#thomas would figure a way to make those into

[vibinsanemoved]

INHALES. he's such a lil shit, but of course that would be 10 paintings of a cloud outside from dawn to dusk.

[dcxdpdabbles]

So I had an idea for a snippet series if your interested🫣

Danny is actually Bruce's brother, but nobody knows until they meet him, when he comes to Gotham to create music videos for his song series EPIC. (Through a combination of his Space obsession and his mentoring with Pandora Danny gets hyper fixated on Greek mythology) (I can see him going throughout the DCU for each Saga and Gotham would definitely be the Underworlds Saga)(They only know about him because Diana becomes interested)

Btw ABSOLUTELY LOVE your stories, they make slogging through my Christmas MET at work SO much easier. 🫶🏻

That man has his mother's face.

It's an odd thought to have about a stranger, but Bruce has it all the same. He spotted him after noticing the other man setting up some recording equipment, checking the camera with the same smile his mother used to make whenever she was writing songs at her piano.

It was the kind of smile that hid a smirk in the corners of her lip. Like she already knew that she captured Bruce's and Thomas' attention simply by approaching the piano bench. It was her special talent that she was willing to gift to them, one they loved dearly and she knew it.

Martha Wayne wasn't known for her musical talent, not in the way she was known for her charities or her horrific death. People always talked about her in those two ways, or sometimes, they reduced her to just Thomas Wayne's wife.

None of them knew of the hours she spent writing up songs about her life. The way she told stories with lyrics, and how Bruce knew how his parents met, their first date, their first kiss, and the feeling of their first dance, all within one of his first lullabies. She hummed mindlessly throughout her day, so much so that Bruce often figured out her mood by the way she raised or lowered her hums.

It was her own piece of theme music. Her little touch of love echoed throughout the manor. When she died, Bruce realized how loud silence could actually be. It felt like drowning, that silence, and no amount filter noise could ever save him from it.

It wasn't until he took in Dick, who has a habit of beating his hands against items in makeshift drums, did his drowning finally end. Even if his son is tune deaf.

In fact, none of his kids are talented in singing, not even Damian. It wasn't a bad thing, but sometimes he wished one of the children could join him in his mother's duets. The ones she wrote for Thomas (his father wasn't the best singer around but Mom always had a way of masking that with her melodies) , and the ones she wrote for Bruce.

She even wrote some songs she wanted to sing at Bruce's wedding, always talking about it, never being too early to have the perfect song for his perfect dance. They were all half finished, because she got distracted and figured she would have time before Bruce actually needed them.

He kept her songs and her music sheets, tucked away in his office behind a fire proof vault. Sometimes he would pull them out and attempt to sing them.

Bruce knows he has an amazing voice, has had multiple people burst into tears after hearing him, but he could never bring himself to partake too long in each song. It hurt too much to think of his mother.

How she sounded better them him, and how he could not remember her speaking voice, but at least her singing lived on in his memories.

The man finishes setting up, moving to stand in front of the camera. He offers the curious crowd a slight wave- he's behind some ropes with a permit hanging off of it, permitting his shoot. The official setup and the strange outfit- robes and a white sheer clothe around his eyes- has gotten the attention of walkbyers. It's why Bruce had looked as well.

He shakes his whole body, before he taps the microphone he has on his scarf. It's adjusted so it's hidden behind cloth, before the man climbs onto the rock statues that are designed to resemble a human skull, it was one of Gotham's oldest and most famous works of art. He sits inside the hole of the skull's left eye, draping himself dramatically on the ledge of it while dangling a leg and facing away from the cameras.

A murmur goes through the crowd, mostly appreciative of his pose and physique. A couple of teenage girls beside him giggle helplessly as the music feels the air.

It's a soft pick up of strings, piano, and it blends well with the man's voice as he gracefully moves his hand through the air, speaking about a prophet giving a warning of a future.

Bruce is mesmerized as the man's voice rises and falls, swaying in the skull. He carefully tilts his head towards the camera, his singing voice rising as the more emotions carefully blend into his warning.

