#only reinforces how perfect they are for each other

[theunsinkableship1]

DEAREST FRIENDS

⚠️ Disclaimer: This is Lukolaland only. Skip if you don't ship nor believe.

Dearest Lukolashippers, for years, Nicola and Luke, have moved in a space filled with undeniable chemistry, synchronicity, and moments that fueled something deeper than mere friendship in the eyes of many. They’ve played into it, danced around it, and left room for speculation by neither confirming nor denying. But now, things have shifted.

Nicola’s recent interview, where she finally used the words “just friend», a phrase they’ve notably avoided in the past was a defining moment. She closed her eyes, took a quick breath, and said it like an apology: "I'm sorry that he's just a friend, but he is a dear friend." The wording, the delivery, the hesitation, none of it felt casual. It felt deliberate, like something that needed to be said but perhaps it wasn’t easy to deliver this message.

The act of closing one’s eyes can sometimes be a way to block out external stimuli while formulating a response. This could mean she felt a certain level of discomfort, perhaps she doesn’t like discussing this topic in such definitive terms. It could also suggest that she wished she didn’t have to answer at all. The breath before speaking might indicate a moment of internal negotiation before proceeding.

The fact that she follows this up with "But he is a dear friend" and then, later, "Luke is perfect," reinforces that there is still warmth and admiration there. But the hesitation in her body language suggests that the topic is not as simple as she wants it to appear.

The statement about friendship was something she felt obligated to say, whereas calling Luke perfect was more spontaneous. The emphasis shift could suggest a disconnect between what she wants to express and what she feels she should say publicly

Whether it’s playfulness, resignation, PR strategy, or something more personal, it’s clear that this wasn’t just an offhand remark.

And then, less than 72 hours later, Luke debuts his long-rumored girlfriend at a major fashion event. The timing is striking. For months, he seemed to be opting for privacy, never confirming, never engaging, never defending her against backlash, and never appearing fully at ease in public sightings. But suddenly, the narrative is cemented. The patterns have changed.

Luke has changed his approach. He was once silent, hesitant, and distant about this relationship. Now, suddenly, he is presenting it in an official capacity, after Nicola distanced herself with her words.

Coincidence? Unlikely.

Lukola’s synchronization remains undeniable, even in the way they navigate this shift in narrative. Whether intentional or not, they continue to mirror each other’s behavior, Nicola makes a public statement, Luke follows with a carefully timed move. It’s a pattern we’ve seen before, a rhythm they seem to fall into effortlessly.

Their bond has always been built on synchronicity, from the way they speak in unison to the unconscious mirroring in their gestures and expressions. Now, even in how they handle public perception, they remain aligned. This kind of unspoken coordination suggests an ongoing connection, whether it’s about protecting something private or simply moving in tandem as they always have.

Whatever the case, the timing is too precise to be a coincidence. The dance continues, just with a new routine.

Previously, two of the strongest arguments for the Lukolashippers were that 1: neither Luke nor Nicola ever called it "just" a friendship. That small omission left room for ambiguity, for subtext, for a space where something more could exist unspoken. And 2: the fact that Luke had never publicly acknowledged his long-rumored girlfriend, but now both things have happened

So, what do we make of this?

Something shifted. Whether it’s PR, a personal decision, the timing speaks volumes. It’s not about whether he’s with someone, it’s about why it’s being handled this way now.

Was this all coordinated? It’s highly possible. A synchronized effort to shut down speculation, to realign public perception, to take control of a story that had spiraled beyond their grasp. You don’t want your relationship to overshadow your career or let natural chemistry and attraction diminish your talent, especially when your career is just beginning to take off. Whether out of personal necessity, professional strategy, or simply to ease external pressures, they’ve made their statement.

But the lingering question remains: Why now? Why not months ago when rumors were at their peak? Why not a simple, clear acknowledgment that could have saved them from the relentless discourse? They had countless opportunities to set the record straight but remained elusive, leaving space for doubts to linger, letting ambiguity fuel the flames, until now. Yet here we are.

Why had Luke previously been reluctant to acknowledge his girlfriend. If he was taking the private approach why the change?

Why did Nicola phrase it the way she did, with hesitation and a quick breath?

Why is the timeline of events so closely linked.

If this was all about PR, the goal could be:

To remove lingering speculation that they are secretly together.

To establish Luke’s relationship in a way that doesn’t feel abrupt.

To allow Nicola to move forward without being constantly tied to Luke.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that what they had was fake, but rather that they might be transitioning to a new phase, whether that’s a real separation, a private arrangement, or something in between.

If they were (or are) involved in any way beyond friendship, the intense scrutiny could have made it difficult to navigate. The coordinated move could be an attempt to create distance, not necessarily because nothing ever happened, but because they need space to breathe without constant speculation.

By clearly defining themselves as just friends, they might be hoping to calm the intensity of their fandom’s interest. The logic could be :

If Nicola says just friends, people will have to accept it.

If Luke is seen with someone else, the speculation will die down.

If they maintain the bond behind the scenes, they can preserve their real connection without external interference.

This could be a temporary measure, especially if they are trying to figure things out privately.

Whether this was directly coordinated or simply a natural alignment of circumstances, the timing is too precise to be accidental. Nicola’s words and Luke’s actions work together to establish a new public image, whether it’s entirely reflective of reality or not. Ultimately, this could be:

A mutual decision to shift focus away from their relationship dynamics.

A move to protect their bond by reducing outside pressure.

A way to create distance for personal or professional reasons.

A redirection of attention whether toward other relationships, their careers, or a more private arrangement.

The first thing we should accept is the reality they present to us at this moment, as it is highly likely to reflect their current truth.

No matter what the current truth is, one thing is clear: This was not a random occurrence. It was a deliberate shift in narrative, one that raises more questions than it answers.

It's time to take a step back and let this breathe. Nicola and Luke have clearly coordinated their messaging, and this is the narrative they’ve chosen to put forward. Whether it’s the absolute truth or just the version they want the world to accept, it’s their life, their choices, and their prerogative. We should not send them or their close ones any negativity. We only see what they choose to show us, and like all human beings, they have their own reasons and emotions. In my opinion, they don’t deserve hate, they need respect. As I’ve mentioned, I appreciate their work and talent, but the only reason I’m here is because I love their love.

Whatever the reason, they have chosen this path, and it’s one that deserves to be respected. This isn’t about being buffeted by the wind, but about letting it guide the sails. If this is the story they want to tell, so be it. Whether it’s the full truth or a narrative built for necessity, only time will reveal what lies beneath the surface.

For now, I take a step back, not because I’ve stopped believing, but because I recognize the signals they’ve given. Some truths take time to unfold, and if there’s one thing Nicola and Luke have taught us, it’s that not everything is as simple as it seems.

There’s no love lost here, only the ebb and flow of tides, the natural rhythm of a journey that isn’t necessarily over, just momentarily obscured. History has shown us that where there’s smoke, there’s often fire. The question isn’t whether the fire has burned out, but whether it’s simply smoldering beneath the surface, waiting for the right conditions to ignite again. And the vessel will follow the glow of the beautiful flame to be guided through the rough waters.

Many couples have charted similar courses before finally finding their way back to each other. Tom Holland and Zendaya spent years insisting they were just friends, even dating other people, before finally making their relationship public. For example, David & Victoria Beckham (kept their early relationship low-key) or Ryan Gosling & Eva Mendes Even classic Hollywood saw the likes of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward navigating relationships before settling into a lifelong love. The list goes on, proof that timing, public perception, and even a little misdirection often plays a role in love stories that unfold at their own pace.

So, is this ship lost at sea, or merely waiting out the storm? Sometimes, when the waters are uncertain, the best course of action is to drop anchor and wait. Wait for the skies to clear, for the waves to calm, for the true direction to reveal itself. The Lukola ship may not be sailing in plain sight right now, but that doesn’t mean it has sunk. Some journeys take detours, but the current always has a way of pulling things back to where they belong.

[emilylawsons]

@xenobean Your wish is my command…

(This will have a few spoilery things from S1 and S2 but none from S3.)

So let’s start with the setting and surface theme: journalism and news media. Anyone who works in that field faces questions of integrity every single day. Good journalists seek the truth. They ask questions. But sometimes the truth—or one person’s integrity—threatens to expose someone else’s lack thereof. We see it all the time in what the characters face each episode. Noelene gets fired for a day because she accidentally pulls a fabricated quote that her own bosses didn’t bother to check her on. Helen is constantly searching for stories that shed light on issues no one else will talk about, and in season 2 Dale is combative to that because he’s looking to save face and maintain his station which her convictions threaten. One of Helen’s most crucial moments comes because she has to choose between her integrity and her job.

Their professional world alone is meant to be built on truth and exposing the truth.

Then we get our characters.

Helen tries to hide her mental illness, at least from the public. And herself. She panics when her past stint in a mental institution is threatened to come to light. She runs away and tries to hide her episodes but isn’t quite so successful—but she’ll still attempt to lie. (“I accidentally took too many pills,” “I think I was really dehydrated.”) And we see how her running from her mental illness rather than facing it head on or seeking help does more harm than good. And she constantly has reminders of the stigma of mental illness shoved in her face. She has people around her—namely men—screaming at her and not taking her seriously, and it just fuels her reactive anger. Which makes her impossible to deal with to most people. Except Dale, who becomes the only safe person she knows. But even he can’t always understand, especially when her struggles threaten his image.

Dale, meanwhile, has run from his bisexuality since he was a teenager. Didn’t even have the language for it. He was shamed, wrongfully punished, made to feel like a pervert. As a result, he’s kept his true feelings to himself. He’s leaned into what everyone else wants from him. Helen is probably the first person to know the whole truth and still love him as deeply as she does, but the way in which she finds out is at the cost of an indiscretion to their relationship. She feels betrayed not because he has that attraction to men, but because he kissed someone else—he entertained being with someone else while they were together—and still doesn’t quite trust that he won’t leave her. So how he is supposed to feel anything other than ashamed? How is he supposed to respond other than to hide in his career and the one place he seems to be successful, accepted, and admired? No one can know he has these feelings or these thoughts. No one can know the real him. Because they would be appalled—or that’s what he’s had reinforced in his mind.

Both of them, in their shame, fall apart despite the fact that they’re the only two people who literally only see each other and love each other regardless.

Then we’re introduced to Kay Walters, who’s spent her entire life having to live up to her parents’ public image. Who fell to addiction because of the pressure. Because she never felt good enough in the eyes of the two people in this world who should have loved her unconditionally, without question. And when she comes back and Geoff and Evelyn find out what state she’s in, they’re forced to face their own failure. Their own neglect of what’s important. Because they, themselves, are so full of shame at the idea of looking even just a little less than perfect. And when they face the fact that she needs help, there’s shame on their part because their daughter is in rehab—which is just as shameful to her. It takes that come to Jesus moment to get them to reexamine themselves.

And without giving anything away about the final season, we watch the fallout from this shame and how Helen and Dale specifically must confront it. And throughout the entire series, it’s the people who refuse to be ashamed of themselves that seem to be the happiest—Gerry and Carla, for instance. Or Tim. Or Linus. And I’d love to dig more into how we see this play out for Helen and Dale these last six episodes, but I’ll leave it there since everyone is still watching.

So, yeah. That’s the point. And I adore this show for everything it is. ❤️

Anyway the thesis of The Newsreader is that embracing the truth and everything real that you are is always going to be better than hiding in shame in this essay I will—

[ohlexa]

#say your prayers and bottoms up!

[gobstoppr]

mami tomoe i miss you....

i ordered a physical copy of The Different Story manga and i have to wait like a week till it comes in... i wanna reread it Nowwww tho

[embbarnes]

Подарок. | W.S

summary: You give the soldier a present for Christmas.

warnings: Fluff & Angst | Fem!reader | Winter Soldier!Bucky | Post!CA:TWS | PTSD mentions | Mention of medical treatments | Recovery | Brief talk of nightmares

a/n: Sort of unofficial part two to Sugar Plums since I had a few people asking for a part two. Same universe I guess, with some time between. Uhh probably rushed idk. To be edited later. ;; wc: 3.3k

Recovery.

Fickle, fragile, exhausting.

He gradually accepted being called Bucky, though the name stirred something uncomfortable within him each time it reached his ears. Steve, ever persistent and hopeful, would use various versions of the name - Bucky, Buck, or sometimes James - in his unwavering attempts to resurrect the friend he once knew, unable to accept that the Bucky from his memories had faded away like footprints in snow.

Winter had completely erased the old Bucky.

While these names would trigger a subtle internal struggle, he maintained an almost perfect mask of indifference, with only the slightest furrowing of his brow betraying any sign of his inner turmoil.

You, however, carefully navigated between calling him Bucky and Soldat, aware that using his old code name might reinforce programming you wished to help him break free from. Yet there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders when you used the familiar designation, the way it seemed to ease the constant tension he carried made it impossible to completely abandon - his comfort, however small, had become your priority.

Even if that comfort stemmed from a dehumanizing name.

It required negotiation and persistent discussions to convince Tony to finally allow the soldier access to the medbay wing for his necessary medical treatments. Despite the soldier's extended stay in the tower passing without any concerning incidents, Tony maintained a strong hesitation about providing medical assistance. His deeply-rooted skepticism and apparent distrust were sources of frustration for you, though you consciously chose to avoid escalating the situation into a full-blown argument, knowing it would only make matters more complicated.

You had already gotten into intense scuffles with Tony over the soldier’s stay, how he needed to be looked over, physically and internally. The dislocated arm Steve caused never healed, and he had been carrying his arm awkwardly close to his body. Other physical injuries on top of the apparent dehydration and malnourishment, he was constantly under a veil of sickness.

The situation was particularly delicate because Soldat struggled with being in the presence of the other tower residents. He was acutely aware of how everyone seemed to cautiously moderate their behavior around him, treating each interaction as if they were navigating through a minefield of potential triggers. Like they were walking along eggshells every time they were near him.

It felt like he was walking on glass.

You were his only source of comfort, though traces of caution still lingered in his demeanor. He knew you posed no threat to his wellbeing. You had been patient and gentle the entire time, regardless of his panic or prone sense to lash out if he got stressed enough.

Long nights stretched endlessly in the sterile medbay rooms, where you faithfully maintained your vigil in the uncomfortable chair positioned beside the standard-issue medical bed. The soldier’s bed remained empty, as he consistently chose to rest on the cold floor instead. Sleep was an elusive companion for him, a nightly battle he rarely won. More often than not, his rest was violently interrupted by his own terrified screams or desperate shouts, his body jerking upright with defensive movements, arms swinging at invisible threats.

You would spend countless minutes trying everything in your power to bring him back to reality and calm his frantic state. Sometimes, despite your best efforts and gentle words, the situation would escalate beyond your ability to manage, forcing the medical staff on standby to intervene with sedatives to prevent him from unintentionally causing harm during these episodes.

Luckily his recovery progressed slowly but surely, transitioning from those intensive IV treatments in the clinical environment of the medbay to the more comfortable setting of your personal quarters. His sleeping arrangements evolved as gradually as his treatment; first from the hard floor, then to the modest couch tucked against the far wall, and finally to your bed.

