungkook agrees and lets go of your wrist. He remains silent. The journey back to the hotel is filled with an awkward tension, and neither of you says a word during the ride.

Upon arriving at the hotel, you head straight to your floor and your room. You quickly bid Jungkook goodnight and retreat into your room, wanting to put as much distance between you and him as possible. Inside, you're filled with a mix of emotions, and shame washes over you for having such feelings for him. 

...

After a brief moment, there's a gentle knock on the door, causing your heart to skip a beat. You peek through the door's peephole and confirm that it's Jungkook standing on the other side. Your heart races as you debate whether to let him in or not. After some hesitation, you decide to open the door just a crack, enough to see him properly but not enough to invite him in fully. "What do you want?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

You can't help but notice how beautiful he looks, and his intense gaze makes your heart flutter. "You said you couldn't resist me," he begins, "I didn't expect to feel this way about you either, but I can't deny it anymore. I want to be more than just a colleague to you." His vulnerability surprises you, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes. But you're torn between your feelings and the fear of getting hurt. "Jungkook, I..." you start to say, but the words get stuck in your throat. What do you want to say to him?

The moment becomes too intense for words, and before you know it, his lips are pressed against yours. The world around you seems to fade away as your tongues intertwine with passion. The coolness of his piercing, combined with the warm wetness of his tongue, sends shivers down your spine and causes goosebumps to form on your skin. He pauses in the midst of your kiss only to invite himself into your room and close the door behind him. 

He steps forward, backing you against the wall and your whole body is trembling with lust as you want more of him. You feel so vulnerable. You've longed for this moment so deeply, and you want to savor every second of it. Jungkook is a great kisser, and after all, he has already proven to you that he excels in everything he does.

He gazes at you tenderly and utters, "I can't believe this is real. Look at you.” His hand caresses your face, and you know exactly how you must look. You’re a mess already. He softly trails his hand from your face down to your neck and then to your chest and you gasp with excitement, your face flushed, completely at his mercy

"I'm gonna make you feel so good." He promises. As he takes you in his arms and carries you gently to the bed, you already know that you're doomed forever. Not only could you not resist him, but you'll never be able to live without him again.

[broke-art-girl]

"A Match Into Water." By Broke_Art_Girl

(TW: Self-Harm)

Fandom: Bones and All (2022)

Summary: During Christmas time Lee catches you in the act. Asleep in the tub and the water cold. You sit down with him after he nurses you up to have a talk. A year passes, you have been clean the whole time. <3

Words: 1,801

Characters: Lee, Reader.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54156346

~

Lee sat at the table across from You, hands on his knees. The quiet burned into you both.

You were frozen in place. Your eyes down at the wooden table you shared many moments at. You barely breathed.

“Y/N?” He asked. You didn't reply. The snow piled up against the windows, the neighborhood Christmas lights hinting at happiness in the icy air. But Santa must have forgotten your home this Christmas. The tree in the corner of the living room piled with gifts from one of you to the other.

“Y/N, I love you, alot.”

“This isn't because of you.” You muttered between clenched teeth. You looked pale and gaunt. He tried not to look down at it. The red swollen mark across your wrist. He had no idea why you would want to hurt yourself, especially when everything was so good.

“Can we talk about this?” He asked gently.

Your lips quivered, you pressed them together and bit at the inside of your cheek. You were gripping your fist so hard your knuckles were turning white. However, he knew if he truly had no chance of getting anything out of you, you wouldn't be making such an effort to stay seated at the table.

Your small sigh filtered through the tension. Your eyes became shiny as you sniffed back mucus.

“You don't have to say anything, I just want you to know I'm here for you, okay.” He paused, contemplating if it was a good time to reach for your hand to comfort you, but ultimately decided against it. “Can I ask… does it hurt?”

You looked to the left, more away from him than just looking at the table.”Yeah...” You said with a puff. His brows pulled into a slope.

“I swear it has nothing to do with you. Please don't think that.” Your bottom lip puckered uncontrollably and your voice was breaking.

“Please baby, just talk to me, please. I'm here for you, forever and always.” He shook his head trying to control himself.

“I just-..” a tear escaped your lashes. You closed your eyes then sighed. “I've been having a hard time lately.”

That broke him. He had no idea. Despite sleeping next to you every night, whatever was bothering you so badly, you were trying very hard -and managing- to hide it from him.