By the chorus, the singer lets himself fall gracefully out of the skull, walking slowly towards the camera, speaking now of a castle in red, and his face slowly gaining more urgency.

Just as he leans into the camera, he spins on his heel repeating the same prophecy, a gripping tragedy of overcoming trails and still failing. It's ends with the man leaping back into his eye, slowly untying his blindfold to reveal glowing green eyes staring and reaching as if the sky was the future he spoke off.

It must be contacts, and yet, Bruce feels like someone kicked him in the chest. Those were his mother's eyes, the same shape and the same color, even if they had a special effect. The song ends with a choir of people singing as he bows his head but Bruce doesn't hear anything over the sound of blood rushing his ears.

The crowd goes wild, clapping and cheering as the man breaks character to grin and smile at everyone, taking some cheeky bows. His mother's hidden kiss and sparkling eyes dancing with the warmth he remembers her by.

Without really realizing it, Bruce steps over the rope, walking towards the stranger as if in a trance. The singer spots him, smiling, dropping as Bruce gets near, "Hey, I rented this area for recording. You have to get behind the rope-"

"Who are you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Who are you. Why do you look like her?" Bruce breaths more then asks as he pulls out a photo of his mother from his pocket. The man's glowing green eyes- and now that he's close enough, Bruce can tell they are contacts, can see the slight ring around his pupils- blink slowly.

"Wow, she's a female version of me." The man gasps, touching his own face as if he could feel the similarities through his fingers. Holding out the picture makes this so much more uncanny, because the man's effeminate features and age almost makes it seem like Martha Wayne has come back to life.

"She was my mother." Bruce realized with a jolt that they are both at the age his mother died, and it makes something cold settle in his chest as the man blinks up at him.

"Were you ever adopted? My birth parents gave me up when I was born because of some twin superstition. At least that's what my adoptive parents said. I never bothered looking for them. All I know was that her first name was Martha."

Bruce steals some hair to confirm it but he knows deep in his heart the answer long before Danny Fenton, inspiring musical writer, test results come back.

This is his twin his parents gave up.

It takes months of investigation before he finds a centuries-old contract. The Wayne's had long ago promised the Court of Owls the spare of any twin born into the family, and to protect Danny from such a fate, Martha and Thomas faked his death and gave him away the day he was born.

His mother's song, "My lost little song," finally makes sense. She always cried when she sang that song.

[wondergotham]

You Look Like You Love Me

Request: “can you make a joaquin torres imagine where sam basically raised you and was your father figure. after some time, you grow up and then joaquin comes into the picture. we meet and fall in love blah blah blah. please!!”

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Warning: Mentions of blood & death

Your father’s name was Riley. Riley Y/L/N. He was a pararescue for the Air Force and your Uncle Sam’s best friend.

They were both selected to be test pilots for the EXO-7 Falcon.

Tragically, your father was killed during the mission by an RPG.

Your Uncle Sam ended his Air Force service after this and was left with guilt and turmoil. Even though there was nothing he could've done it still haunted him.

You were 12 years old, left without both of your parents.

Your mom passed away a few days after she gave birth. You never met her, but you had many memories of your father and Uncle Sam.

Sam had known you his whole life.

He was there when your father told him he was going to be an uncle, he was at the hospital after your mother gave birth, when your father asked him to be your godfather…..and so on.

He was there for you both. Even years later.

So when Riley died he knew he couldn't let the government take you away. Not when he knew he could raise you.

He was going to keep his best friend's promise.

Sam knew he would never be able to raise you the way Riley and your mom would have. But he could try. And maybe he would need Sarah’s help…but he knew he could do it.

He had to. For his best friend.

“Sam, you have to promise me, brother, if something happens to me you'll take care of Y/n.”

Not a day goes by that Sam doesn’t think about what his best friend told him.

He remembers it clear as day.