These days, he found his rest beside you each night, his body instinctively seeking comfort by curling close to yours, desperately trying to make up for all those decades of disturbed sleep and haunted dreams.

Over time, his attachment to you had grown increasingly intense, and he began experiencing waves of jealousy whenever your attention was directed elsewhere. You helped around the tower a lot, so you tended to be distracted with tasks or aiding in another’s need. The soldier didn’t like it, so he began leaving his mark on you. It started subtly at first, he would rub your clothes on himself, in his mind it was good enough that you smelled like him. He saw it in a documentary once, of animals, but he had been in such a dehumanized state for so long, it made sense to him. His body’s scent on you, others would back off. That would work.

But, no, it wasn’t enough.

One day, crossing an unspoken boundary between you, he started placing love bites along your skin, positioning these tender marks from your neck down to your shoulders, eventually becoming bold enough to venture lower, marking your chest with these plum bruises.

The possessive displays sent warmth coursing through your body, and you willingly accepted his territorial behavior. After all, you had become his sole source of comfort and security in this world, making it perfectly natural for him to want to claim you in some way - whether through his distinctive scent (you knew about him rubbing your clothes on his body) or these carefully placed marks. His need to establish this connection, to make his claim visible, he was terrified you’d be taken from him.

Progress was being made in your relationship.

While he was still cautious with physical contact, he had begun to allow gentle touches and brief moments of closeness, though always within carefully maintained boundaries. He was like a cat, deciding when he wanted physical attention and when he wanted it to stop. The challenge of memory recovery remained a significant hurdle in his healing process. You had to help him remember specific things, he often mixed Russian and English, or plainly forgot the simplest of words.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what a pillow was.

When Steve would speak to him, sharing stories and memories of their past, Bucky would often find himself lost in confusion, unable to connect with the vivid recollections that Steve so enthusiastically shared. The determination in Steve's eyes was evident as he tried desperately to help his lost friend remember the bond they once shared, but for Bucky, these memories remained frustratingly out of reach.

Steve's enthusiasm was well-intentioned, but sometimes, it manifested as an overwhelming flood of information and expectations. You could sense Bucky's growing distress during these interactions, the way his shoulders would tense, how his eyes would dart anxiously around the room. The stark reality was that Bucky's memories of Steve were minimal at best, yet Steve continued to share detailed accounts of their past experiences with increasing intensity.

Your became a careful mediator, providing emotional support to Bucky while gently helping Steve understand that his passionate approach was more hindering rather than helping the delicate process of memory recovery.

Bucky would get frustrated with himself during his journey of recovery. His collection of journals became a sanctuary for his fragmented memories, filled with carefully preserved photographs (provided by Steve), detailed notes written in an unsteady hand, and hastily scrawled thoughts or recollections that would suddenly surface from the depths of his consciousness throughout all hours of the day and night. These journals became both a source of comfort and torment, evidence of his struggle to piece himself back together like a puzzle without a photo.

Even with help from you or Steve, he maintained strict control over his recovery process. He deliberately chose not to document anything that Steve mentioned or tried to convince him of, instead focusing solely on recording memories that emerged organically from within his own mind.

Having experienced decades of mental manipulation, he didn’t want anyone influencing his thoughts or memories ever again. He couldn't bring himself to simply accept Steve's version of events without questioning them, needing to verify everything through his own recollections.

You knew it hurt Steve to see Bucky this way, how he refused to listen or believe him, but you couldn’t blame the man. Either of them, really. It was delicate, it took a lot of patience on everyone’s part.

Bucky’s dedication to recovering his past manifested in sleepless marathons that would stretch on for days at a time. The soldier within him approached the task with military precision, attempting to reconstruct his shattered memories in a specific manner. Yet despite his efforts, the majority of his recollections remained disjointed and fractured, with memories of his time with HYDRA dominating his consciousness more than anything else.

While Bucky was trying to recall his elusive past, you dedicated yourself to helping him build new neural pathways and retain more recent experiences, hoping to make his daily life more manageable and give him a sense of independence. The simplest tasks had become foreign territory for him - the muscle memory and basic understanding of everyday activities having slipped away like water through cupped hands. Modern appliances like microwaves, coffee makers, or the oven had become objects that he approached with confusion.

His relationship with food had become particularly concerning. Unable to prepare proper meals, you would find him furtively consuming makeshift sandwiches, but only when he believed he could finish them before being discovered. His posture during meals was hunched, protectively positioning himself over his plate or bowl, shoveling food into his mouth at an alarming pace, his entire body tense as though preparing to defend his meal from unseen threats.

Food aggression, apparently, wasn't restrictive to just animals.

Among the numerous concerns, his recurring nightmares stood out as the most troubling and pressing issue. The frequency and intensity of these night terrors had become increasingly worrisome, regardless of how well he had progressed otherwise.

Night after night, his anguished screams would pierce the darkness, and these episodes gradually evolved into extended periods where sleep became completely impossible for him to achieve. Bucky would remain awake for days and nights at a stretch, fighting against his own exhaustion, scribbling nonsense into his journals until his body would finally surrender and he would collapse into a brief, troubled slumber.

This cycle would repeat, each time more severe than the last.

Your began looking into different methods that might help ease his troubled sleep so that Bucky could experience the simple luxury of peaceful rest. Your research led you through a wide array of options; from various herbal teas and natural sleep remedies to more conventional medical interventions. However, given his strong aversion to pharmaceutical solutions, you deliberately steered clear of medication-based approaches, knowing they would likely be met with resistance.

Over time, you discovered that a soothing routine of warm herbal tea and gentle companionship proved to be an effective remedy for his nightmares. The nightly ritual of sharing your sleeping space had become second nature, and you observed how this consistent presence brought him the comfort and stability his life lacked for seven decades. His sleep patterns were delicately intertwined with his emotional state, thus during periods of anxiety or perceived threat, his rest would become noticeably disturbed and fitful.

However, your unwavering presence served as a constant source of reassurance, creating a safe haven where he could finally find peaceful rest. Plus, it helped him regain new memories to write down and you could see how proud he was every time he recounted something from his past.

Christmas morning.

Every corner and crevice of the tower sparkled with festive décor, tinsel draped from every available surface, and twinkling lights illuminated the halls in a dazzling display. It was an extravagant winter wonderland that bordered on excessive, but that was exactly Tony's style - he approached every holiday with unbridled enthusiasm, and Christmas was undoubtedly his crowning achievement.

With his seemingly limitless resources at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from creating the most elaborate celebrations possible.

Aka…he was rich so he could.

In contrast to Tony's lavish approach, you took a more modest approach when it came to gift-giving. The act of receiving presents always made you somewhat uncomfortable, as you found far more joy in being the one doing the giving. You selected meaningful presents for each team member, carefully considering their individual interests and preferences. You couldn't match Tony's extravagant spending (something he never failed to remind everyone of that morning), but you firmly believed that the genuine thought and personal consideration behind a gift carried far more significance than its monetary value (Tony disagrees).

Bucky perched uncomfortably at the far end of the plush couch, his posture tense and rigid while the other team members enthusiastically tore through their wrapped presents with childlike excitement. Your general annoyance with Tony's characteristic swagger and showmanship failed you this morning, a warmth spread through your chest at the genuine joy radiating from Pepper's face when she discovered the exquisite diamond ring he had carefully selected for her and presented after she freed it from the tight wrapping paper.

You stayed by Bucky all morning, carefully observing his reactions to the bustling holiday atmosphere. It was clear he was struggling to process the overwhelming sensory experience and you didn’t blame him. The twinkling lights and shimmering tinsel to the constant chatter and laughter of the group, on top of holiday music and the smells of breakfast and baked goods from the kitchen, were surely a lot to process. His discomfort grew and you recognized the telltale signs of sensory overload in his slightly widened eyes and shallow breathing. The social expectations was clearly taking its toll.

He had wanted to try, he wanted to sit down with you that morning, but he had been struggling.

Your gift pile was modest, exactly as you had requested. You insisted that presents weren't necessary, you found yourself the recipient of a generously stuffed Christmas stocking and an assortment of small, meaningful items carefully chosen by your teammates in a way that made it impossible for you to object to their kindness.

When Steve presented Bucky with a collection of carefully preserved mementos from their past, but the soldier's response wasn’t what he wanted. His eyes fixed on the items that should have sparked recognition, should have ignited memories of happier times, but instead were met with blank confusion and growing distress. You sensed the uncomfortable scene and noticed the mounting anxiety in Bucky's expression, you decided to intervene with a present you got for him.

"Here, I got this for you." You handed him a carefully wrapped bag with delicate tissue paper peeking out from the top, rustling softly with each movement. "Nothing all that special but...I figured it might be nice to have something like this." You replied gently, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness as you watched him, waiting with anticipation for him to open the gift.

Bucky held the bag tentatively, his eyes fixed on the festive baby blue packaging adorned with an intricate pattern of darker blue ornaments. The glitter-coated decorations caught the light as they spiraled across the surface of the bag. He had to blink a few times to refocus his eyes, his hand slowly reached up and grasped the white tissue paper that had been carefully arranged at the top, concealing the gift. He pulled it free, soft crinkling sounded as he removed it.

He reached into the depths of the bag, his fingers brushing against something soft before grasping it. As he drew it out, his hand revealed a charming stuffed elephant, its plush grey body soft to the touch. The toy was perfectly proportioned, with endearing fat limbs that dangled naturally from its tear-shaped body. Its oversized ears flopped gently and its trunk curved in a friendly manner that seemed to welcome embrace. The stuffed animal sat comfortably in his hands, sized just right for holding close and cuddling.

"Elephants are known for their memories, you know." You gave him a gentle, encouraging nudge, your voice soft and hopeful. "Who knows? Maybe having this elephant around will help spark some of those lost memories of yours. They say elephants never forget, after all."

Bucky turned to face you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. His eyes held that familiar, guarded look the soldier usually carried - a careful blend of wariness and interest that never quite revealed his inner thoughts. He examined the stuffed toy with an almost childlike fascination, as if encountering one for the first time.

His flesh hand explored every detail of the plush elephant with careful attention, fingers trailing along the soft fabric. He wrapped them around the trunk, testing its flexibility, then moved to rub the floppy ears between his thumb and forefinger, then squeezing the body gently as if checking its softness.

"There's something else too." You smiled warmly, gesturing toward the bag with enthusiasm. "Go ahead, take another look." He complied, reaching in until his hand emerged clutching a brand new journal. Following the theme, the journal was decorated in a soothing light blue shade, its cover stamped with a delicately printed elephant in the center. "I noticed your other journals were getting pretty full, so I thought you might need a fresh start. This one's got plenty of space, lots of room for all those thoughts and memories you want to keep safe."

His hands gently set the items down after examining each one carefully, his eyes lingering on every detail as if trying to memorize them. Then he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "You...got these...for me." Bucky spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen, as if he was having trouble processing the simple act of kindness. "To help me remember?"

"And, the elephant will be a nice cuddle buddy for those long nights you tend to have," you explained softly, watching his reaction. "It has special infusions of lavender and bergamot oils that I picked specifically to help you sleep better. The aromatherapy might even help soothe away those bad dreams you've been having. Well, at least according to the sales clerk." You reached out and lifted the soft plush elephant, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. "See? It's really calming, isn't it?"

He took the toy back and smelled it deeply, letting out a contented sigh as the aroma filled his nose and sent waves of comfort through his body, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He carefully lowered the elephant into his lap, treating it as if it were made of delicate porcelain. His throat tightened with emotion as he swallowed hard and looked back at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude.

"All this for me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible as he struggled to process the reality that someone would think to get him anything at all (Steve didn’t count). The concept of receiving gifts was so foreign to him, so far removed from his perception of what he deserved, that he could barely wrap his mind around it.

You thought maybe it looked sill to some people, but it was more about why you got it, not what you got him.

You nodded, offering a warm smile, "Yes...I got this just for you."

The soldier's gaze slowly drifted back to his lap, his fingers lingering momentarily on the thoughtful gifts before carefully pushing the journal and elephant to rest beside him. He then leaned forward quickly, closing the distance between you and wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. The display caught you off guard, given his usual hesitance to initiate any form of contact beyond nightly cuddling or his possessive love-bites.

After you recovered from the sudden gesture, your arms encircled him in return. You drew him closer as he nestled himself against your body, seeking comfort in your warmth and smell. It was one of the only things he could consistently rely on.

A knowing smile played across your lips as you whispered against his ear, "I take it you like it?"

"...Да."

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Ferine.

Pairing: Yandere!Toji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Hybrid AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Slight Manipulation, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Knotting, Mentions of Blood + Violence, Slight Breeding, and Biting.

Toji was, by far, the largest hybrid you’d ever taken care of.

Which, technically speaking, wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. This was barely your third month at the research facility, and you could count the number of hybrids you’d encountered before being hired here on a single hand. Still, even compared to the other wolves you currently looked after, Toji was beyond impressive. His long, pointed ears and stocky build set him well above six-foot, and even if he’d lacked height, he would’ve been able to make up for it with the planes of sculpted muscle circled around his biceps and thighs, laid over his chest and back. Top it all off with a set of claws each longer than your pointer finger and sharp enough to pierce reinforced steel, and he was practically fit for exhibit. Not that Toji could ever actually be a show dog, no – he’d tear the judges apart before they’d so much as heard his name. He was sweet, but he had a temper. You had to be careful not to set him off.

His fangs were impressive, too – perfectly in-tact despite years of less-than-adequate care, only a touch duller than a real wolf’s. You were careful not to let your hand stray from where it cupped his cheek as you looked for signs of damage or rot only to, of course, come up empty. The longer you spent with him, the more convinced you were that nothing could actually hurt Toji, even if the faded scar stitched into the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.

“All done,” you started, letting go of his cheek. Immediately, Toji’s jaw snapped shut with enough strength to take off a finger, had you given him the chance. “Perfect as always, Toji. I think you might be my best patient.”

A cocky smile found its way to his lips, and you could hear his tail beating lazily against the dirt floor of his enclosure. The facility was committed to replicating the natural environments of their more exotic hybrids as closely as possible, even if Toji claimed he’d trade it all for a punching bag, or better yet, something ‘real’ to dig his teeth into, whatever that meant. “Do I get a treat, doc?”

It was asked playfully, but still, you hummed by way of confirmation, pulling your duffle bag into your lap and fishing Toji’s well-earned rewards – a generic chocolate bar and a can of some painfully acidic, sickeningly sweet brand of soda your hybrid patients couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was a meager prize, but it was as much as you were able to spare considering how strict his caretakers were when it came to his diet. You’d probably save yourself a few dirty looks if you didn’t give him anything at all, but it didn’t feel right to leave him empty-handed.

He accepted your humble offering greedily. While the chocolate bar was stowed away for later consumption, the can was pierced with a clawed thumb and emptied in one long, unpleasantly audible swig. You’d only started to push yourself to your feet when Tojj finished, letting the now empty can fall to the ground before turning his attention back to you. “It hurts my feelings, knowing you’re just gonna run off and put your hands on another animal.” His ear pressed flat against his scalp, as if he was trying (and failing) to feign disappointment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you didn’t really care about all the time we’ve spent together.”