“I'm here. I'm right here for you.” His voice broke.

“I know.” You sighed regretfully.

“Are you unhappy? Do you want to leave me?”

“No!” You whimpered, starting to sob.

“I am here to listen. Please. Y/N I cant-'' He sighed. “I can't do this without you.”

You puffed. “I love you.” You whispered and swallowed hard.

“I love you too!” He pleaded.

You were quiet for a while until you sighed again and looked up at him briefly. His eyes locked with yours, only for a second, for the first time since he found you in the tub. The tiles red and slick with bubbles. The water, cold.

“Am I a bad person, Lee?” You asked.

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “I love you. Every part of you. This is just something we have to work through. Y/N, I hurt people. I kill people. If you can love me through that, I can love you through this! Everything will be okay. I swear.”

That somehow made everything a little better. The sting in your arm was still there but the icky feeling was still there. You just needed to breathe. You shook your head and your face pulled together as you stood up.

You started pacing the room and puffing breaths of tension, running your hands through your hair.

He was perfect. His wavy crimson mullet. As he raised his arms to rest atop his crown, his thin worn out tee shirt crawled up his torso, his baggy jeans tied to his hips by a merky bit of rope he found in a ditch. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy. Amazing.

Lee.

‘Yet somehow he ended up stuck with me? I don't understand how he deserves it, why does he want it?’ You thought rapidly.

He sat still, because if he stood, the conversation would be over, and you would shut down again.

“When do you do it? Do you have triggers?"

You looked at him strangely. As if expecting him to be less gentle. “When things get hard.” You muttered looking over at you. “When I feel alone. When everything gets too much.”

“Is it something I did? Did I upset you?” He carefully asked.

“When you have to leave.. I when you get the craving.. I'm scared… you won't come back.”

This made his eyes widen. You had only just started dating recently, you were so afraid he would up and leave in the midnight lighting.

He couldn't bear to ditch you without saying goodbye, and he wasn't much of a letter person.

“Could you..” His fingers pulled themselves across the table trying to puppeteer you back to your seat. You took the hint and sat down.

Your left wrist was covered in a thick layer of gauze and an ace wrap. He had insisted on taking you to a hospital, but you were afraid they would send you away to a mental hospital and you would be taken from him, which would have only made things worse.

“Do you need to see them?” You asked, looking down.

“No, not if you don't want me to.”

“Its just embarrassing.”

“Okay.”

The room once again fell silent.

“I want you to know I'm not going anywhere. I'll starve if I have to, to know that you're okay.” he blurted out after a while of listening to you breathe.

“I don't want that.” You mumbled.

“What can I do to help?” He asked devotedly.

You swallowed hard. “What about a phone call? That would be nice..”

He nodded and allowed his hands to hold yours lightly. “Okay. I can try to gather up some quarters for the payphone. Once I get a motel I'll call. Is that alright? It might be kinda late.. like 2 am kinda like?”

“I won't be sleeping anyway.. I always wait till you get home.”

He sighed, “I didn't know that.”

You both once again sat silently for a while. You could have heard a pin drop.

A month or two later when the fresh wound on your wrist healed, he started the process of trying to lighten the scars with different gels. You both tried a hundred or more coping mechanisms. You started medication, but what helped most was his attention. You both had come to the conclusion you had depression and some form of separation anxiety. Even if you two were in the same room you could still feel alone.

“I am beautiful.” He said digging through a box of fine tipped markers.

“I am beautiful.” You mimicked, trying to keep an open mind about his words.

“I am not a burden.” He said as he grabbed a blue marker.

“I am not a burden.” You repeated. That one hit you like a truck of bricks.

“I am worthy of the love that I am given.” He said as you began to draw.

“I am worthy of the love that I am given.” You repeated, letting it sink in.

You watched the small hearts and planets appear on his skin over the healed scars, covering them up slightly. Small pentagrams formed stars surrounding little circles with bands around them. Planets. Your initials next to his with a small + in-between all over the backs of your hands.

That was almost a year ago, Thanksgiving had just passed. Today Lee and you were putting up the Christmas tree. Adding the lights was his favorite part. The house smelt of cinnamon and pine. The fireplace was lit. Everything was perfect.

“Hey Lee, can I eat this?” You asked, pointing to the popcorn garland.

He chuckled and shrugged. “I wouldn't, I bet it's dusty from sitting in that box for a year. I can pop some more if you're craving it.”