The hand Riley placed on his shoulder and how he stared into his soul. It’s almost as if he knew something would happen to him.

Sam was taken aback. He was going to throw in a joke but his best friend's expression said it all.

He was serious.

It was Sam's turn to place his hand on Riley's shoulder. "Riley. I promise you I will protect and take care of Y/n. She's my goddaughter, my family, you can always count on me."

Riley nodded.

"Thank you Sam. My little girl and I are lucky to have you in our lives."

After that moment everything happened so fast. Riley's funeral, you receiving the burial flag, his will being read.

Riley Y/L/N was known for his infectious laughter and unwavering loyalty to those he loved. He had a vibrant life filled with adventure, but his greatest joy was being a father to you, his spirited daughter.

The bond you shared was unique, filled with bedtime stories, impromptu dance parties, and countless adventures in the backyard.

As you approached your 12th birthday, your father began to ponder about the future. He wanted to ensure that should anything happen to him, you would be safe and cared for.

After much reflection, he decided to draft his will, a task that was daunting but necessary.

"In the event of my death, I designate my best friend, Samuel Thomas Wilson, as the legal guardian of my daughter, Y/n Y/l/n. I trust him to provide her with love, guidance, and the support she deserves."

Riley signed the document with a sense of peace, knowing that Sam would be a steadfast guardian. They had always been there for each other, navigating life's storms side by side.

Sam was a natural choice, someone who understood his values and shared his dreams and love for you.

Sam, standing at the front of the court, felt a ripple of emotions. He had always known how much Riley loved you, and now he was entrusted with your future.

Despite the overwhelming sadness, he felt a sense of purpose ignite within him. He stepped forward, his heart heavy but determined. He looked at the judge.

"I promise to honor Riley's wishes," He affirmed, his voice steady. "Y/n will always have a home with me. I will be there for her, just as Riley would have wanted."

With that promise, Sam embraced his new role as your guardian. He moved you into his and Sarah's home, surrounded by memories that felt both comforting and heart-wrenching.

The first few weeks were challenging; you were still grappling with your grief, and Sam was navigating the complexities of parenthood.

In the months that followed the house was filled with laughter and love. Sam made sure to keep your father's memory alive, sharing stories of their adventures and teaching you the values your father held dear.

You both shared stories of him, laughing and crying as you remembered the man who had brought you two together.

One evening, as you both sat together on the porch, you looked up at Sam, your eyes filled with uncertainty. “Do you think Dad is watching over us?” You asked.

Sam nodded, his heart aching for your loss. “I believe he is. And I think he wants us to be happy, and continue living our lives to the fullest. He loved you so much Y/n. I know I'm not your dad sweetheart but I promise you will always be safe and loved. I will always be here for you, okay?"

"I know Uncle Sam. You know, my dad loved you too. He always said you were the brother he never had. He said something about you and him being the less rich version of Dr. Dre and Eminem."

Sam snorted before throwing his head back with laughter.

"Yeah, that sounds like your father."

As the months turned into years, Sam encouraged you to pursue your interests, from academics to sports, always reminding you that you were capable of achieving your dreams.

Though your father was gone, the love he had instilled in your lives continued to thrive, a testament to friendship, family, and the enduring power of love.

════════ ⋆★⋆ ════════

Now several years later your bond was stronger than ever. After a lot of hesitation and lectures, Sam let you become an Avenger.

He knew your father would have wanted that for you. You both shared the passion to protect and help people.

You joined the Avengers when Tony brought Peter to the airport battle in Germany. (Not that you remember, because you didn't anymore)

Since then you've been helping the world and your Uncle/Godfather as Y/H/N. (Your hero name)

Earlier Sam received a call from President Ross. He was sending the both of you and Joaquin to Oaxaca, Mexico for a mission.

Luckily your uncle had been working with Joaquin for 3 years now so you were able to spend more time on the field kicking ass instead of being behind the computer.

Those days were long gone.