“You’re not exactly in desperate need of medical attention,” you chided, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “And I’m on a schedule. Not all of us can sit around, grooming ourselves all day.”

That earned a breathy laugh, a coy lilt to his smile. “Well, if you wanted to take a shot at it, I wouldn’t—”

“Save it. I get enough of that with the cats.” Just thinking about it made you grimace. It was one thing to think that Toji might bite you. Knowing Satoru and Suguru – the bonded leopard and panther pair who shared a check-up date with Toji – would insist on licking any exposed skin raw before letting you do your job was a much more tangible reality. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. You’ll be good until then, right?”

“I’m gonna gut those fucking strays.” His answer was blunt, immediate, but he cracked as soon you shot him a purse-lipped frown. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll just rough ‘em up a little – make ‘em regret putting their paws on you, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but soften. Toji was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad dog. He just had a protective streak and that, paired with his brash personality and tendency to bite before he barked, was enough for most people to write him off.

You really did have a long, long list of other appointments you had to get to before the end of the day, but against your better judgement, you paused as you passed him, reaching down to rake your fingers through sleek black hair. He was stoic, especially for a hybrid, but even his cool, dark eyes and wry smile couldn’t hide the way his tail moved just a little faster at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp, his ears immediately perking up. It only took a second for him to bat your hand away, but you only laughed as you started towards the staff exit, waving to Toji over your shoulder.

Maybe, for his next check-up, you’d see if you could sneak in something special.

~

“Your mutt’s been unruly, lately.”

You glanced up from your clipboard, turning your full attention to Nanami and quickly finding that he hadn’t paid you the same courtesy. He was one of the senior researchers and, so far, the only one you could stand to be around for any longer than a few minutes. Since the higher-ups expected you to fill out your reports with one hand while you took a four-hundred-pound tiger’s temperature with the other, you tended to camp out in Nanami’s office when you had paperwork to file. “Toji?” Nanami nodded, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m just the vet, Kento. If his handlers aren’t doing their—”

“The problem isn’t his handlers, it’s him.”

His voice was flat, his tone icy. You laid your clipboard over your lap, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s an animal. It’d be more out of character if he didn’t lash out occasionally.”

Nanami opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. After a lengthy pause, he leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his temples and massaging absentmindedly. “Do you know why he hasn’t been released back into the wild, yet?”

Obviously. Working with hybrids – let alone exotic hybrids – was dangerous, and your debriefing had drilled the face, name, and background of every animal in the facility into your memory. “He was born in captivity. He’s too acclimated to human society to adjust to the wilderness.”

Nanami pressed his lips into a thin line – an expression you’d learned to read as ‘you’re right, but I’m not going to say that’. Still, a degree of satisfaction accompanied his silent confirmation. “He was found in a dog fighting ring – or, what was left of one, at least. It took three rounds of sedation and two broken muzzles before our recovery team was able to get him under control.”

A knot formed at the base of your throat. Fuck chocolate, Toji deserved a blanket and as many hugs as he would let you give him. “That’s terrible, Kento. Were the organizers arrested?”

“The organizers—” Nanami straightened. “—were found mauled and stuffed into a kennel. Their bodies were so thoroughly mutilated, we had to rely on blood samples to identify them.”

“Wolves aren’t known for attacking unprovoked. It could’ve been another—”

“One of his handlers is currently hospitalized,” Nanami went on, as if you hadn’t cut in. “And two have already turned in their resignations – a resounding fear for their welfare in the workplace, supposedly.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, and that knot in your throat tightened until only the barest whisper could find its way out. “He’s not a bad dog,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “He just— He loses his temper, sometimes. He doesn’t mean to hurt anymore.”

“He’s never tried to hurt you?”

You didn’t have to think before shaking your head. “Never.”

That, of all things, seemed to catch Nanami’s attention. For the first time, his eyes flickered briefly to you before falling back to his desk, his paperwork. “Good,” he said, marking down something on a piece of scrap paper in front of him. If he felt the need to elaborate, he clearly didn’t deem it worth the effort.

Later that day, you were informed that you were being transferred to the reptile wing indefinitely. If you’d been there for a few more months, if you’d had a little more experience to throw around, if you’d had a little more authority, you might’ve protested, but it was all you could do to nod and set to memorizing your new schedule.

~

It took exactly three weeks for you to see Toji again.

One of his handlers – a woman in her early twenties sporting a pressed scowl and a gauze-padded bandage on her cheek – met you at the facility’s gates and flatly told you that Toji was injured. You’d never been in the facilities (much less with a hybrid) after sundown, and in the simulated wilderness of his enclosure, it was easy to forget that you were never more than twenty feet away from a security camera, that there was only one apex predator you had to be afraid of. After checking your usual meeting spot (clear spot near the center of his enclosure – neutral territory, safe territory) and finding it vacant, you reluctantly stumbled your way to his den, dragging your feet despite the urgency of the situation. Toji wouldn’t deliberately attack you, but any animal could react if provoked. You didn’t want to set him off. More importantly, you didn’t want to prove Nanami right.

You’d never ventured far enough to see his den, but you knew what to expect. A square shell of cement occupied the deepest corner of Toji’s enclosure, bracketed off by a metal door tucked inside of a deep entryway meant to give the illusion of privacy. You approached it slowly, stepping underneath the shadowed overhang with no small amount of caution, but you didn’t get the chance to knock before a hand manifested on your shoulder and shoved you against the cold steel.

Claws bit into to the dip of your shoulder, then your wrist, too, as he caught your hand and shoved it into the small of your back. You felt hot air on the nape of your neck, heard heavy panting laced with the barest trace of a throaty growl, and it took everything you had not to panic, not to struggle, not to give him a reason to dig his teeth into your neck and tear. Toji wasn’t a bad dog, but he was still a dog. He’d still bite, if given an excuse.

“Toji,” you started, slowly, taking care to soften each harsh syllable of his name. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond, his hold only tightening. His check pressed into your back, and there was a short, airy noise – sniffing, as little as you wanted to put a name to it. “Toji,” you repeated, with more urgency. “I heard you were hurt. Will you let me help you?”

A second passed in silence, then another. Finally, he pulled away from you, releasing your wrist first, then your shoulder. He remained where he was – a little too close, a little too looming – as you shuffled to face him, forcing yourself not to consciously acknowledge that you were in a very big cage with a very poorly behaved animal. His handlers hadn’t mentioned why they’d needed you, but you didn’t have to wonder for very long. Even in the pitch dark, you could see the dark blood covering his jaw, washed over his throat and chest. It was on his hands, too, coating the white bone of his claws, and matted into his dark hair. Your waning self-control faltered then shattered altogether, your hands shooting to his head, his face, searching for bruising or swelling or broken bones, but surprisingly, all your worry earned was an airy laugh. “It’s not mine, doc.” He laid a hand over yours. “I’m doin’ just fine. Even better, now that you’re here.”

But he wasn’t. Twin sets of puncture marks were littered across his throat, his face, his arms. Something had taken a chunk out of his left bicep, and five matching scratch marks had been etched deep into the skin of his chest. The wounds looked feline, but you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on the implications. “You’re hurt,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him downward gently. “I— I’ve got bandages, and sutures—” You let your bag fall from your shoulder to your elbow, already reaching for the zipper. “Find somewhere to sit. We should get you cleaned up before something worse sets in.”

Panic was quickly overshadowing your better judgement, but Toji didn’t move, didn’t look away from you. He was still wearing that coy, sardonic grin – almost teasing, given your anxiety. “I already told you, I’m just fine.” His smile widened, until his pointed fangs caught in the dim light. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. They said I could ask for whatever I wanted, but—” He paused, sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Toji, you’re not making any sense. You need help.” Again, you pushed gently on his shoulders, and again, he didn’t seem to notice. This time, though, he shifted, leaned toward you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You scowled, shoving a little less gently on his chest, but Toji didn’t move. “Toji, please, just let me help—”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You felt his hands on your waist, then your ass. His chest was slotted against yours, and his tongue ran unabashedly over the curve of your neck once, then twice before he went on. “Keep sayin’ my name like that, and I won’t be able to control myself.”

Something pressed into your thigh – hot and hard and, like the rest of Toji, fucking huge. Your heart fell into your stomach, the air flooding out of your lungs and leaving you dazed, breathless.

Fuck. Fuck.

You should’ve stuck with the fucking reptiles.

Toji was panting audibly, again; his tongue lapping over your neck, your cheek. You were still cursing yourself for ever applying for this shitty job in the first place when Toji fell to his knees, forcing your thighs onto his shoulders as his claws caught on the fabric of your pants, decimating the thin material in an instant. His teeth tore away your panties just as quickly, leaving you exposed, splayed out on a silver platter in front of him. You reacted reflectively – knotting your fingers in his hair and doing your best to pry him away from you, but your strength was nothing compared to his and in the end, all you earned was a throaty groan, a tight squeeze to your ass before he buried his face in your cunt. His teeth grazed against the tender insides of your thighs, his claws biting into your now-unprotected skin, but the feeling of his tongue laving over the length of your slit replaced every other sensation with pure heat.

Predictably, he was near animalistic – his thick tongue fucking into you as the bridge of his nose ground shamelessly into your clit. From a distance, it would’ve been hard to tell if he was trying to eat you out or eat you alive; every noise he made feral and wet, punctuated with rough growls and little, uncharacteristic whines. It would’ve been impossible not to feel anything, but still, you couldn’t help but hate yourself when it started to feel good. His tongue was thick and textured, long enough to fill your pussy and flexible enough to curl inside of you, abusing the walls of your cunt without mercy. It was difficult to tell how much of the gloss staining his chin and the inside of your thighs was his drool and how much of it was your arousal, but even if your mind was disgusted by every slick noise and sharp flick of his tongue, there was nothing your body could do to block out the sudden pang of heat in your core, to fight the way your legs ached to clench around his head and pull the source of your revulsion that much closer.

“To—Toji, no, st—” you tried to say, like you were scolding a normal dog, like any part of you still thought he was listening. A cracked moan cut you off prematurely, and even if it hadn’t, Toji’s only response was a bruising squeeze to your ass, a low moan just loud enough to reverberate against your sensitive clit. Blinding white flashed across your vision, and before you could stop, before you could bring yourself back from that edge, you were coming undone on his tongue, your hips bucking against his face as he nursed you through your mind-numbing climax. Rather than pull away, he forced his tongue that much deeper into your pussy – taking advantage of your hypersensitivity to drag another unwilling orgasm out of you, then another, until the dried blood smeared across his lips was tacky and dripping onto your skin. He only pulled away when your little, pained sounds began to die into half-choked pleas and your limited strength failed, leaning you limp and boneless on top of him, and even then, he took the time to drag his tongue over your slit, to lap up what would’ve been wasted slick. You would’ve given anything for him to just leave you like that – messy and covered in your own arousal, but unfortunately, Toji had never been a bad dog.

His gaze flitted up to meet yours. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, when he saw the misery knitted into your expression. The broad grin he wore was anything but apologetic, though. “Might’ve gotten carried away after all. Can’t help it – you always come to me, smellin’ like other men, and nobody ever lets me do anything about it.” He nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the tender flesh with just enough force to break the skin. There was a tight pinch, of bright spark of pain, but Toji tended to the minimal wound lovingly, running his tongue over the thin stream of blood. “Gonna have you nice n’ scented by the end of the night.” A sharp whimper slipped past your grit teeth as the points of his fangs grazed over your skin, and Toji sighed. “Gonna have you nice n’ bred, too, if you keep making those sounds.”

Bred. Bred. Bred. You turned the offensive word over in your mind, unable to grasp what it possibly could’ve meant, as Toji carefully lowered you onto the ground – never so much as toying with the idea of fucking you into anything other than the cold, raw earth. It wasn’t until his clawed hand fell to the hard, pulsing cock standing stiffly between his legs that you were able to fully process what he’d said, what he was threatening to do to you. Your thoughts went blank, your years of veterinary school and countless hours of animal-handling training and common sense all dissolving into total nonexistence in an instant. It didn’t matter that he was taller than you, stronger than you – you were already throwing your full weight against him, scratching at his chest with your blunt nails, doing everything in your so incredibly limited power just to get away from him. Your latest wave of resistance wasn’t enough to overwhelm him, but it earned a frustrated rumble at the base of his throat, a downward quirk to his cocky smile. Your nails caught one of the puncture marks on his cheek and, reflexively, he straightened his back, brought his hand to his face, left just enough space between your body and his for you to roll onto your chest and scramble desperately towards freedom. You’d barely gotten your knees underneath you when his hand lashed out, catching you by the collar and forcing your cheek into the soil. His chest pressed into your back, his legs caging yours in on either side, and worst of all, his cock throbbed against your ass – somehow, impossibly, harder than it’d been a few seconds ago. You might’ve jotted it down as an impressive display of canine resilience, if you hadn’t felt so desolated.

“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t make this easy on yourself.” His voice was rougher than it had been, but no less self-satisfied. That made sense. Wolves were endurance predators. He would’ve come into this expecting there to be a struggle. “I thought you’d be more of a mate than a bitch, but—” He paused, his mouth settling against the nape of your neck. “—either’s fine by me.”

You clenched your eyes shut. “Please, Toji, don’t do—”

But, it was already too late. He rutted your ass once, then twice, before his tip caught on the entrance to your abused pussy and he was inside of you, fully sheathed without a trace of resistance.

Toji was big, even for a hybrid. He was a hunter, tried and true, all muscle and agility and pure, unfaltering strength. Even with his generous (albeit, unwelcomed) prep, it was all you could do to convince yourself that his cock wouldn’t tear you apart. He was thick enough to press against every soft and sensitive spot inside of you, long enough to leave a tight knot of pressure sitting in the pit of your stomach, and when he started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force alone was enough to scatter little black spots in the corner of your vision and leave you hazy, light-headed. The way he was fucking into you didn’t help anything, either. Keening whines slipped out of some deep, feral pocket of his chest as he took advantage of your vulnerable cunt, alternating between grinding into you with a desperate sort of clinginess and trying to bully his way that much deeper with bruising, brutal thrusts. One arm wrapped around your midriff, dragging you even close to him, while a groping hand found the delicate buttons of your top and tore, ridding you of what was left of your protection against him. He kneaded half-consciously at your chest as he fucked into you; his own pleasure suddenly his only priority.

His selfishness should’ve been a welcome change, but you were too far gone, your body too eager to find a silver lining to his rough affection. Your hands clawed mindlessly at the ground as he pumped into you, the heat of his body against yours clouding your senses and making the feeling of cock stretching you open, his dull head pounding against your cervix all the more unbearable. You doubted he’d be able to talk, even if he’d had anything left to say, but he was still vocal enough. Raspy groans and harsh grunts rung distantly in your ears, his calloused hands groping mercilessly at your chest, your stomach, your waist. Finally, his thumb found its way to your neglected clit, and with less than a full second of stimulation, you were buckling into yourself, clamping down around his cock with a fractured whimper. As humiliated as you were, Toji wasn’t far behind. With something between a moan and a howl, he was cumming inside of you – predictably making no attempt to pull out. Something hot and vile flooded into you, but it was hard to focus on that when you could feel something hard and bloated and wrong press into your entrance. Toji’s breath hitched as he forced his knot into your tight cunt, and whatever hope you had for coming out of this unscathed curled up and died inside of you.