“Nah nevermind, I just wanted to try this one.” You continued to rummage through the box and attempt to untangle a set of lights. You had wrapped them a partial way so they wouldn't be tangled, but you both forgot where you were supposed to start from, so now it was a mess.

“Dinner’s ready!” He sang as he plated. You attempted to crawl out from under the pile of garland and lights and ran over to the wooden table. He slid into his fridge facing chair as you rested in your sink facing one. But in the end you stared at each other.

“Thank you, Lee.” You smiled and dug in as he attempted to warn you about the errors he thought he had made in the dish. “Is it okay?” he asked. “I don't really cook a lot other than eggs and the occasional cinnamon rolls. Do you like it?”

“Mhh~” You hummed. “This is really good!!” You spoke with your mouth full.

“Thanks, I hope you like it, baby.”

Your eyes quickly jumped from his face, to something over his shoulder, then back to him, so fast he could barely see it. You chewed the crunchy veggies.

“What?” He asked. “Need a napkin?”

You stopped chewing suddenly and swallowed hard.

“Could you.. put that away?” You look down at your food.

He twisted around in his chair. It squeaked as his weight shifted. “What?”

“On the cutting board.” You mumbled, chewing another bite.

It was the small knife he used to chop the vegetables in his homemade stir fry.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry baby.” He got up quickly to do so, you sighed and took another bite, chewing. “It's okay.”

The table grew silent for a moment after he threw the knife into the sink and covered it with the rubber topper. He asked if you needed anything and you replied, “Nothing other than you to sit with me and eat your delicious handcrafted dinner.” Which made him smile.

He sat and enjoyed as told.

After almost six minutes of silent crunching and guzzling water you piped up with a conversation. “Tomorrow I'll be a year clean.” you mumbled as he ate.

“Mhm!” he quickly chewed and swallowed so he could speak. “I know! I'm so proud of you, baby!”

You grinned.

“I'm super duper proud of you!!”

“Thanks..” You replied awkwardly. You never really could accept a compliment.

“We're gonna do something special. Whatever you'd like.” he said.

You thought for a minute. “Can we stay home and cuddle?”

He smiled, “I expected you to say that.” He pushed your plate towards you. “Eat up.”

“okay.” You took a bite of the warm food, you couldn't taste anything over the love.

[yumeka-sxf]

A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 13

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

----------

During the episode where Anya has to give a report on her parents' work, we learn more about Yor's job as an assassin, which sheds some insightful light on the theme of moral ambiguity in the series. During an interview for the Spy x Family fanbook, Endo states that the Forgers should not be seen as shining examples of moral virtue; he doesn't think it's correct to only see their "nice family" side. And he's right of course, as both Twilight and Yor have professions that revolve around immoral things, like deception and killing. But while Twilight doesn't see those he has to kill or manipulate as "bad guys" necessarily – they're either helpers or hindrances to his missions and that's it – Yor's view is much more black and white. In her mind, all of her targets are traitorous villains, and by killing them, she can take pride in knowing that she's helping her country, much like a soldier.

While she does try to maintain some humanity in her work, like being extremely careful not to kill the wrong person and making sure her targets die a painless death, it's clear that her view of being an assassin is more straightforward than Twilight's view of being a spy. We don't yet know exactly how Yor became an assassin, but we do know that she started as a child, so it makes sense that she'd be brainwashed into a naive interpretation of her job as simply "helping her country by getting rid of bad guys" (unlike Twilight, who was an adult when he became a spy). And, as I mentioned before, she likely had to forgo a proper education because of her work, and so missed out on many real-world experiences that would allow her to think more critically about the morality of her profession. From what we've seen of her work, eliminating the "bad guys" is technically what she's doing, but we also know that there may come a time when someone she's sent to assassinate is not the villainous scum that she's used to…someone like Twilight perhaps? Just as Twilight's worldview may shatter when he realizes he cares too much for Yor and Anya to continue to deceive them, Yor's childlike opinion of her job would certainly be crushed when she realizes she's being sent to kill people who are not always the "bad guys" that Shopkeeper tells her they are.