Sam did this because he still was hesitant about you joining on some missions. Despite the fact that Tony, Natasha and Steve continued to train you after Thanos had snapped half of the population away.

Your Uncle was one out of the many gone but you were left untouched. You had to live 5 years without the man that had became a second father to you.

To make a long story short you were a completely different person when Sam came back. You were all grown up.

You were a stronger, quicker, and more skilled fighter. But in the years that Sam was gone you also managed to set up a foundation named after your father.

The Riley Y/L/N Foundation, there was also a scholarship named after him and an award. Sam could not be more prouder. You had done great things in the time that he was gone.

He liked to believe him and Riley raised you well.

Now when it came to boys, Sam was definitely overprotective. He said,"No dating until you're 30." But that obviously wasn't going to happen.

Sure you had a few crushes here and there but they never became anything more.

Sam was certain he wouldn't have to worry about any guy coming into your life until he realized how big of a crush Joaquin had on you.

He did everything he could to delay the moment when you two would meet.

Today, it was out of his control.

Sam walked in first and you followed next to him.

As you step into the room, you feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Your attention is immediately drawn to Joaquin.

You feel a rush of anticipation. He’s cute, you think, noticing the way he fidgets slightly—a sign of his own nerves.

It makes you feel strangely comforted, as if you’re both navigating this moment together.

As Joaquin stands by, he feels a flutter of nerves in his stomach when he first sees you enter the room.

Wow, he thinks, she’s stunning.

You’re wearing a simple but beautiful dress under your white blazer that catches the light just right, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

His heart races as he notices the way your hair falls softly around your shoulders, framing your face.

"Joaquin?" Sam snapping his fingers instantly made the young man to look up at him.

Oh God it's bad, Sam thought.

"Sorry, you were saying?" He shook his head trying to refocus. There's no way he just made a fool of himself in front of you already.

The small giggle that escapes your lips is like music, and Joaquin can’t help but smile, feeling warmth spread through him.

"I want you to meet my niece and goddaughter Y/n L/n also known as-"

"Y/H/N." Joaquin finished.

"She's going to be joining us on the mission today."

You caught the way he froze like a deer in headlights but found it adorable.

What if she doesn’t like me? The thought flickers through Joaquin's mind, but it quickly fades as he recalls your smile.

This must be what they mean by love at first sight, he muses, a mix of excitement and disbelief washing over him.

He feels his cheeks heat up, wishing he could muster the confidence to say something without stumbling over his words.

Just be yourself, he reminds himself, taking a deep breath.

As you move closer, he prepares himself, ready to embrace whatever magic might come from this first meeting.

He takes a steadying breath, feeling both excitement and anxiety swirling in his stomach.

Finally, gathering his courage, he steps forward, his heart pounding like a drum. His step feels monumental, he knows he can’t let this chance slip away.

“Hey, I’m Joaquin, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm a huge fan of your work both on and off the field."

He extends his arm waiting for you to shake his hand. You feel a warmth spread through you.

His voice might be a bit shaky, but there’s an earnestness in his words that captivates you.

"Especially with everything you have done to preserve your father's legacy. It's incredible.” He smiles, his voice slightly shaky but warm, hoping to convey his genuine interest.

He’s different, you think, appreciating how he seems genuinely interested in you.

When your hand finally meets his he swears he could have flatlined in that moment. Your hand is small but soft with a gentle yet firm grip.

Your eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Thank you Joaquin that's very sweet of you I really appreciate it. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, I've heard a lot about you.”

The moment your eyes lock, a spark ignites within him. He feels an electric connection, as if the world around you has faded into the background.

You feel a spark—a sense of possibility.

Could this be something special? The thought comes through your mind, making your heart race even faster.

You find yourself leaning in, drawn to his sincerity and charm. It's so easy to talk to him.

For the first time in a while, you feel giddy and hopeful about what might unfold between you both.

"All good things I hope." Joaquin chuckles nervously.

"And nothing but, I promise." You wink.

Dios mío, he thinks.