You could feel him slacken on top of you. You almost thought he would collapse like that, leave you locked to him and trapped under his weight, but instead, he nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his fangs ghosting over your throat before sinking into the soft flesh just underneath your jugular. He stayed like that, his knot splitting open your pussy and his teeth buried in your neck, until you lost any hope of him ever pulling away.

Exhausted, you shut your eyes, sinking into yourself. You’d been right, in a way. Toji wasn’t a bad dog.

He was just a terrible terrible man.

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham Headcanons (Poly!Romantic)

❝ 🍽 — lady l: I finally managed to post this!! I really liked the result and I hope you like it :) forgive me for any mistakes and good reading. 💙🤎

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, manipulation, kidnapping, death and mention of suicide and violence, toxic relationships.

❝🔪pairing: yandere!hannibal lecter x gender neutral!reader x yandere!will graham.

The idea of ​​someone else coming into their relationship wasn't something they planned or thought about. They were still getting used to the new dynamics of their relationship, so actually adding a third person wasn't in the cards. But when Hannibal and Will met you, that thought took root in their minds.

You were like a breath of fresh air to them. Something new, exciting, and something they could keep to themselves, as a new addition to their new lives. And they were eager to make you fit into your new life with them.

Initially, Hannibal and Will watched you from a distance, exchanging conspiratorial glances and smiles, as if sharing a silent secret. Every interaction with you only reinforced the idea that you were the missing piece to the puzzle they were putting together. They had no doubt that you would be theirs eventually, whether you wanted it or not.

Hannibal, with his calculating nature and magnetic charm, began to engage you with his intellectual conversations and sophisticated dinners, demonstrating an almost mesmerizing hospitality. He knew exactly how to capture your attention and make you feel special, he knew how to make you feel indispensable.

Will, on the other hand, with his sensitivity and keen perception, found subtle ways to connect with you. He understood you in a way few could, offering a shoulder to lean on and a deep understanding of your emotions and thoughts. His sincere vulnerability was a perfect contrast to Hannibal's confident assurance.

You found yourself torn between these two poles of attraction, each complementing the other in a way that seemed almost orchestrated. Hannibal and Will became more and more indispensable, each encounters deepening your connection and making the idea of ​​leaving their circle more and more unthinkable.

Finally, a dinner at Hannibal's house that felt more like a secret celebration than a simple meal. The tension in the air was palpable, filled with unspoken promises and unspoken desires. Hannibal and Will, with complicit looks, began to close the distance between the three of you, breaking down the last remaining barriers. They didn't hide their intentions anymore, nor what they were. There was no more secret.

They knew perfectly well how to manipulate you, how to make you trust them completely. Every interaction, every gesture, was carefully calculated to deepen their dependence and trust. Hannibal, with his ability to read people and understand their weaknesses, knew exactly what to say to make you feel valued and special. His words were like a balm, soothing any doubts you might have had.

Will, in turn, used his innate empathy to connect with you on a deep emotional level. He knew how to make you feel understood and accepted, creating an intimacy that seemed almost magical. His eyes reflected a sincerity that was difficult to question, and his presence offered a comfort that became addictive.

They were both good to you, in their own way. Hannibal would always cook you your favorite meals, and treat you to anything you want. Do you want to go on a ridiculously expensive trip? No problem. He will give you all the best and the best, bathing you in luxury. Will is more simplistic in this situation, he prefers to show his love for you through touches, like kisses and hugs, but he also gives you gifts when you want something.

Will is the more affectionate of the two, at least physically. He likes to hug you constantly, bury his head in your neck or steal kisses from you. Hannibal is already more subtle in his touches, he prefers to place a hand on your shoulder, lift your chin so that you look him in the eyes and kiss your forehead gently.

They are extremely possessive and overprotective and this is nothing new. Hannibal will kill and cook anyone who gives you the wrong look or displays inappropriate behavior around you. To him, you are a treasure that must be protected at all costs, and he will not hesitate to use his macabre skills to ensure your safety. Any perceived threat is quickly eliminated and transformed into a feast only you can enjoy.

Will, on the other hand, has a different but equally intense approach. He is more than willing to beat anyone to death if he thinks they are trying to steal you from them. His anger is raw and direct, driven by an intense passion and a desperate need to protect those he loves and he loves you, even if it's in a twisted way. For Will, you are the anchor that maintains his sanity, and he will do anything to maintain that stability, even if it means committing extreme acts of violence.

Hannibal and Will are an amazing duo when they work together and if they want you, they will get you. While Will may have reservations about kidnapping you and forcing you into a relationship with them, Hannibal already thinks otherwise. You are theirs and there is nothing wrong with taking what is yours, is there?

There is no escaping them. You can try as much as you want, but they will always find you. They are great at hunting together and they would hunt you all over the world if necessary. You won't leave them, they will be sure of that.

In the end, you become part of their world, accepting that, although complex and sometimes terrifying, it is the only place you truly belong. They own you, and you, in some way, also own them, creating an indissoluble bond that redefines the concept of relationship. The sooner you accept that this is your new reality and accept them as your partners, everything will be fine. But if not, Hannibal will have no problem teaching you manners and Will are going to be there to help heal your wounds and silence your cries.

[newtkive]

practice - carmen berzatto

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader, mentioned platonic marcus x reader

summary: The sudden changes at your work prove to be a lot to keep up with, but Carmy notices your efforts where you think he’s just a tough boss. He proves to be more than that when he finds you pulling an all-nighter at the restaurant.

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: none really, anxious reader, ooc!carmen (he would never let mistakes fly like this lmao), kinda fluff at the end

a/n: this is basically how i would react working there bc i almost have an anxiety attack every ep watching carmy yell at everyone. sorry for any typos!

The fast moving pace that Carmen Berzatto brought to The Beef was something extraordinary. The skill of his professional chef background was carried over into the small hole in the wall that otherwise would have never changed if it wasn’t for him.

His drive was contagious, even infecting the staff you knew like the back of your hand. You never would have thought your coworkers, ever comfortable with a stagnant pace, would become accustomed to such change around their second home.

It was great to see your favorite people quickly see their own potential thanks to Carmy’s vision. The only problem was you.

You were falling behind, and quickly.

You tried to convince yourself you could keep up as things changed. But your mind was faster than your barely skilled hands and you were terrible at cutting ingredients evenly during a rush and you always somehow got sliced or burnt and your eyes always stung from the onions you were stuck prepping because that was the one job you couldn’t fuck up but hated— to put it simply, you sucked.

The faces of your coworkers reflected what you feared every time you turned around to take a breath, heels of your hands rubbing tears from your eyes as Carmy screamed profanities at the crew. Tina’s eyes would linger on you, brows raised and silently asking if you were okay. You would nod and blink the tears away before jumping back in. By the end of every shift Ebraheim would pat you on the back before leaving, and Sydney would send you a small, sympathetic smile and wave while you tied your shoes on the bench near the locker.

Each time you could see the sympathy in their eyes and it made you hate yourself even more.

You were used to sandwiches; assembling simple ingredients between a hoagie bun on a slow Sunday surrounded by the people you called family. Cracking jokes here and there, no pressure to make things completely perfect, which ended up making things perfect. So much so that regulars even seemed disappointed to see you up at the register some days instead of in the kitchen assembling their lunch.

Carmy wasn’t blind, he could see exactly what was going on, which was why he didn’t pick on you as much as he did when he first arrived.

The first couples of weeks that Carmy was there he noticed the difference in your station compared to everyone else’s. Organized, cohesive, clean—save for the multiple drinks you always had. You worked at your own pace, not slow but definitely not up to par with Carmen’s standards. You made it work though, cutting ingredients almost perfectly and whipping up sandwiches and other specialties not a second too late.

The change happened when Carmy upped the stakes and encouraged—or yelled at—everyone to be as quick as they possibly could. His yelling was off putting, and you didn’t respond well to much other than positive reinforcement.

The chef didn’t notice until the uneven bread and too-thin tomato slices lead back to you. He was quick, marching over to you with a purpose; if it was a cartoon, his hair would be alight with fire. “Chef!” His voice was hard and urgent, because he didn’t have time to deal with this.

As he approached, he noticed your hands shaking as you held the dull shitty knife, head whipping up and cheeks red, all but heaving from the pressure. So much pressure.

“Yes Chef?” You asked attentively, waiting for him to explode.

Carmen had all intentions to do just that, tear you a new one, tell you that you’ve been here long enough to know how to cut a fuckin’ tomato the right way but he paused. The look in your eye was wild and scared. His face fell, obvious turmoil behind his blue eyes causing a change in his decision. You waited with bated breath, but what you were expecting never came.

Instead, Carmen did his best to be calm and set his hand on the counter, leaning a bit. “I want you to show me how to slice that tomato.” He said.

“What?” You were confused and it was clearly written on your face. So were your nosy coworkers who exchanged looks and shrugged, expecting the young man to wail on you with his words.

Looking over your shoulder at the others, you tried to exchange weary looks with anyone but Carmy pulled you back in with his words. “Don’t worry about their shit. C’mon, show me.” He said again, motioning to the tomato sitting on the cutting board, looking at you expectantly.

After a beat of weariness you did what he asked. With an exhale your knife pierced the red skin and cut it, your wrist dragging it back and forth to cut all the way through. You gave a few more slices, doing your best to ignore his scrutinizing gaze.

Reviewing your slices, you mentally pat yourself on the back at the sight of them perfectly even and a fairly thin. You turned to look at Carmy, and he seemed to have an epiphany as he stood there holding his chin. Eyes flickering up to you, he nodded. “You know what that showed me?” He asked, and before you could answer he continued. “You’re competent, you did that shit with a dull knife. Don’t cut ‘em too thick or too thin, you have no excuses.”

He should feel ridiculous, like he was coaching a baby how to do the easiest job in the world, but for some reason Carmen was able to swallow his irritation and try to guide you.

You nodded, back straightening and hands sweaty. “Yes, Chef.”

Carmy was about to walk off but stopped himself, turning back around, eyes boring into yours as he grew more serious. “You hear me yelling, you listen, but I need you to focus, Chef. You can do this shit, I’ve seen you pull through before. Don’t let my mouth get to your fuckin’ head.” He said low enough just for the both of you to hear.

He was close, blue eyes staring right at you, the smell of the kitchen clinging onto his apron. It should’ve been intimidating, and it was a little, but you knew this was his version of offering comfort and maybe even some sort of apology.

“Heard, Chef.” You said just as quietly back.

There was a second of him staring, before he simply walked away without another word, leaving you to your own devices. Whatever he said seemed to put some perspective into your work, because you didn’t have anys setbacks for the rest of the day.

On the way home, sitting on the train with headphones in your ears and a jacket wrapping you up tight, Carmy’s words swirled in your head. You knew you could do this, and you could somewhat see in Carmy’s eyes that he had faith in you too. It was just a new world you were all suddenly thrown into and it was hard finding your place. On days where you felt like a baby fawn standing on shaky legs, wobbling and failing to find your footing, you had to keep going.

A single word rang in your mind.

Practice.

Your apartment was pretty small and shared with a roommate, so you lacked the accommodations and tools to really do all you wanted. Aside from that, you didn’t want to be the rude roomie who clashed pans in the kitchen all night long. So, as you made your way off the train you didn’t leave the station. Instead, you waited for the next ride to the city and headed straight for The Beef.

The sun set as you approached the back door, humming a tune as you pulled out a spare key—one that definitley would be confiscated once Carmy found out about it, probably clambering about it not being safe in the foreseeable future—from under the fuse box outside and unlocked the door.

You entered the kitchen, brows immediately raising as you saw all of the kitchen lights on. Slowly moving forward, a sense of anxiety grew as you knew no one would usually be here except for Carmy, and you really did not want to get a talking to from him right now.

Turning the corner, you sighed in relief when you saw the familiar stature that belong to Marcus. He had his phone out, recipe pulled up in front of him and a song playing softly from the speakers that he sang along to. You chuckled softly, alerting him of your presence. Head snapping up at the sound, he almost looked like a deer in the headlights as he met your eyes.

Similarly to you, he let out a relieved sigh and sent you a smile. “Scared me, Y/N.” He laughed softly, hands whisking again.

“Sorry.” You apologized, tugging your coat off. “What’re you doing here, man?” You asked as you headed over to the lockers and shoved your stuff away.

Marcus shrugged. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“Practice.” You said simply, shrugging and tying your apron around your waist. Approaching the kitchen, you started gathering a few clean pots to start your work.

Humming and nodding, Marcus gave you a knowing grin. “Same here.” There was a beat of comfortable silence as you gathered a knife, cutting board, and an onion before washing your hands. “I actually stay here sometimes overnight. It’s easier, that way I won’t waste time going back and forth from home.” Marcus explained.

Surprise filled your features and you sent him an impressed look. “Wow, no wonder you’re getting better fast.”

He chuckles bashfully, filling another mixing bowl with flour and whatever else he desired. “Eh, I guess.” The shrug of his shoulders made you laugh before you turned back to your own work.

With one last question of Marcus asking if you minded his music, and you affirming that you didn’t mind at all, he turned the dial on his bluetooth radio up and you both fell into a comfortable rhythm; Marcus in his corner and you on the stovetop.

By the end of the evening you prepared a vibrant beef braciole dish that a few of the others had been practicing since Carmy introduced it. You brought it to one of the stainless steel counters with two forks, setting it next to the two pieces of cake Marcus had sliced up from his recipe of the evening.

You both dug in, humming in satisfaction as you tasted each other’s creations, sharing impressed and ‘holy shit’ expressions that made the other laugh.

“This is fantastic.” Marcus said, another mouthful of beef being added to his mouth.

You laughed and shook your head, muttering a thank you, trying to swallow down your surprise. Marcus could tell, because he doubled down. “No, really, Y/N. This is the best one I’ve tasted yet, aside from the big Chef.” He said with a grin.

Shaking your head, you gave him your appreciation. “Thank you, Chef. I can say the same thing from you.” You motioned with your fork to the cake. In truth, his words pushed you and affected you more than you lead on.

The both of you fell into a rhythm, whipping up treats and savory meals almost every day after work. Marcus playing music at his own station, you timing yourself relentlessly to try and replicate the fast pace of the open hours of the restaurant. You sometimes even found yourself staying overnight, taking turns with Marcus to use his sleeping bag—he insisted where you didn't want to overstep, but sleep called you and his pillow was comfy.

Relentless practice proved to keep you on track and up to pace with everyone else, slowly but surely. The impressed glances shared between Tina and Sydney every time you had them taste a dish or were quicker than usual were enough, but Carmen was ever the critic. A new menu soon graced The Beef alongside their regular sandwiches, and it was a tough menu to master. You almost had them all down pat, practicing relentlessly for almost four weeks now after work.

However, every time you presented a steaming spoonful of stew, or a perfect bite of chicken piccata that everyone else in the kitchen seemed to love, Carmen would bite into it, hum, and shake his head. "Good." He said every time.

"Good like.. good good? Or good but start over, it's trash, throw it away?" You would ask, clearly waiting with baited breath on a slow day.