Anya eventually decides to use Twilight's cover up job as a psychiatrist for her report. But at the end of their excursion, when she hastily puts together the sandbox exercise, we see another example of Twilight truly empathizing with her. We saw him start to take a less strict approach in the episode where she got her first stella, where he made an effort to find specific activities she would enjoy rather than continue to push her to be a scholar. But here, his reaction to her chaotic creation in the sandbox is anything but his usual standoffish attitude – he panics about how much stress she must have been under, not only from being in the orphanage, but also from being suddenly dragged to a stranger's house. He even starts blaming himself for not realizing it sooner (has he always been prone to this line of thought, or is Yor's imposter syndrome continuing to rub off on him?)

His fatherly side is forced out again not too long later when a jealous Bond chews up Anya's Penguinman plush. When Anya adamantly cries that she only wants the plush her papa gave her and won't accept a replacement, Twilight complies. He spends time carefully mending Penguinman (while Yor sits by his side watching intently, giving her full moral support. It's just like her to look that concerned as if he's performing surgery on someone, since she knows how important Penguinman is to Anya!)

Afterwards, Twilight has just the right things to say to Anya to make her feel better about the whole situation, like how honorable Penguinman's "scars" are, and even quoting an episode of Spy Wars when Bond comes over to apologize.

The Twilight that first adopted Anya and saw nothing but annoyance in her irrational behavior, would certainly not have adapted so well to the situation. Yet another example of how his skills as a father are improving, slowly but surely.

Continue to Part 14 ->

<- Return to Part 12

[merbear25]

I don't know if this is something that has ever been done before, but now when you opened requests again, you have a chance to do it: Judge x reader fluff. Yes, you read that right.

Female reader, who is a personal assistant for Judge.

Preferably, Caesar has a cameo appearance, but Judge is the focus of the story.

Hey, hey! I was thrilled to get a request for Judge! He's one of the few characters in One Piece that truly fascinates me. This was my first time writing for him, so I hope you like it. 💜💜

After years of convincing himself that emotions weren’t necessary, that they got in the way of the pinnacle of success, he was reminded of another reason he’d buried them. A familiar ache that was first felt long ago was now seen as a nuisance, and yet he chose to suffer through the displeasure because it meant being near you.

CW: SFW, fem!reader, fluff, slight angst, pining, takes place during Egghead, reader is Judge’s personal assistant, includes Caesar

Pangs of a forgotten heart (Judge)

Beakers holding liquids varying in color lined the work station. The bunsen burners’ flames ignited in a pattern crucial to the concoction being formulated. He leaned down to examine them more closely, allowing their array of colors to tint the white walls behind them. Jotting down each bubble, puff of smoke, and subtle change in pigment, he was immersed in a world where only work filled his thoughts. Yet, somehow you were the only one able to pull him out of it.

The sound of the door sliding open fell on deaf ears. Coming into view behind the beakers accentuated your beauty, each curve being captured even under the boxy lab coat.

“I’m in the middle of something.” Firm but not rude, his tone never crossed into cruelty when it came to you.

“I know, but these reports came in and contain information you may find useful.” A softness that didn’t mask obvious hints was a specialty of yours. 

With a slightly agitated sigh, he straightened his posture. The extension of his hand was promptly greeted with the reasonably thick stack of papers. A barely concealed groan left him once feeling the weight of them.

“I’ve already had a look and marked them by relevance.” You gestured to the color-coded tabs, each one carefully placed to draw in his attention to the applicable bits.

Thumbing through it, his expression remained void of praise and gratitude. Such adoration wasn’t for anyone’s eyes—deemed unfit to share freely or at all. His humph was the extent of approval typically, although you didn’t mind. His gaze fell on you: a woman who’d given nothing less than her full competence and admittedly still continued to surprise him even after the years working for him. 

A lump formed in his throat; your eyes held a sincerity in them he couldn’t find anywhere else. A tightness arose in his chest; no matter how cold his stare was, your smile never fell. A sense of dread dawned on him because he remembered this feeling all too well. With a nod, he dismissed you and was left alone once again.

Those pale walls only felt cold after he met you, and the hours spent alone conducting research only felt agonizingly long after sharing conversations with you. Placing the stack of papers on the table, he rubbed his eyes. They felt heavy and stung from the teasing bitterness he reserved for himself when moments of weakness threatened his very foundation. Cracks had already formed though, and they deepened the longer he kept you around, spreading across every pillar of his philosophies:

Vulnerability—he wouldn’t be so low as to subject himself to that. The weak must be weeded out, leaving only those born to lead to create a world worthy of living in. A reality as cruel as this one, the meek would never inherit the earth, instead being destined to pave it.