For a split second one of Joaquin's knees gives in but he quickly recovers by standing back up straight.

It went unnoticed to you as you glanced at your phone but not to Sam.

In that moment, Joaquin feels a rush of hope. Maybe this is the start of something special.

He realizes that this simple conversation is not just a moment; it’s the beginning of a connection he’s been yearning for.

"Okay sweetheart let me show you where you can put your gear. We're gonna be taking off soon." Sam wraps his arm around your shoulder leading you away.

You nodded excitedly looking at Joaquin before following your uncle, "I'll see you later Joaquin."

"Yeah, of course." He smiles.

Sam looks at him mouthing a no and shaking his finger before walking out with you.

Joaquin just chuckles quietly.

He can’t help but feel a sense of excitement about this unexpected connection. He enjoyed the small moment, already imagining the laughter and adventures you might share in the future.

Little did he know, you were doing the same.

════════ ⋆★⋆ ════════

A/N:

If you use the page break above give credits. Thank you.

[sapphirexsolarium]

You Were Meant For The Ocean

tw: angst, hurt/no comfort, non-mc!reader x Rafayel, couldn't proof read through the tears :') "You were meant for the ocean." He smiles, watching you lay out on the patio with a book in hand. The warm sea breeze washing over you the salty air carrying into his studio.

"I think so too." You smile looking over at him as he paints. He gets up and lays out beside you, squishing the two of you together on the lounge chair. "Raf-"

"I'm tired and I want to take a nap." He lays on top of you, nuzzling into your chest.

"You're such a pain." You roll your eyes but you smile, fingers gently caressing his hair as you continue to read under the warm sun.

What warmth you felt that day. In your hubris you assumed there were many warm days to come. How wrong you were.

-

Watching Rafayel fall head over heels in love with his bride all over again ached your heart in a way that could only be described as soul crushing.

How could you compare to her? Tied by destiny and blessed with the ocean's love. How could you ever compare?

Did you have any right to him? Whatever the two of you shared, it wasn't in any official capacity. But some part of you thought that maybe… Well, it doesn't matter now does it?

It was far too easy how you slipped out of his world. You took quiet steps out the door. Who were you to interfere with destiny? What's the point of making a fuss when you won't be heard? Why fight what has already been written?

-

Rafayel didn't notice your absence for a long while. He was so wistfully in love it blinded him to the rest of the world. It was perhaps months until he realized you hadn't stopped by his studio in ages. There was a time he would come home to his studio and find you lounging on the patio, reading your book and waiting for his return.

When he pulls out his phone to text you he's struck with the painful realization of just how much he's neglected you.

"We should get lunch soon. That cafe by the beach is opening this weekend! c:"

"The arcade just restocked with a bunch of cute plushies we should try to get them~!"

"I heard from Thomas that your art exhibition is happening in 2 weeks. Why didn't you tell me?? I wanna come!"

"Are you alright? You haven't been answering my texts or calls lately.."

"Are you busy? We should meet up!"

"Raf this is getting a bit ridiculous.."

"Can we talk?"

"Lose my number."

He quickly tries calling your number but its sent directly to an automated voicemail. He starts texting you but they remain unsent. He pulls open his social media to check on you but he finds himself blocked from all your accounts. Panic starts to settle in his chest. When was the last time he saw you? Or even spoke to you? He can't remember. In no time he reaches your apartment but when the door opens its a complete stranger that had just moved in a week ago. What the hell?

He's desperate now and rushes to your job. Surely you'll be there right? He's told by your coworker that you were transferred to Skyhaven. You had put in the request yourself. Your co-worker was surprised that he wasn't at the farewell party.

Your departure was sudden for everyone. Every person he calls has no idea why you made the move. Until Thomas.