Carmy shook his head again. "It's not ready yet, Chef." And then he would be off to collect more expo receipts and leave you there disappointed, shoulders deflating in defeat.

"I think it's great, Chef." Marcus would smile, hands busy working on dough for his unmastered donuts. You would offer a sad smile in return, marching off to assemble another hoagie and handing your failed dish to a waiting Richie in exchange for an appreciative rub of his hands together. The negative feedback only spurred you to improve your craft as much as you could.

It was a rare occasion that Marcus didn't stay at the restaurant overnight. He left early in a frenzy after a phone call, muttering something about his mom's nurse needing him. Offering comfort wasn't your strongest suit, so you bid him luck and made a mental note to bring him his favorite coffee during work later in hopes to cheer him up.

At the same time you were plating what felt like your dozenth chicken piccata of the week, soft footsteps approached the kitchen. As soon as the timer went off behind you, you whipped around and hit the top, a harsh exhale and wipe of your forehead following the silence. You felt proud, plating and finishing your dish in record time without any hiccups.

A soft chuckle brought you out of your stupor, head snapping up to meet bright blue eyes from across the kitchen. There stood Carmy with his unruly curls, white tee and brown jacket he was beginning to pull off. In place of his usual stoic face was an amused expression, clearly not expecting to see someone in the kitchen at this hour.

You froze at the sight of him, but his soft smile eased your shoulders a bit. “Smells good.” Carmy said as if it was the most casual thing, hanging his jacket by the lapels on a hook. He sat on the bench, beginning to change his shoes into nonslip ones.

Stuttering, your cheeks turned pink. “O-oh, uhhh, thanks.”

“You’re here early.” He said back, standing now and readying to tug on his apron.

Brows furrowed, you looked above him to glance at the kitchen clock. Big red numbers read 6:15 AM and your brows raised in shock. Before you had a chance to respond, he walked closer, beginning to talk again. “I’ve noticed you and Marcus are always here before anyone else.”

You shrugged, nervous smile gracing your lips as they upturned slightly. “Ah, yeah. We both wanted to practice. Y’know, catch up with everyone else.” You explained. Conveniently, you decided to not mention the instances of spending the night, figuring it would be a little to embarrassing or earn you a talking to.

Carmy was now approaching the other side of the counter where you stood, hands tapping the steel. His little smug smile didn’t leave his lips as he nodded. “I also noticed a few things missing from our inventory.” His words were clearly teasing, but they made your face run pale.

“Fuck, I'm sorry, Chef. Take it from my paycheck, please—I didn’t even consider—“ The rambling was embarrassing, and his head shake cut you off.

“No, stop, Y/N. I'm teasing you.” Carmy laughed softly with a small smile, clearly endeared. The use of your name made you bashful.

A beat of silence followed, your mouth opening and closing like a fish. Carmy glanced behind you at the dish that laid perfectly plated, motioning to it with his hands. “Let’s see if your hard work is paying off.”

Blinking in surprise, you obediently nodded and turned to grab the dish. Sliding it in front of him, you gathered a fork and knife. Carmy grasped the utensils with a ‘thank you’, fingers brushing yours. It didn’t take long for the chef to dig in, eyes immediately closing once the first bite hit his taste buds.

“So.. what do you think?” You plucked up the courage to ask after he swallowed.

Carmy looked up at you, lips curling upwards and a proud look dawning his features. “Great, as usual.”

Usually those words would make you excited, but Carmy had a habit of complimenting your dishes before declaring how they weren’t good enough just yet. You simply nodded, swallowing thickly as he took another bite and savored the taste. “What should I change?” You asked, straightening your back in preparation for the inevitable criticism.

Humming, Carmy shook his head, the same amused look as before coming back. “Nothing, Chef. It’s perfect.” He said firmly. Those words made your breath leave your lungs, hands becoming clammy, and before you knew it you were grinning.

“Really?” You asked, not able to keep your excitement together.

Carmy let out a full laugh at that. “Really.” He confirmed.

You clapped your hands together before covering your face, hiding the grin as best you could. It had been awhile since you felt so elated due to cooking, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. You felt like the whole month of dedicating your time to cooking was culminating to this moment. Carmen watched you with soft eyes, taking in how happy his words made you. You turned back to him, giving up hiding how ecstatic you were. “I braised it differently this time, could you tell? Well, obviously you could if it’s good this time.” You rambled on, a bit of a giggle in your voice.

“It’s always this good, Y/N.” Carmy suddenly said. His words had you pausing, tilting your head playfully. Hand trailing along the counter, he rounded it to stand next to you.

"What do you mean?" You asked, smile falling a bit. The man's words echoed in your head and you looked around the room as if to try and find meaning from his statement. Surely he didn't have you remake the dish for no reason, right? But Carmy's strong posture and raised brows, waiting for you to figure it out yourself, made you think that's exactly what he did. Sobering up, you scoffed and crossed your arms as you sent him a look. "Are you serious? This whole time..." You trailed off.

"Yes, this whole time." He said, leaning on the counter with one hand, eyes not leaving you. "I needed you to bust your ass, Chef. I knew you needed the practice, so I gave you the motive." Carmy explained. The scrunch of your nose made his chest hum with something warm, akin to looking at a kicked puppy that he wanted to scoop up and reassure. Guilt washed over him a little bit as he feared he was acting more and more like his old Chef, but he pushed those feelings down as best he could. He did this for the right reasons, unlike that dickhead in New York did to him. There was no berating and preying on insecurities, just some tough love.

Sighing, you were torn between being angry and feeling grateful that Carmy saw this potential in you. You didn't know what to say, so you blurted out exactly how you felt. "I'm embarrassed."

Carmy frowned, ducking his head to catch your eyes where you looked down a bit. "Why are you embarrassed?" His voice was soft, tiptoeing as to not make you more upset.

Allowing him to meet your eyes, you curled into yourself at the attention. "Because I've made a fool of myself these past few months." You murmured, spilling your guts to your new boss for some reason that you didn't know. Maybe it was the quiet kitchen, or the sudden defeat you felt, but your mouth was faster than your mind.

A small 'no, no, no' left Carmy and he shook his head, reaching a hand out to place on your shoulder. "Don't be. I came in and turned shit upside down, it just took you a bit more practice to get the hang of things." His hand started to rub your arm comfortingly, leaving heat where he touched. You knew this must have been a form of an apology in his own way. The words didn't come easy to Carmen, but he tried to convey it the best he could.

Leaning forward, Carmy mustered his best stern expression, wanting to keep your gaze so you couldn't look away and distract yourself from his next words. Your breath caught in your throat, not used to this proximity. "I'm proud of you. You should be proud of yourself too."

Heat encapsulated your cheeks and you nodded, spurring him to nod as well. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

As soon as Carmy saw your shy smile he gave one right back to you. Still close, he radiated heat that made it all the more difficult to calm the butterflies growing in your stomach. Eyes never leaving each other's, the air grew tense as the dust settled. Unlike the usual sandwich smell, an aroma of a clean linen scent came off of him as you realized he must have showered before coming here. Carmy never would admit it, but your perfume filled the air for him, making him linger longer than he should have. The blink of your stare looking up at him made Carmy's chest tighten, and he immediately pulled himself out of whatever trance he was in.

Clearing his throat, Carmy let go of your shoulder and backed up a bit. "No more all-nighter's here. Okay, Chef?" He tried to seem playful to rid himself of awkwardness and whatever that just was.

Mouth falling open, you gaped at him. "How did you know?!"

Hands up in surrender, Carmy just shrugged. "A Chef never tells his secrets," He began, heading over to the drying rack to busy himself, playfully adding, "And someone kept leaving the spare key out, so I figured." The smirk he sent you made you grin and roll your eyes.

Carmy would never tell you he knew because that's what he used to do. Before he got the hang of things in his earlier days as a chef, late nights in the restaurant kitchen and a half hour of sleep was the norm for him. As you began cleaning up your work the chef's gaze lingered on you, blue eyes studying your form with a thoughtful look. Carmy shook his head, smiling to himself and starting his work. He reckoned he saw himself in you more than ever.

[rivendell-poet]

*･༓˚✧❝𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 3.7k (each individual around 220~ words) | Read on Ao3

TWS : Faramir's self esteem issues (Faramir)

Notice : This is a scenario set before they have confessed to you.

« 1, 6, 7, 8, masterlist »

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Overall, Aragorn still thinks it’s a good idea not to tell anyone about his feelings for you - but that doesn’t stop him from getting irritated when others try to flirt with you.

✧ Especially when his older brother decides to flirt with you.

✧ Realistically, Aragorn knows the two of you are joking around - but the idea of you two smiling over something he cannot do (or at least does not come as naturally to him) is unnerving.

✧ Aragorn tries not to hover over you when this happens and instead focuses on something more productive, like trying to teach the hobbits how to spar.

✧ It isn’t until you and Elrohir come to the training ground, clearly looking to train together, that he finally does something about his jealousy.

✧ “Brother! I have sparred with the hobbits for so long I worry they are growing used to me, would you care to make sure they are prepared against more enemies than just the Dúnedain.”

✧ By the smile that suddenly shows on Elrohir’s face, his sibling can see through him, but the son of Elrond doesn’t complain as he goes to the hobbits. Instead he steps aside to allow you and Aragorn to spar.

✧ It’s only after the spar that Elrohir makes a comment. “Jealous of me, Estel? That really isn’t very noble of you.”

✧ (It’s also probably not noble when Aragorn kicks him in the shin after, although it is satisfying).

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Realistically, Legolas knows that you don’t have any interest in Boromir. You’ve been around him long enough that the two of you would already have formed a romantic bond, and the two of you haven’t.

✧ But you also share bonds that he hasn’t got. The two of you are both from Gondor, and there’s a light in your eyes when you talk about your home that he will never fully get. And the two of you are both human.

✧ It never gets too bad, mostly manifesting in anxious looks between the two of you from far away and when no-one is watching.

✧ The only time it ever gets bad is when you and Boromir are both on the archery course together, attempting to outscore each other.

✧ Because that’s the thing that you two do together.

✧ He watches for a while, and eventually his feet take him to the archery course subconsciously. Announcing his presence by shooting an arrow from behind into your target, hitting a perfect bullseye.

✧ It’s petty, but he still lights up when you turn around and greet him - almost as if it’s just the two of you there.

✧ (Until you invite him to join yourself and Boromir.)

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Frodo isn’t a very jealous person naturally, and it’s this lack of jealousy is only reinforced when he’s one of the only people you talk to in the Shire.

✧ As you visit more often you eventually interact more with other hobbits, even if it’s just a dipped head or a few words, but everyone knows you're just here for the Baggins' family.

✧ (Although Frodo is very happy when you immediately bond with Sam, and that Pippin and Merry can make you laugh easily.)

✧ The only issue arises when a fellow ranger greets you, showing up on one of your walks together and immediately trying to hijack the conversation.

✧ It’s a little intimidating, more because of the height than anything else, and Frodo is reduced to stewing in the corner of the Green Dragon as you two catch up.

✧ When you step away to get a new drink, it’s just Frodo and the ranger there as he tries to channel Bilbo’s inner pettiness.

✧ “I’m very sorry, but I fear I’ve forgotten your name. Hobbits meet so many people, you see, and I don’t think (y/n)’s ever mentioned you.”

✧ You come back before anything else is said, and this time Frodo launches into conversation with you. He feels a little bad about the incident afterwards, but not enough to try and apologise.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Sam also isn’t a very jealous person, at least not when it comes to the people that he’s close with and them being around you.

✧ He’s glad when you can smile and laugh with his friends or with yours, because it shows you have people who care about you - and that’s what he really wants for you. People who care (like him).

✧ What he takes issue with is flirting and messing around from strangers who neither of you know.

✧ Because they don’t have your best interests at heart.

✧ They’re looking at you and only seeing looks, they’re not seeing the smile you make when you see the first flowers bloom or Sam’s found a recipe for just the right amount of sweetness and you’re tasting it for the first time. They don’t actually like you.

✧ He’s still generally confined to glaring from across the room, but every now and then - when someone gets too rowdy - he’ll come over to you and place his arm around your shoulders.

✧ It’s more a show of protection to support you than it is being jealous, but a small part of his heart is happy when they stop trying to get with you because of him.

✧ Always apologises for it and asks if you’re ok after.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Everyone in the Shire could tell that something was going on between the two of you - everyone.

✧ (In fact, it had been a lot of people’s rumour of choice yesterday. Which Pippin certainly made sure he heard about.)

✧ Which made it even more egregious when someone had started flirting with you the second Merry had gone to get you drinks.

✧ In about twenty seconds, someone had managed to weasel their way to your side and was very badly attempting to flirt with you.

✧ The second you saw Merry re-appear, you had looked from him to the random guy in an obvious ask for reinforcements.

✧ Coming over with a smile, Merry puts on his biggest grin and holds up the drink for you before taking a look at the person next to you.

✧ “I’m sorry, are you the one who’s been guiding them around all day and is paying for their drink?”

✧ He leaves it at that, although he could go on, and is quite satisfied to see them immediately go back to the corner of the bar.

✧ You thank him for helping you, and he only feels a little guilty about the selfish reasons he’s done it.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Doesn’t get jealous about the Fellowship being around you. You’re all going on a quest to save Middle Earth together and it would be childish of him to be upset about you hanging out with the people you’re going to be travelling with for months.

✧ However, he does get a bit jealous when some of the elves of Rivendell speak to you, such as one of the tall dark haired ones whisking you away to discuss something.

✧ Not that he does anything or complains - because they’re all slightly terrifying. He just waits, patiently, then insists it was no bother to wait before cursing hobbit-politeness that doesn’t allow him to complain about his hosts.

✧ Merry notices his stewing, it’s very obvious when Pippin is just standing outside a doorway and impatiently tapping his foot.

✧ Pippin only actually stands up for himself once. The dark-haired approaches you two, twice in the same day, and this time he puts himself in front of you.

✧ “Actually, we were about to train together…. If you don’t mind of course, only this is a prior engagement and-”

✧ He ends up going on a bit of a tangent, unseeing of the fond smile on your face as you watch him, before he finishes awkwardly.

✧ Erestor lets you two go in peace, and the two of you quickly head out to train - you pretending not to notice Pippin’s blush.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ As custom with the rangers first day back in Minas Tirith, the taverns are soon filled with soldier’s of the White Tower - swordsmen and bowmen alike.

✧ You and him both end up in the same one, along with recruits from both sides. It’s tradition for the captain to cover the first round, and Boromir has deep enough pockets to fund it, so he gladly puts the coin down and takes drinks out himself.

✧ Looking around, he tries to spot you as a second ranger suddenly comes out with two drinks, one for you and one for him.

✧ It’s a small gesture, but one that he wanted to make for you. A gesture that he wanted to make you smile with, not for a random soldier to brighten your day.

✧ Taking the drink you smile before seeing Boromir, raising your glass to him and mouthing he can’t quite make out.

✧ He gives the drinks away as quickly as possible, going up to you - his heart skipping a beat as you immediately move up for him, gesturing to a spot by your side.

✧ The gesture instantly warms his heart, almost enough for him to forget about the perceived slight, and the warm atmosphere that soon takes over everything is more than enough to keep the rest of the negativity at bay.