Weakness—it came in the form of tears, regret, and even compassion, things which took years to rid himself of. However, his discipline still wavered, which threatened to send the walls he built tumbling down. The softer side to humanity refused to leave his side, pestering him at the most inconvenient times.

Strength—a firm stance he took to bear his ideals. The brains and the bronze: strength started with the psyche and trickled down to the muscles that would carry out each finishing blow. Trampling on the feelings that kept one in the dark to then free them from their shackles. Untethered and untamed: the world was now theirs to claim.

But no matter how sure he thought he was, your mere presence sent his mind whirling and that pang in his chest to coil around his heart. A gasp escaped him as he held himself back from embracing the humanity he lost with the death of his wife. Dismay kept him at bay, riddling him at any chance of forming connections, and yet he would catch himself looking for you. Perhaps you wouldn’t talk to one another, instead sitting within the other’s general proximity, working together in silence.

Intrusive thoughts flooded his already chaotic mind. Snippets of you refused to leave him in peace. That lump in his throat grew. Suppression of his deepest desires were resurfacing. The lid that’d been placed over them wasn’t what it used to be. A moment of clarity flickered so quickly he nearly missed it.

Hesitantly, he pushed forward only to hear that nails on a chalkboard laugh billowing down the corridor. A grimace was half-heartedly concealed when the gangly man who’d gone through phases of colleague and a thorn in his side veered into the lab once spotting Judge.

“What's with the face?” Caesar demanded. Clicking his tongue, Judge turned his back to the horned man. The cold shoulder irked him more than a retort would have. “Fine, be that way. I only came in here to get something that useless assistant of yours forgot.” 

Looking up for a split second, Caesar’s eyes met Judge’s—daggers pierced the Clown to his very core. Startled at first, the initial reaction faded as a smile spread on his purple lips. “Oh, I see. Hmm, I can’t say I blame you.” He flipped through the folder he needed as he casually stepped towards the door. “Though, she is a bit too soft for my liking.”

Why did that bother him so much? It wasn’t untrue to call you as such, but that word was like venom to him. No, he knew exactly why and he loathed that you held the same qualities as her. Loathing your tenderness was a defense to keep him from feeling more than necessary, and that sweet smile that came with it made the burn singe that much more intensely.

The only way out is through kept echoing in his head.

Long stretches of brick walls lined the rug paved hallways. A mission that was guided by his heart but chaperoned by logic, he convinced himself that this was the solution to the current madness wracking his brain. Not following his routine of berating his own and others’ emotions opened his heart to fear: of rejection, humiliation, and the return to loneliness with his tail between his legs.

But there you were, working diligently like always. A subtlety of concentration on your gentle complexion gave a contrast to the deadly chemicals you were handling. You had a keen eye for spotting complimentary compounds. Self-taught which left him stunned, but under him you’d made remarkable progress, fine tuning your skills to perfection. 

While he loitered, that word repeated the longer he looked at you. Perfection— it suited you nicely. Goggles still secured over your eyes and gloves covering those delicate hands, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. When you noticed him, your expression softened.

“Are you going to come out of the doorway?” Your light tone tangled with an airy laugh. He kept his arms crossed as he approached you, not quite willing to open himself up entirely. Despite him avoiding eye contact and his stiff stance, there was something different about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

You paused as a question rolled around inside your head, but ultimately, you decided it wasn’t important. He wasn’t the type to openly express himself, you knew that, so instead you updated him on the most recent bits of information he needed to stay informed on. You inched closer to him, allowing your body heat to mingle with his, which to your surprise, he did the same. After a few more minutes of discussing work, he lowered his arms and permitted the budding interest he took in you a chance at something more.

[thevikingwoman]

another letter reached Meryta before she sets out for the Rak'tika Greatwood

Fandom: FFXIV | Words: 786 | Read on Ao3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Meryta Khatin x Tansui | during A Little Faith | romance Rating: Teen. Letters, longing

LETTERS AND LONGING, PART 3

The next letter finds her at the Imperative. They’re looking for remnants of the Church of the First Light, but before she starts looking in earnest, the post moogle bounces into her view.

“I came all the way from Fort Jobb, Kupo! You better be grateful.”

She ensures it she is, and sends it off with her thanks and a plea to wait and rest at least a little, to give her a chance to write back. The moogle hums and agrees, scuttling off to rest in the shade.  It’s not been long since she sent her last letters, but when she opens it, it’s clear Tansui has received his already. The moogles – or Feo Ul – must be working overtime. Perhaps it helps to be king.

Tansui congratulates her on her win, and she’s not sure what to make of that. She fights and she wins and it’s what everyone expects. It feels different in his words, however, his expectations more like support, and less like a duty. Like he seems equally proud and concerned for her, between his teasing words. Or perhaps that he wants her to win for herself, and not because anyone else expects her to. He sounds relieved too, and it feels good to know he’s concerned.

Tansui tells news from the Confederacy, a long story about a hapless captain unwilling to let go of his cargo when met with mostly newer recruits. Until one of them had put an arrow between the man’s feet, perhaps backed up by Tansui’s scowl. His letter downplays his own role, and she can feel how proud he is of the people he trains. It had turned out that the captain had spent his very last gil on his cargo, and in a vain hope of maximizing his profits had all but forgotten about the ruby tithe. The ship’s hold had been filled with Hingan furniture bound for Eorzea, and now the Confederacy is the proud owner of gleaming red-lacquered garden benches.

She imagines it, pretty benches in the sand. Mayhap they will pass them on to Doma in a trade, but truly she does not know if the Domans need them any more than the Confederacy.

She chuckles at the story, as she sits on the stairs as she reads. Thancred passes by, a curious look on his face, but he doesn’t ask. She should help with the search, but mostly the letter makes her want to go to him again. With his letters, she knows that he did not tire of her visits, that he wants her. The thought makes her happy, warmth coursing through her. He says as much too, that he misses her, that he wants to hold her, kiss her, touch her.

She looks at the aetheryte, the sparks of aether currents humming about it. It would be so easy, to throw herself into the lifestream, to see him. To feel his hands on her.

His lips.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, his beard scratching across her chest…

Minfilia bounces up the ramp to her left, a white blur of motion. Meryta shakes her head. As much as she wants to, she can’t leave now. Not even a day’s rest here, and who knows if a trip will be an hour or a week on the First. Maybe soon, when they’ve met with Y’shtola, she can find time. Or mayhap when they’ve delt with the next Lightwarden.  

She shudders at the thought. She’ll keep going, no matter how terrified she is, for the sake of those she can save, but right now her mind turns to Tansui first. His smirk and the challenge in his eyes. The affectionate words in his letters, and the appreciation in his hands.Curiously, she finds determination in thinking of him, a promise to see him again, her battles done. There’s a hunger to not only win for herself, or the scions, or everyone else; but so that she can go to him, victorious. She’ll never give up and flee a battle, that is not her nature, but this kind of longing is new.

Across the courtyard, Urianger braces himself against a heavy door. It’s probably stuck from disuse. He seems to have the task well in hand, as it swings open, and he disappears into the darkness.

She should write tonight, at least. She wonders what he’d think if she put her desires, her yearning, on paper, but she’s not sure she can find her words as easily with pen in hand as in her mind. He surely wouldn’t mind, his boldness always evident. She blushes, want running through as she think of his touch again, and tucks the letters into her clothing.

[gabessquishytum]

It’s morning here so I wanted to wish you a good morning. I hope you have a wonderful day and you know what a treasure you are for allowing all of us to be insane and horny in your ask box.

While I was driving to work this morning a song came on which - up until now - I didn’t realise was super problematic (English is not my first language and when it was first released in 2011 I didn’t speak a lick of it) but we do love problematic stuff for Dreaming, don’t we?

All things the singer wishes for his love to be kinda fit unhinged Dreamling, but what stuck with me was I often wish that you had feathers, I'd keep you in a giant cage / All day long I'd sit and watch you, I'd sing for you and that would be okay

To imagine Dream as this magnificent creature with wings is all too easy. They’re huge and dark as night. When he moves them and the light hits them just right, you swear you can see entire galaxies of stars reflected in them. But it’s not just the creature’s wings that are mesmerising, it’s the creature, too. Its skin is alabaster white, lithe muscles move underneath with every spin and turn the creature performs in the air. On his head there’s an unruly mop of pitch-black hair, that looks as downy soft as his wings. His lips are pink, perfect to be kissed and he has the most mesmerising electric blue eyes. It’s breathtaking and when Hob sees him for the first time- He knows he must have him.