✧ (Him being close to you for the rest of the night certainly helps, too.)

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ In all honesty, there’s such a small period between you knowing each other and you starting to court that there really isn’t that much for him to be jealous over.

✧ Except when he learns of your potential betrothal to his brother.

✧ It’s never been a tradition his fond of, Gondor’s hopefuls giving away their children to the stewards, but it’s something he’s endured. Faramir knows his brother will never find someone this way.

✧ Until you are a candidate. Because who would not choose you, if they had a chance for your hand?

✧ He certainly would, and he expects Boromir too as well. He watches as, for another time in his life, he is forced to be on the sidelines even as his new love is a few feet from him.

✧ When Boromir greets you, it takes Faramir biting down on the inside of his cheek - only enough to distract - so that his disappointment and jealousy will not show.

✧ Faramir now envies little for his brother, but when your heart is involved it becomes fiercer than ever.

✧ (The insecurity of him being almost convinced that people will always choose Boromir over him does not help with these emotions either.)

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ As the dawn has finally risen on Helm’s Deep, and the noises of war no longer echo in the gorge, Éowyn is finally allowed to leave the cave and search for her loved ones. She is delighted to see all her loved ones alive, and Éomer’s return, and it is even better when the Golden Hall is decorated for celebration.

✧ When you all return from Isengard she is the first to greet you, and you gladly keep to her company once you dismount.

✧ It is not you leaving her that makes her jealous, but rather the large amount of Rohirrim who suddenly seem interested in one of the heroes of Helm’s Deep.

✧ She supposes a potential future ruler of Gondor must have good diplomacy, but she wishes you wouldn’t extend it to practically everyone in this hall who’s only looking for a quick flirt.

✧ Eventually, as yet another person fills the gap she takes their place, offering you a drink from the Cup of Kings. You take it, drinking a sip before meeting her eyes and whispering for her to not go and to protect you from yet another person.

✧ Éowyn gladly agrees, intervening when other people try to speak as soon as you glance her way, and the rest of the night is spent with you.

✧ (Also supports whatever decision you make when Éomer asks if you’ll join the drinking game. Either a loyal defender of your right not to drink, or the best support-woman you ask for.)

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ Even when pining for you, when in some ways it hurts him to be near you - reminding him of his love - he still goes to your training sessions, cheering just as loudly.

✧ He can more easily recognise the way his heart flutters in joy when you look for him in the corner of the room, and how quickly he smiles when all you do is acknowledge him.

✧ And then one day, he can feel your eyes on him, the smile you get when you notice him, before your eyes slip away and search for someone else.

✧ Éomer knows he should expect this, that there are other people you care for, but it’s like being plunged into cold water.

✧ Following your line of sight, he sees when your eyes light up again and immediately tries to determine who’s making you smile like that.

✧ It’s his sister, of course.

✧ The worry leaves him immediately, replaced by embarrassment. Even more so when Éowyn notices him staring before looking between you and him, a knowing smile on her face.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ He understands it’s your job to be decently polite to people, when they aren’t actively breaking the law, so doesn’t mind when you're nice and friendly with people. In fact, he quite likes it and it helps reassure him you’re the right person for him.

✧ However, he’s been on one to many night shifts where some of the residents have gotten too drunk.

✧ Knows you can handle it, but doesn’t think that you should have to handle it.

✧ Tries to let you deal with them but is certainly hovering there ominously in the background, ready to be backup should you need any backup.

✧ However, as he can see a man try to approach you during the festival, Bard decides he’s finally had enough for tonight. Tonight was supposed to be the two of you.

✧ As he gets closer, Bard simply puts a hand on his shoulder - firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

✧ He can feel the man tense up but just speaks quietly to him, a tone of forced politeness.

✧ “I assure you, they're busy.”

✧ You turn in time to see the man take hasty steps backward while Bard looks a little too pleased to be innocent, but when you tilt your head in question he just grins.

✧ Deciding to run with the string of luck, you don’t chase him further; you simply accept what’s happened and spend practically the rest of the night with him.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ Thranduil does not see it as jealousy, because jealousy implies that he is unstable. Jealousy implies he has a genuine belief that you would be interested in any of the elves that give a passing smile to you.

✧ If he had to pick a word, he would choose protective. In actuality it’s closer to ‘possessive’ but you aren’t his - not yet at least - and therefore he has nothing to possess.

✧ He does, however, have plenty to protect.

✧ Making sure never to abuse his powers, he understands that you make your own choices, he will occasionally keep an eye on things.

✧ It’s only ever subtle shifts, like the overly flirty elf you were complaining about in your talks being transferred from his doors and into a regular guard patrol. He sees your slightly lighter step, and hears no words of complaints from you.

✧ Is fine with you having relationships (such as friendships) that you’d appear to be closer to - simply because they are your friend and he is your king. Until he can truly bridge that gap, there will always be some level of formality between you two.

✧ (That doesn’t stop him from wishing you could be that comfortable around him, however. The fact he wishes for the friendly touch or wider grin you give to others.)

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ Becoming part of the royal guard is, for the most part, exactly what Tauriel had dreamed of for both herself and for you.

✧ There are a few things she would change, of course, like the two of you being able to spend more time together - but these are minor things.

✧ Then there’s the minor thing of Caraitur, an elf that you patrol with. Tauriel knows that he doesn’t actually mean anything with his flirting, but he still annoys her. The way he tries to hold the door open for you, or smiles at you.

✧ Doesn’t confront him but is actively petty. If she’s on any duty regarding taking care of helmets or weapons his are always not quite shiny. Perfectly functional, but something looks off about them.

✧ Always enjoys being very affectionate with you afterwards, hugs and lots of smiles. (Sitting right next to you while sending a smirk at him.)

✧ ✧ She’s careful to make sure none of what she does can be traced back to her, but that doesn’t mean she can’t still reap her reward.

✧ You’ll ask her why she’s smiling and she comes up with either the most nonsensical answers you’ve ever heard or just say ‘you’.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Lindir had always been very grateful for his elven qualities, and never considered the fact he was an elf to be anything less than a gift.

✧ Except for certain aspects when it comes to you. There are the more unpleasant aspects, of course, but also simpler ones that in some ways annoy him more.

✧ Like the fact he will never be able to bond with you over certain things that are small to some people (like the crunching of snow effortlessly beneath your feet), and deeper meanings.

✧ To him, you seem to light up more when around the race of men. Like how you are doing with Aragorn, the king’s heir, back to briefly visit Imladris.

✧ He’s not naturally a confrontational person, so prefers to try and ignore his envy while stealing glances from the two of you from afar. Trying to convince himself he isn’t seeing you laughing with so much mirth, or smiling so widely.

✧ Eventually, he can’t take it any more. Spying the two of you in the gardens, Lindir also moves to go there - running into the two of you with a deep bow.

✧ Careful not to stutter with his words, or allow his blush to show, he asks if he may walk with you soon as the two of you have been more distant lately.

✧ His heart is lifted almost immeasurably when he asks you to walk with him now, leaving the human behind to be with him. And seeing you smile and laugh with him, it alleviates his worries very well indeed.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ To be entirely honest, there isn’t anyone he truly feels jealous of - at any point in time when you aren’t courting.

✧ He understands that you are travelling with the Fellowship because of your duty to protect Middle Earth, and he’s glad you get along well with your companions.

✧ When the two of you are out on patrol he gets to know you more as you speak of them to him, and tell him about your thoughts.

✧ That you speak fondly of the hobbits, but in a familial way - as though they were younger siblings, or at the least ones to be protected (and not romantically interested in).

✧ Although you are more tolerant of the dwarf than he may have liked, Haldir recognises the annoyed-but-affectionate tone you employ about him to be one of friendship.

✧ He fears not for either of the men, as one is in love with an elf already and one is in love with his city.

✧ Haldir is still protective of you, trying to spend as much time with you as he can while you are in his realm, but he is assured enough to never be jealous of anyone - only the time you spend with them.

✧ Even that he can understand, and he combats these feelings by simply asking you to join him on patrol.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ Elladan knows he should not be jealous of his own brother, especially when his own brother is doing this very deliberately to make him jealous.

✧ But, now that Elladan has finally come to a realisation about his feelings, he knows that he wants to be the one with his arms around you.

✧ He knows that he wants to be the one to make you smile. He knows that he wants to be the one who makes you laugh. He knows that he wants to be the one for you.

✧ And he certainly does not need his brother to give him a ‘helpful nudge’, thank you very much.

✧ Elrohir gets slightly closer to you, and Elladan finally comes out of his hiding place and coughs to announce his presence.

✧ Trying not to smile too obviously when you brighten, he pretends to be entirely innocent before asking if he can join the two of you.

✧ You agree quickly, and Elrohir feigns annoyance before suddenly remembering something important to leave the two of you alone.

✧ As Elrohir leaves Elladan can see him mouth ‘good luck’ before winking.

✧ Unfortunately, you don’t see that part. You just see Elladan mouthing ‘bastard’ back. It still makes you laugh.

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ Of all the elven figures, Elrohir is by far the most jealous. And also the most irrational with his jealousy.

✧ For him, it isn’t about who or even what you’re spending your time with, just that it’s so much more than him. And that he wants you to look at him with love in your eyes, of any kind.

✧ As you pour over more paperwork regarding Gondor for the fifth hour that night, he lets out a despairing groan that matches the look in your eyes.

✧ “Oh come on darling, will Gondor truly collapse if you take a little break? I’m going to break if you keep ignoring me.”

✧ Looking up, you give him a small smile before going back to… Gondor’s agricultural imports regarding fruits of Rohan.

✧ With a grin, he makes sure to be gentle before whisking the paperwork away from you. “We can make someone else do it. Faramir would be happy to help his twin out, or we can bully my brother-”

✧ You make a swipe for the paperwork, but he can tell your heart isn’t in it which only increases his grin. Pulling you up, he instantly begins to get you out of the door and into your city.

✧ He reasons it might be nice to see what your city looks like again after only seeing it in official documents, but both of you know it’s simply a poor excuse to spend time with you.

A/N : Hope you enjoyed! Next update is the confessions, so we're finally getting completely romantic. Also, if the writing is different then it's because this was written at 8am, 2pm, and 9pm respectively... so. Also - I now have a taglist! (feel free to fill out the form if you want to be tagged)

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[marchwardenofmordor]

Since people liked my post about the new Nosferatu film, I’m gonna go a little more in depth about some of the things that REALLY stood out to me

- The sound design of his voice and the blood drinking: a fucking genius choice. Each horrific rattling inhale before he speaks and the way he trails off at the end of his sentences because he’s manually breathing for the EXPRESS PURPOSE OF SPEAKING. That monotone is fucking perfect because he sound like the air is being squeezed out of him with each word. The monstrous gulping and slurping as he drinks blood is great because it sounds equal parts disgusting and sexual.

- I think, as a personification of shame, that he is SUPPOSED to make you want to crawl out of your own skin. The moaning, the nudity, the squelchy sounds… if you went to the cinema to see it, I think the idea was to make you blush and perhaps have a bit of a bodily reaction that would have you glancing around at other people in embarrassment. Not everybody is going to want him, but he will tap into the shame of witnessing something sexual in public. If we take the particular time period the film is set in, too, I think he’s supposed to have us clutching our pearls, making us collectively hearken back to the victorian attitudes towards sex and shame.

- You know what else is great about putting us in that mindset as an audience? It makes us remember that talking about sex and death are still considered shameful and taboo - the Victorian period really wasn’t that long ago, and some aspects of that history still casts its shadow of shame over us. But as ashamed as we are, we’re also curious creatures.

- Sex and death are very closely linked. Again, a little death being a term for an orgasm, the fact that indole is a chemical that both repels and attracts us (the scent is commonly used in perfumery, and in small amounts, smells alluring and seductive, like white florals, or the literal smell of sex, but in large concentrations smells fucking rancid, like rotting bodies). When we die, our brains release a rush of endorphins, etc. Dead bodies have a ‘sweet’ smell before they begin rotting - again, that’s probably indole, and would explain some of the subconscious urges of a necrophiliac.

- He is also called ‘death’ multiple times, and we know that a little fraction of his power is bringing ‘la petit mort’ (a little death / orgasm) to his victims.

- Even rats are symbolic here of sex, death and disease: we know terms like ‘multiplying like rats’ obviously, and how rats are symbolic of the plague (even though it was the fleas that caused it). The presence of the rats and the cries of townsfolk about ‘disease’ and ‘plague’ are less like the actual literal plague, and - considering that Orlok is ‘shame’ - more like a metaphorical miasma sweeping through victorian society, reinforcing ideas of shame and purity and what is or is not proper.

- Bodily fluids!! There are tears, there’s cum, considering the rats (again) there’s excrement (also on the walls of the cell in the asylum??), and with the Renfield-type character there’s also saliva. This isn’t just for shock/horror - the main fluid shown is blood, and in the mindset of a victorian christian (historically, blood transfusions could only really be shared between a man and a woman who were married because blood was a life-giving bodily fluid likened to the life-sowing fluid of semen), the idea of a blood-drinking monster was fucking horrific and blasphemous, sinful beyond measure.

- Orlok’s appearance and the treatment of the G*psies in the town (once more - “bringing shame to this inn!” Likening them to the vampire) is indicative of the xenophobia and prejudice towards Romani Jewish people of the time period, where white victorian christians feared Romani people as being ‘child-stealing’, ‘blood-drinking’ (again, look up Blood Libel) barbarians prone to SA (stereotypes which sadly persist today), but also fetishised them as mystics. (I did my university dissertation on ‘boho’ tattoos, cultural appropriation and the origins of the ‘boho’ aesthetic and why it is just ✨not it✨ but I won’t go into that in depth because my analysis was literally over 5000 words)

- I love that the message at the end was basically ‘the only way to kill your shame is to lay with it, to accept it and love it’ - which is honestly true. If you learn to accept uncomfortable aspects of yourself and face them, they no longer have any sort of power over you.

- The female protagonist is dressed all in white, indicative of her purity and chastity, and it’s interesting to see how her wardrobe gradually darkens throughout the film, showing her becoming quite monstrous herself in one particular scene where she rips open the top of her dress and demands Thomas to ‘take her’, up until the final scene, where she is stark naked and covered in blood. Honestly wicked. I love a good corruption. Her character is so symbolic of the struggle of someone who is deeply repressed and chastised for her desires. Desires which started innocently and then - through suppression in an oppressive society and household (her father discovering her naked and screaming at her for being sinful)- were twisted and given form as something monstrous that literally eats away at her and those around her, because she brings her shame wherever she goes, and in the end, even though she faces it and sets an example, it ultimately kills her to do so.

- Also notice how NOBODY fucking listens to her. And every time nobody listens to her, Orlok grows stronger as she grows angrier and more frustrated. They’re feeding him by ignoring her. It’s sad that they look at her in the end, and deem her ‘sacrifice’ as noble, only really paying attention to her once she is dead, with her shame laying on top of her, crushing her. This is the torment of the Victorian Woman, told that she must deal with her problems alone by the male characters.