He has no idea what the creature is, how to approach it and let alone how to capture it, but Hob is nothing if not determined. He finds an old, dilapidated building, nestled in a valley, far away from civilisation. He thinks it might be an old factory, but nature has already started to reclaim it and it’s hard to see. It’s unimportant anyway because this place is perfect for his needs.

He starts building a large cage, more than large enough to house twenty of his mysterious creature, wide enough to he can unfurl his wings without the tips brushing the metal on either side. He lugs wood around, fabric, supplies, every day for weeks and months and after a year, it’s finished: a gilded cage, furnishings fit for a king but a cage nonetheless.

His own quarters are done up as well. They are much more simple but it doesn’t matter anyway. Step one of his plan is complete now and he goes on to step two.

He will capture his creature.

With his bow slung over his shoulder, he sets out to where he saw him first. It’s quite a trek, but he made sure that his hideout would be far away from the creature’s usual grounds.

When he sees Dream again, it’s like a punch to the gut. It shouldn’t be possible, but he might be even more beautiful now that Hob hasn’t seen him in a year than he had been before. And Hob waits. Day in, day out he sits and watches. The creature has friends - or family? - that sometimes join him in the sky, but bar a few occasions he always seems to isolate himself from the rest of them. He’s up there first and leaves last, soaring through the sky long after the sun has set.

Which is when Hob takes his chance. He shoots.

The arrow hits its mark as intended. The creature, caught in the middle of a swoop close to the ground, plummets.

Hob hides his bow and rushed to the side. “Are you hurt?”, he asks, even though it’s perfectly clear Dream is. “Let me help you.”

As was his plan, Hob takes Dream back to the abandoned factory. He laced his arrow with a sedative, so Dream won’t wake during the long track back. He’s heavy to carry but Hob manages and his heart soars when the door of the cage shuts with a decisive click of the lock.

He’s caught him. He’s well and truly caught his mystic creature.

The wound on Dream isn’t fatal, but it’s bad enough that he’s out of it for a few days. Hob takes good care of his treasure, nursing him back to health. During the day he goes out to hunt with traps and a knife, no bow in sight, never a bow, and to collect fruit in the forest. He feeds Dream until he can sit upright and look around. He dresses an redresses his injury until he can stand and take the first wobbling steps after two weeks lying down.

Dream doesn’t speak, at least not in a language Hob can understand. His delicate fingers clutch the bars of the cage and he seems to plead with Hob, but Hob just smiles and watches him. Even here, in the dim light that falls through the patchy roof, and with wings that start to look a little worn from lack of care, Dream is still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He starts bringing back gifts from his hunting trips, little things he thinks might cheer Dream up, who has taken to moping in the corner. He steals a silk robe now that the air has a slight chill to it at night, so Dream won’t be cold. He gifts him a brush-

Dream doesn’t use it on the hair on his head, but rather on his wings. It looks like he’s struggling to reach all the right places, so Hob takes the brush from him to help. The moan Dream lets out when Hob brushes over the scapulars isn’t one of pain but one of pleasure. So he continues until Dream is writhing and shaking and pleading underneath him- Dream comes from this, arching his back gracefully, his cum soiling the silk robe Hob has gifted him. It’s a breathtaking sight. Hob cleans him up before he leaves, taking the robe with him. It smells of his creature and he presses his face to it while he lays back on his own bed, hand around his prick.

It becomes a ritual of theirs after that. Dream tries to retreat every time Hob steps into his cage, but he relents as soon as Hob starts to brush his feathers. He’s face down on the bed and within minutes he’s rubbing his aching cock against the covers for a little relief, fighting the urge to reach for Hob. He acts like he doesn't want this, like he doesn't crave Hob's touch, but really--

And Hob, as soon as he leaves the cage, he’s divesting himself of his clothes, watching Dream’s wings flutter through the aftershocks while he gets himself off imagining how it would feel to kiss those wings while he fucks into him over and over. Maybe next time…

Love, 💄

Oh, darling 💄 anon!!!! This is an absolutely flawless concept and you've captured it so well with your words!!! I can't stop imagining a beautiful winged Dream soaring through the skies all day. Of course Hob would be enamored, driven to madness by beauty. If Hob hadn't caught him then surely someone else would, someone who would treat him far worse.

That's what Hob tells himself anyway. He is so good to his creature, he takes such care over his welfare. Brings him nice things to eat and makes sure he's beautifully groomed. Of course he must see to his creature's other needs too. Dream obviously craves touch and needs to cum as frequently as a man might. Hob is only being kind by helping him...

Dream meanwhile, lives in a kind of in-between mental state. Knowing that this could be so much worse, yet yearning for freedom. Why can't he stop himself from giving in to his captors warm, clever hands? He's afraid of his own feelings. Each day he promises himself that he'll try to escape, and each day passes without an attempt...

Yes, it's a strange life, but Hob is so happy. And his creature seems... content? More so each day. He no longer mopes in the corner. He leans in to Hob’s touch. And each day he grows more and more beautiful. If Hob let him go, he would be more vulnerable to another capture.

Better to keep him safe, then. Besides, Hob knows that once he finally fucks him? His creature won't want to leave. He'll want to be pampered and loved and fucked forever. And Hob fully intends to give him all of that and more.

[guhamun]

Name: Jianyu "Yuyu - copyrighted by his sister"

Age: 33 years old

Profession: Mercenary for the Band of Blades (recently 2nd in command)

Species: Human

Gender: Male; he/him

Height: 6'3’’ (191 cms)

———–

Personality:

+ Loyal, reasonable, relaxed

- Distant sometimes, stubborn, kinda gruff

Not the most approachable individual on the surface, Jianyu can sometimes come across as blunt and a tad bit rude without meaning to as he is a firm believer in honesty (this goes both ways). He prefers to listen more than talk most of the time, although when he knows someone and is comfortable with them, he is much more chatty. A workaholic by nature, strict in self-discipline, it reflects itself upon how he speaks to others during his working hours as he prefers to get the job done as soon as possible. Jianyu is not one to make mistakes, nor does he like seeing mistakes done by others. With that said, he is quite helpful when he sees others struggling with tasks, putting aside his time to lend them assistance if it’s within his power to do so. Despite everything, truth be told, he is quite a mellow individual. You'd be hard pressed to make him angry as most of the the time, he is relaxed in demeanor no different from a lazy cat. His tongue may be sharp, yet his tone is often that of one who is wholly unbothered. Push the right buttons, however, and one will be privy to seeing a side they may come to regret.

History:

Jianyu is from a village that exists within a vast grassland; his clan but one of two that resides within. From a very young age, he was trained in the ways of hunting and combat, pushed to be strong just like every other child must in order to be useful to the overall well-being of the community. However, because his father was clan chief, that meant that he had to be better. He had to be the best because none would follow a chief who had not earned the respect of those around them. In time, perhaps faster than expected, Jianyu became what his father wanted of him, earning a place as one of the top warriors within the clan and earning the right to wear a very specific blue that would differentiate him from others. After all, only those who had truly earned the right to wear that color could, and he had worked hard for that particular right – proudly so, even. 

At the age of seventeen, he soon left his home, though not of his volition. It was tradition for those within his clan to leave when they were of age to head out and learn about the world around them, and then one day return with knowledge be it a new trade, skill, so on and so forth, to help not only the clan thrive, but the village as well. Confident in his abilities and wanting to put them to use, he believed becoming a mercenary would serve him best as what knowledge he gained from battle he would bring back to teach to up and coming warriors. The first company he joined had placed him upon battlefield after battlefield. To his leader at the time, there was no better way to reap rewards than to aid in the bickering of kingdoms. Jianyu learned, oh did he learn, yet in the process, his heart hardened to the bloodshed of it all -- thoroughly numbed to it. Eventually he was recruited by another corp, one that, thankfully, held a different mindset from the one he had been in.

Tidbits: [appearance]

Has a hound that resembles what our world would see as a malamute, named "Khasar". He oftentimes calls them 'Little Brother' as dogs are seen as family in his clan. Khasar is rather guarded but softens up to strangers in time. If one could hear his thoughts, he'd be equivalent to a grumpy old man.

Jianyu's pupils are slit like a cat or a serpent with a white center.

He loves to fish, but only does so if he plans on selling what he catches or feeding others. For himself, though, fish -- seafood in general -- is disgusting, and he for the life of him cannot understand why anyone would enjoy it.

Has beastkin blood in his veins from his great grandfather who was a wolfen, a race similar to werewolves in a sense, thus his hair. He also has a heightened hearing as a direct result of this.

Verses: [wip] - fantasy (main), modern, c.yberpunk, g.enshin, honkai s.tar rail, fate