Edit: Also because the film is German in origin, I’d recommend looking up the ‘Nachzehrer’ creature - a ghoulish vampire-esque creature that would rise from the grave to drag its victims into death with it through various means, known to devour its own funeral shroud, rendering it naked. Fun fact: it was said that if a corpse was clutching its left thumb in its right hand with the left eye open (I think? It’s been a while since I researched it), it would rise as a Nachzehrer. They are also thought to be able to drain their victim’s life force remotely. The threat was said to be particularly great if the living gave the Nachzehrer a personal affectation - in the case of Orlok, it would be Thomas giving him the locket containing Ellen’s hair.

[he3ts]

THIRTY ONE DAYS

pairings: the salesman x reader

warnings: in this part none in particular, except use of guns (?)

plot: a recruiter and an fbi agent. you are mutually obsessed with each other, what could go wrong?

The air was still in the empty hotel, as if the building itself was holding its breath, and there you were, alone, standing in the middle of the lobby. The dim light from the neon flashing above the lobby, filtered through the dirty windows, but did little to brighten the room. Darkness lurked in the corners, like a waiting predator. That darkness reminded you of your training at Quantico, of how you had conquered all fear just to continue your work. Your heart was pounding, every shot ringing in your ears like a dull drum.

After months of pursuits, of traps that seemed perfect and instead failed miserably, after sleepless nights spent calculating and recalculating your every move, there he was.

The recruiter.

He was in front of you at last. He sat in a worn and weathered armchair, his legs crossed and a calmness that disarmed you. The light danced on his face, but the shadow of the cigar between his lips was the thing that stood out in your eyes. It was as if he had been waiting for you, not the other way around. His relaxed posture, that barely-there smile, everything about him conveyed an uncanny confidence, as if he knew your every weakness, your every intention.

"I must say I'm impressed, agent"

His voice was soft, but the sarcasm that accompanied it was as sharp as a blade. Those words made you clench your fists, an instinctive gesture that revealed the anger you were trying to hold back.

"I thought you would have given up long before," he added with a slight tilt of his head, as if he was studying you, looking for a reaction. You stared at him. Motionless, as if you were pinned down by an invisible force. Inside you, however, was chaos. Anger bubbled in your chest, alongside something else you did not want to acknowledge: a deaf obsession, a disturbing attraction to the man you had pursued for so long. There was also curiosity, a disturbing curiosity that gnawed at your soul. You wanted to know. You wanted to understand.

You had imagined it a thousand times, this moment. You had experienced it in your dreams and nightmares, you had predicted it and repeated it in your mind like an obsessive ritual. Yet, now that you were there, the only sound was that of your labored breathing and the distant hum of a faulty electrical tube.

Finally, it was your voice that broke the silence, even though it sounded almost foreign to you. "There is no one here to save you," you said, in a tone you wanted to be harsh, implacable. "This time, you have no way out"

He laughed. Not a full laugh, but a short, sharp one, enough to make you grit your teeth. "Oh, really?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "Do you think I'm the one who needs saving?"

Those words hit you like a fist, heavy and impossible to ignore. For a moment, you hesitated. There was no one there with you.

No allies, no reinforcements. Just you and him. And there was something in his voice that made you tremble, a realization you could not ignore: every move, from then on, would be decisive. Every mistake, potentially fatal.

You realized that no matter how much you had planned everything, the game was starting at that moment, and he, with his unflappable smile, already knew all the rules. You were cursing Gi-Hun for that assignment, but you was technically helping a friend. However, you were missing the evidence, which unfortunately your colleague had disappeared into the ocean.

You had moved a step closer, your eyes fixed on him like those of a hunter who did not want to lose sight of his prey. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to react, but you did not draw the gun hanging from the holster under your vest. Not yet. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your impatience, nor your anger.

"You've been hiding for months," you said, in a tone as sharp as a razor blade, "always one step ahead. But no more. I will stop your fucking inhuman games"

Your words echoed in the empty hotel lobby, but he did not react as you expected. No sign of fear, no trace of anxiety. He tilted his head, as someone observing a painting whose meaning he could not grasp. His eyes scanned you, analyzing every crease in your face, every breath, as if you were an enigma to be deciphered. A lock of black hair had fallen over his forehead, jauntily, nothing seemed to disturb him.

"Oh, honey," he said with a thin smile that made you grit your teeth, "you still don't understand, do you? I was never the one hiding. I let you chase me. Every move you made, every choice you made, every decision--it was mine. I guided you here"

Those words hit you like a punch to the stomach, a shiver ran down your spine, but you would never give him the satisfaction of seeing your upset. "Liar," you spat, trying to maintain control. "You're just a coward playing with other people's lives because you don't have the courage to face your own misery!"

Yet, his smile did not falter. On the contrary, it widened, revealing a dark sparkle in his eyes. He rose slowly from the chair, his movements fluid and calculated, like a predator stretching before attacking. He looked taller than I remembered, or maybe it was the shadow that made him that way.

"Face my misery?" he repeated, with a short, heatless laugh. "You talk about courage as if you know anything about it, but look at you" He took a step forward, and then another. "How long have you been living just for this moment? How long has your obsession with me consumed you? Isn't this the real misery?"

You stiffened, and for a moment you felt the need to take a step back, but you stopped immediately, forcing yourself not to back down. "You're good with words," you replied, your voice colder than you felt. "But it won't work"

He stopped, a few steps away from you, the calmness radiating from his body almost unbearable. He made a gesture with his hand, pointed to the environment around you. "Do you know why I brought you here?" he asked, his voice low and velvety, almost hypnotic. "Because this place is perfect. Empty, isolated, silent. No one will hear you scream"

Your breath quickened, and without realizing it, your hand was already on the gun. But before you could pull it out, he raised a hand, a slow, theatrical gesture. "Wait," he said, his tone calm as if he were explaining something to an old friend. "Before you do something you might regret, let me ask you a question"

You stared at him, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Are you really sure you want to know why I let you find me?" he continued, moving another step closer until you could hardly hear his breath. "Are you ready for that?"

The air felt heavy, as if the very walls of the hotel were tightening around you. Every fiber of your being was telling you to act, to do something, but his words had you immobilized, as if some part of you knew there was truth in what he was saying.

"Because, you know," he said, tilting his head slightly, "you're not so different from me. You like to think you're the hero, but really ... you're just another piece in this game"

The gun slid from its holster with a firm movement, and you pointed it at his chest, your hands steady despite the tremor you felt inside. "One more word and you'll regret it," you hissed, your voice hard as steel. But he didn't seem scared at all. In fact, his smile grew wider, almost amused. "Perhaps," he said, his tone light, almost cheerful. "But have you ever considered that, just like everyone else, you too could be a player?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt as if you were hovering on a thin wire, with emptiness beneath you. And for the first time, a thought crossed your mind like a bolt of lightning: what if you were not in control of the situation? That you were going crazy? That this was yet another trouble you had gotten yourself into?

The gun was pointed at him, and you felt your finger resting on the trigger, steady, ready. Every fiber in your body was tense, every muscle waiting for a signal to act. The cold metal of the weapon pressed against the palm of your hand, but it was his gaze, that mocking smile on his face, that weighed most heavily on you. He did not turn his eyes away from yours, not out of fear, not out of anger, but with that disarming calm that made you want to pull the trigger just to erase it.

"I'm not afraid," you said, your voice hard but just a little cracked.

Yet even as you spoke those words, you knew it would not be that simple. You knew it in the way he moved, slow and calculated, as if he was in control, even though you had the weapon. You knew it in the way his every word seemed to slip under your skin, creeping in like poison.

The recruiter did not seem the least bit intimidated. In fact, the smile on his face widened, subtle, dangerous. It was as if he had been waiting for exactly that moment. "Would you really?" he asked, his voice soft, almost curious. "Would you really think that pulling that trigger would solve anything? Or maybe ... you just want to do it for yourself?"

Those words struck you more than you would have liked. For a moment, a flash of doubt crossed your mind. But you forced yourself to banish it, to focus only on him. "Enough of your games," you spat, clutching your weapon more tightly. "They won't work"

He laughed softly, a laugh that seemed made on purpose to irritate you, to test you. He took a step toward you, so slow and measured that you almost didn't notice until he was too close. "Ah, but they work already, Y/n. Look where we are. Look how I got you here, exactly where I wanted you"

You felt the finger on the trigger tighten just a little more. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions: anger, frustration, and something darker, something you didn't want to admit. It was him. His presence. The way he seemed to know your every thought, your every move before you even made it.

"You think you're in control," he continued, his voice a whisper that seemed to fill the entire room. "You think you're the one in charge, but in reality-you're exactly where I wanted you to be. Doesn't that sound curious?"

His calmness infuriated you, but you could not deny the knot you felt tightening in your stomach. It wasn't fear. It was something else, an emotion you could not define. An obsession you didn't want to acknowledge, one that had driven you to follow him, to pursue him for months, years.

"Shut up," you hissed, but your voice was less firm than you had hoped.

"Ah, there," he said, tilting his head slightly. "That's what you want, isn't it? Silence. But you can never find it, can you? It's you. You and your need to understand, to control. That's why you haven't killed me yet"

You felt your breath quicken, your finger trembling slightly on the trigger. You hated it. You hated the way he could turn your every action into his victory, your every word into a weapon against you. But, most of all, you hated the fact that a part of you knew he was right.

And he, as if he had read your thoughts, took another step forward. He was close now, too close. You felt his presence like a shadow, heavy and looming. "Come on, agent" he said, almost softly. "Pull that trigger. Do it. It will set you free, right?"

His words were a venomous whisper that squeezed your throat. But you hadn't done it. Your finger remained there, motionless, still on the trigger, but unable to move. Because, deep down, you knew he was right. Shooting wouldn't have solved anything. It would not have erased what you were feeling. It would not have stopped the game.

The recruiter took another step forward, getting so close that you could almost feel the heat of his body. You could feel your finger on the trigger pulsing, your heart beating hard against your ribs. But he didn't seem to mind. In fact, his calm seemed almost surreal, as if he was sure you would not fire.

Then something had happened that you had not expected. Slowly, unhurriedly, he extended a hand toward you. Your reflexes prompted you to stiffen, to point the gun more firmly at him, but he did not stop. With infuriating slowness, his fingers reached down to your hair, taking a strand between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes widened, your breath caught. You felt your heart quicken as he, with a soft gesture, brought that lock of hair to your face. He sniffed it, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring a memory, or something sacred.

"Agent," he murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. "This is what I've been chasing all this time. This is what drove me to play"

His words hit you like a lash, but you were too confused, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment to react immediately. He opened his eyes and looked at you, and that look affected you more than his closeness. There was something dark, morbid in those eyes of his.

"You don't realize it," he continued, his hand still in contact with your hair, "but it's always been you. Not the games. Not the power. Not the victory. Just you"

"You're crazy," you hissed, your tone harsh but cracked. You wanted to push him away, push him away, but it was as if your legs didn't respond.

"I know," he replied, with a shameless smile. "But maybe that's why we're perfect. Because you too, deep down, are like me"

Those words set you off; you finally found the strength to back away a step, shaking his hand out of your hair. "Stop it," you said, raising the gun again. "We are not the same. We never will be"

He did not move, his smile barely widening. "Really? Then why don't you pull that trigger? Why don't you put an end to this?"

Yet, inside you, something was breaking. Like a rope pulled too long, ready to give way under the weight of that night, of those words that seemed to hit you where you knew you were most vulnerable. The recruiter, motionless before you, barely tilted his head, his gaze charged with morbid interest, his smile now slow, calculated.

"What's going on? The big moment and you're paralyzed? You can't decide whether to shoot me or stay and watch me, as you've been doing for months!" His voice was like glass against skin, sharp and thin, but it was that amused, almost indulgent tone that made you grit your teeth. "Don't worry, we can stay here all night. I'm in no hurry"

You felt the weight of each word. They dug into you, lurking like thorns, but you wouldn't let go. Not yet. You didn't have to believe them, not even for a second. But those eyes. Those eyes seemed to be able to read you better than you could read yourself. And for a moment, you felt that terrible doubt creep into you. What if he was right?

But you were too weak, because he was right, you had turned around so fast that the gun almost slipped from your hand. But you had let it go. The dull sound of the gun falling to the floor had been the last sound before the chaos. Your legs had begun to move, as if they knew where to go better than you did. Each step took you farther, each breath was a cry of rebellion against the weight of his presence.

You were running away.

His laughter had filled the hotel, bouncing off the peeling walls as you ran down the dark hallway. Your feet pounded on the floor, the sound of footsteps almost covered by the distant hum of neon lights wavering above you.

You had not stopped. You couldn't.

MASTERLIST.

[prettieinpink]

Cultivating a Growth Mindset

A growth mindset is the belief that one's skills, qualities, and abilities can be nurtured and enhanced through hard work and learning. Adopting this mindset makes you more open to challenges, embracing the unfamiliar or uncomfortable and willing to experience failure.

However, adopting this growth mindset means we must challenge our limiting self-beliefs that reinforce our fixed mindset. Limiting beliefs is the negative thoughts that hold us back, hindering our journey of self-improvement. 

RECOGNISE YOUR FIXED MINDSET. Start to be aware of how your fixed mindset, became your everyday internal dialogue. Fear of failure, procrastination, always being in your comfort zone or being a constant quitter could be why this mindset has been reinforced in your mind.

That being said, you need to start being conscious of what you’re saying to yourself daily. If you struggle with that, try speaking to yourself out loud, as it helps to be more aware of what you’re saying. 

REMOVE ANYTHING THAT DOESN’T ALIGN, i’m specifally talking about social media. There are so many self degarding or depreciating content(which are always disgusied as a ‘joke’) and the more you consume it, the more you believe it. 

However this can apply to your physical environment as well, such as people, sentimental objects or your actual space. 

START TO REDEFINE FAILURE. There are so many ways you can define failure, but my favourite has to be failure is the sacrifice for success. Of course, you can research other ways to redefine it that resonates with you.

However, allow yourself to grieve failures, especially if they had a huge impact on your life. The only way you can apply the lessons from failure in life is to process them. 

DO SOMETHING CHALLENGING EACH DAY. Whether it is giving yourself an extra 20 minutes at the gym, or trying to advance yourself in your studies, just do something that pushes you and hopefully, makes you struggle. 

Once we allow ourselves to struggle and be challenged, we start to develop the belief that being challenged is okay, not doing it perfect on the first try  is okay we can still do tasks without them being perfect + you’re also embracing failure. 

APPRECIATE YOUR EFFORT. Something is always better than nothing, not everything that we do has to be perfect to consider ourselves accomplished. Once we acknowledge the value of hard work and see how it impacts our day-to-day life, it enforces the belief that we can expand our skills even just by a little.

The perfect way to appreciate your effort is by celebrating or rewarding yourself. Allow yourself extra screen time, to sleep in, or do any of your favourite ‘unproductive’ activities. 

SEEK OUT NEW KNOWLEDGE. Not just reading an article and calling it a day, but actively researching something memorable. This doesn’t have to be a scholarly topic, it could be anything. When we start to desire to learn, which is practically the main thing about a growth mindset, it enforces those beliefs. 

BUILD RESILENCE. You’re going to fail, struggle, lose and maybe suffer. While it is important to grieve what happens, you should be able to bounce back after some time. Building this skill is so important in the growth mindset, as it helps you to take control of your emotions and not the other way around. 

This applies to constructive criticism as well. People will not always give you praise, but that doesn’t matter, what matters is your ability to act on that criticism. An outside perspective always helps to improve yourself and your abilities. 

[puckinghischier]

Can your beautiful mind provide some domestic Christmas Quinn thoughts?

well…i have been thinking about how quinn is 100% one of those men that can’t wrap a present to save his life. so when you’re out doing some last minute shopping one day, he brings all of your presents out of their hiding spot and tries his best.

he starts out on his own, watching youtube videos and tutorials to try and make sure he measures the paper right and creases it properly. but when he ends up with several…wad-looking wrapping jobs he facetimes his mom, recruiting her as a wrapping coach.

“mom, i’ve tried so many times and i just can’t get it right. she’s told me before how much she loved wrapped presents, so i don’t want to just put them all in bags, but i don’t know if i’m going to have much of a choice at this point.”

ellen laughs at her son, pulling out her own wrapping supplies and tries to show him again. she talks him through the whole process, and when he finally wraps a present right, he’s beaming from ear to ear. she stays on the phone and coaches him through the rest of your presents as he thanks his mom over and over again for her help.

just as he’s placed the last one under the tree (the poorly wrapped ones shoved in the back) he hears the door open and in you walk with a hoard of shopping bags on each arm.

when you walk into the living room, eyes glued to the now full space under the tree, your eyes light up.

“quinn, did you wrap all of these?”

he walks over to you, taking some of the bags from your hands. “sure did. all by myself,” he beams at you.

“excuse me, your mother had a hand in this too. where’s my credit?”

you hear ellen’s voice flowing through the speaker of quinn’s phone, the device still propped up on the coffee table, surrounded by wrapping paper.

quinn’s face turns bright red, forgetting his mom was still on the phone. you look at his embarrassed state, endeared more than anything that he cared about wrapping your presents so much, he called his mom as a reinforcement.

“is that true?” he nods his head.

“well, yeah. i kinda botched the first few, and the youtube videos weren’t helping, so aside from taking them all to a store to have someone professionally wrap them for me, mom was my last shot,” he shrugged, embarrassed about the fact his lack of wrapping skills has been outed.

“q, that’s so sweet oh my god,” you gush at him, batting your eyes and bringing your hand to rest over your heart.

“really? you don’t think it’s embarrassing i don’t know how to wrap a present?”

you balk at him, rolling your eyes. “quinn, the fact you went through so much trouble to wrap them, instead of putting them in a bag like every other guy i’ve ever dated, is the sweetest thing ever. why would i care if they’re perfectly wrapped or not?”

“see, quinn! i told you she wouldn’t care if they were perfect!” you hear from his phone, both of you having now forgotten about ellen.

“yeah, quinn. listen to your mother,” you playfully scold him, walking past him so you’re in frame on his phone. “thanks, ellen. what ever would these boys do without you?” you joke with her, earning a laugh.

“oh, you know, probably bug you a lot more than they already do,” she jests back, referencing how often not only your own hughes boy calls you about needing help with finding things around the apartment, or needing you to tell him what the brand name is of that certain kind of protein powder is he likes, but how often his two brothers call you with their own questions and advice requests.

“alright, mom, thanks for your help and all, but i have all the presents wrapped and i need help her put all this stuff away now. i love you, bye,” quinn interrupts the laughter ringing out between you and his mom, picking up his phone and pressing the end call button.

“quinn, you did not just hang up on your mom,” you scold him, gasping at his actions.

“i’d had her on the phone for hours already it’s fine,” he brushes it off. “plus, i don’t think she’d want to witness what i’m about to do,” he walks towards you, pointing up to the mistletoe strung high above your head.

you look back down just as he reaches you, grabbing your face and pulling you in for a very heated kiss.

dropping the bags in your hands, he walks the two of you over to the couch, all mention of gifts and wrapping forgotten.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Friday Night Entertainment (+18)

Time written- 11:05 p.m

Jason Todd/fem!reader smut

“C’mon pretty girl, jus’ like that.”

His rich, gravely voice always provided the proper encouragement, surging with pure arousal as his broad hands settled along your hips. His gaze remained ever so mesmerized with your beautiful, bouncing body, the loud contact of your thighs against his, amplified by your glistening juices after properly fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you.

You were a sight to the man slumped back against the cushions of his couch. Sweat dampened curls merely obscuring his vision of your lust dappled skin, love bites crowding your flush skin like an exotic choker.

Crescent moons along your hips from his hands alone, not to get him started with various hand prints. The view of those gorgeous, bouncing tits made it harder for Jason to resist, suckling a breast into his mouth as your lingering strength wavered, resorting you to merely rocking against his lap.

You were tired, well fucked out since the second he pulled you on top of the couch. The man couldn’t have bothered less to get his own pants off, merely unbuckling himself with a quick hand before smacking the tip of his fat, heavy cock against your quivering cunt.

At the start, the living room was filled with a chorus of loud moans, followed by a seemingly endless Clink! Clink! Clink! of his belt buckle with every thrust into your perfect pussy.

Now, your chest flattened against his, your lungs gasping for warm air as Jason’s hand reached down your body, guiding his stiff, soaked cock from your hole to rub against your folds. The groove of his tip nearly teasing your throbbing clit with each intentional rock of his hips.

“I know, baby. Oh, I know,” he cooes against your quivering lips before kissing them, noses brushing against one another while spending a second taking your bottom lip in between his teeth.

Your muscles ached for rest, trembling with nearly every few seconds after finishing three times, to Jason’s delight. How he was able to hold out so long was incredible, watching you writhe through thick lashes as you completely soak through the fabric of his boxers and jeans, but he knew he wasn’t going to last forever.

On a good night, he would’ve last just a bit longer, but now, he was tempted enough to almost go easy on you.

“Just one more,” Jason mutters, making the effort to maintain your gaze with a slight head tilt. “Come on, repeat after me. Just one more.”

“Just—“

You failed on the spot with a quivering cry, hips nearly jolting at his unsuspecting fingers pressed against your abused nub, purposely rolling the pearl along the calloused pad of his thumb before casually raising it to his lips, brushing off your sweet essence along his tongue.

“I’m waiting.” He states. What a bastard.

“Just one more!” You immediately whine out, your overstimulated embers growing a new, small hungry frame only he could appease and satisfy.

“Fuck, Jason. Just- just one more… please.”

Oh, you just had to throw in a please.

“That’s my girl,” Jason smirks, shifting his thighs slightly before reinforcing his hold on your hips, the sounds of wet skin resounding against each other growing considerably loud in seconds, fucking into you with a newfound, vigorous staccato.

[dramadramallama]

So. The Time of Fever. The story is pretty simple, but it was elevated by some choice cinematography and music... sooooo let me take two seconds to gush about the two kissing scenes.

Both scenes are shot to convey something very specific (how special the characters are to each other) and although not much is said, a lot is implied. I don't know how intentional it was, but they also end up almost a perfect "reverse" of each other.

The bare bones of the two scenes are as follows:

Kissing Scene 1: infirmary (public setting, neutral white, Dong-hee takes care of Ho-tae's wound)

tension, uncertainty/confusion, complicated feelings (shaky cam, tense dialogue)

something sets it in motion ("hyung")

music starts

slow and steady - dreamlike atmosphere (tension released)

outside interruption, music stops - back to reality, tension back up

Kissing Scene 2: bedroom/house (private setting, heavy color-coded, ends in pain for both of them)

comforting, easy-going, chill vibe (steady cam, silent book reading)

something sets it in motion (hand feeding)

no music

shakiness, quick movements - raw, not romanticized (tension goes way up)

minimal music - self-interruption - got a lil too real, tension goes down

If you watch them back to back it's even more obvious, I love iiiiiit. The contrast of it all!! YES. Sorry for my ugly GIFs, I just wanna illustrate my points lol

In the first scene, Dong-hee and Ho-tae let down their guard and enter a bubble of peacefulness, before it bursts. The scene starts off with quick, nervous dialogue, no music. The shots go from tight to even tighter, and the camera shakes a lot, reflecting the ambient tension.

The music, gentle and hopeful, starts as soon as both of them "fold". Ho-tae agrees to use the hyung honorific for the first time since ep1, and Dong-hee gently goes in for the kiss. The scene is drenched in white, the camera movements slow, to the point it's hard to notice whether they themselves are moving slowly or if there's a subtle slow-mo effect applied. It's unhurried, like they have all the time in the world.

The music swells into something very airy and dreamy as soon as their lips touch; the camera steadies, the shakiness fades—the surroundings too. Even when the camera pulls back a little, the framing is minimal—you can't even distinguish where they are anymore (in a school infirmary, behind a curtain, against a window). The only thing in focus is their faces, the rest is slightly blurry or washed out. It's not just visually that things fade out, there's also barely any background noise: no ruffle of their clothes, no school chatter, no bird chirping. it's just them, floating on a cloud, the heaviness of the moment gone, the initial anxiety soothed.

The moment, the music, the kiss—everything is interrupted abruptly by an outside element: the school bell. The bubble pops, like a dream they both wake up from—signaling the end of recess, back to harsh reality. Their eyes open, they freeze, and just like that, the camera shakes are immediately back.

The scene unfolds smoothly and clearly: it takes the characters from a moment of tension, to sweet release, steadiness, and calmness—it starts from something complicated and changes to something pure and easy, like a knot being unraveled—and then snaps them back to reality.

The contrast with the second kissing scene, happening in the same episode (!) is nothing but art tbh. Like I said, it looks like the reverse of that first scene, but it unfolds the same way. This time, it starts off quiet and gets thick with tension.

First, they're at home, not in a public space. It's not day-time. They're lying down. The private, safe atmosphere of the scene is reinforced by the warm colors. It's late autumn, it's getting cold. They set up a space-heater (it casts a reddish brown hue over them), place a comfy (red) carpet on the floor to keep the heat in and to laze around on. The camera is steady, the framing comfortable, no shakiness.

They're still facing each other, one is on his back, looking up to his book, the other one is on his stomach, looking down as his own. Everything conveys a cosy, relaxed but intimate vibe, without any agitation. Ho-tae is snacking absentmindedly on some seasonal fruit (clementine/mandarin). There's no talking. There's also absolutely no music. You hear everything, from the distant creaking of the house, to the pages rubbing together, to the crickets outside.

Then, comes what sets the scene into motion: Ho-tae feeds Dong-hee some fruit. Dong-hee takes it into his mouth easily. The mood switches. A lot of close-ups, and the camera movements become shakier, more chaotic: tension goes from 0 to 100. Where there was a lightness, softness to that first kissing scene, it's pretty much the complete opposite here. It's more intense, but there's a sort of ache, an urgency to it that was completely absent in the first scene. The breathing gets heavier, louder, no music to cut through the reality of it. It's been a while since I've seen such an erotic scene, without it being explicit.

When it does come, the music kicks in very slowly, just a few low notes of piano, not enough to cover the noises (the kisses, the breathing), the initial warmth of the scene becomes almost stifling. And just a few seconds later, everything abruptly stops once again, but this time, Dong-hee himself is the one putting an end to it. The camera very slowly tones down the shakiness, back to steady.

In this scene, the characters' comfort and peace crumble, the kiss doesn't appease, it lights a fire. Gets them inflamed and exposed. Takes them from innocence and easiness to desire and hurt, from sanity to fever. The hazy, nice moment catches fire and burns up too fast. Like Ho-tae's fingers twisting knots into Dong-hee's sweater, the feelings gets tangled up, and both end up getting hurt.

The first kissing scene was the beginnings of some clarity, they both let go of what holds them down, while that second scene is charged with angst, it weighs heavily on them. The parallel was just so good I needed to get this out.

[dorabellingham]

Too short for me

warning: none

characters: jobe x reader

summary: when you're making breakfast and he doesn't miss the opportunity to make fun of your height

request: yes!

may contain spelling and translation errors!

The kitchen in the cottage was small and cozy, with a large window that overlooked the forest covered in morning mist. You entered first, barefoot and wrapped in the cardigan Jobe had insisted you wear to protect yourself from the cold. He followed close behind, bending slightly so as not to hit his head on the door frame.

—This house is definitely not made for someone who is 6’4” tall!

He joked, laughing as you, with your short height, reached the counter without difficulty.

You glanced back, winking at him with a mischievous smile.

—Well, not everyone is born a walking tower.

Jobe laughed, striding closer and standing behind you, leaning down enough to rest his chin on the top of your head.

—But I like our height difference. It’s easier to hug you this way.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide your smile as you felt his arms wrap around your waist.

—You only like it because you can reach everything on the high shelves.

—True. Want to try it? What do you need, babe?

He asked, looking at the upper cabinets.

—Sugar, please, giant.

Jobe let out a low laugh and effortlessly reached out, grabbing the sugar jar from the highest cabinet. He handed it to you, but before you could grab it, he held the jar high.

—You’re going to get it yourself now.

He teased, lifting the sugar even higher.

You sighed dramatically and patted his belly.

—Stop being silly, Jobe.

—Go on, try it, darling. I want to see.

He insisted, laughing.

You tried to stretch, standing on your tiptoes and stretching your arms as far as you could, but he only pushed the jar further away.

—Babe, I swear if you don’t give me that…

He lowered the sugar a little, but only so that you could touch it. When you tried to grab it, he leaned forward, stealing a quick kiss.

—There. You can have it now.

You took the jar with an indignant expression, although you were clearly laughing.

—You’re insufferable, you know that?

—I’m insufferable and irresistible.

He corrected, winking for you.

You shook your head, laughing, and began measuring the sugar for the coffee. Meanwhile, your boyfriend was busy cutting fruit on the counter next to you, but he couldn’t resist leaving a slice or two near your face, encouraging you to bite directly from his hand.

—Look, this one’s perfect. Try it, babe.

He said, bringing a piece of strawberry closer to your mouth.

You tried to ignore it, but the temptation was stronger, and you took a bite. The sweet juice ran down the corner of your mouth, and Jobe quickly ran his thumb there to clean it.

—Is it okay?

He asked, looking at you with that smile that always made you blush.

—It’s great.

You replied, looking away and focusing on the pot on the stove.

Jobe didn’t miss the opportunity to wrap you in a hug from behind again, leaning down once more to rest his head on your shoulder.

—This is perfect, you know? The two of us, in the middle of nowhere, with no one to get in the way.

You smiled, turning your face slightly to look at him.

—It really is perfect, Jobe.

You lost yourselves in each other’s eyes for a moment until a loud hiss made you turn around. The coffee was starting to rise in the coffee maker.

—Oh, save it!

Jobe said, letting go of you and going to turn off the heat.

You laughed as he hurried over, his body bending to handle the coffee maker that seemed too small in his hands.

—You really are clumsy, huh?

—I’m efficient.

He replied, serving the coffee with a proud smile.

When everything was ready, you took the food to the small table near the window. Jobe pulled out the chair for you, and you sat down with a grateful smile, before sitting across from him.

Amidst laughter and teasing, breakfast turned into another intimate and unforgettable moment, reinforcing how precious that time together was for both of you.