"Listen… I kind of figured something was up when she didn't show up for your last 2 exhibitions. I thought you were going to bring her when you asked for the tickets but then you brought that other girl around. I didn't want to pry so I left it alone, I figured you were in one of those hyper-fixation phases but then that other girl kept showing up wherever you were and she stopped coming around. I only heard about her leaving because her coworkers called me to invite us to her farewell party. I wasn't sure if you two were on bad terms so I just sent the invite via email. To be honest I was also surprised when you didn't show up but she didn't look surprised at all…"

Rafayel was shaking where he stood. Text messages, calls, emails all went unseen because he was too preoccupied with his beloved bride.

It felt like the world was collapsing in on him and to make matters worse the clouds parted to show Skyhaven floating high above him.

-

You look down at Linkon. The city seems so quiet from high above. Far off in the distance you can see the beautiful hue of ocean blue peeking through the skyline. Your heart longs for it.

"You were meant for the ocean…"

You close your eyes as that dull ache spreads across your chest. "Not anymore."

-

Months pass and Rafayel is in the throws of an artistic frenzy. Painting after painting of raging seas, stormy oceans and bleak, desolate islands. His beloved bride was his only solace but every time he sees her now, he thinks of you and the guilt rages on in his chest.

He's back out on the beach, searching for shells to mix into paint when he sees you for the first in what felt like ages. But you're not alone.

"Caleb! It's freezing!"

"Come on~ You said you used to love the ocean!"

"Used to, Caleb. Used to!" You're bundled up in a warm coat standing in front of a tall man with deep brown hair. He laughs as he helps you bundle up more. "Plus who goes to the beach during the winter?"

"It's the only time I had off. Besides…" He pulls you in closer, nuzzling your red nose, "You look kinda cute when you're freezing." He teases, making you pout more. "Ah, just too cute." He leans in to gently kiss you.

Does he have any right to feel the jealousy in his chest? In a twisted turn of events he finds himself longing for you. Is that even fair? He has his beloved bride. The only one to ever have his heart. So why does his heart ache for you? What is this soul crushing feeling?

He wants to run to you. Hold you again. Feel your warmth. Breathe in your scent. He wants to go back to the days where you lounged on his patio and he could sink into your arms. He wants what he's lost, selfishly so.

You don't even notice him in the distance. Your fingers intertwined with Caleb's as you both walk further down the beach. Away from Rafayel.

"You were meant for the ocean…" He quietly murmurs, the sounds of the crashing waves drowning out his cries.

"I really thought you'd like the ocean, baby." Caleb muses, keeping your cold fingers warm in his pocket.

"Not anymore…" You softly sigh, looking out at the waters that no longer held your heart.

[queenshelby]

Siblings (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Half!Sister

Warning: Incest

It was around 10'clock at night when you heard a quiet knock on the door.  You couldn't help but feel a little surprised—and a bit nervous. You had never had a visitor this late before as usually your siblings were out, getting themselves into trouble, and your Aunt Polly, who had taken it upon herself to look after everyone, was in bed.

Your sister Ada, with whom you shared a room, had sneaked out earlier to see her boyfriend Freddy, so it was just you that night, alone in your small room, lying on your single bed, wearing a nightgown and reading a book. 

"Who is it?" you called out, your heart skipping a beat.

"It's Thomas," came the reply. His voice was quiet and calm. 

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should let him in that late at night. He had just come back from the war a few weeks ago and his demure had changed towards you. It was almost like he had become obsessed with you, wanting to keep you company more often than you were used to. 

Thomas was gone for five years and came back more handsome than ever.  He had a rugged jawline, and deep-set blue eyes. He wasn't tall, but well-built with a perfect gentleman's body.

The war had hardened him, made him stronger, but also wiser. He had seen the worst of humanity, and you could tell that it had affected him deeply. It was understandable; he had been through hell and back.

"May I come in?" Thomas eventually asked, his voice still composed.

Without saying a word, you stood up and covered yourself with a robe , before opening the door slowly.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room, illuminating Thomas's figure. He looked a bit tired, but his eyes were still bright and clear.

"Of course," you said finally, as you walked back to your bed and folded your book closed. 

"I have heard that there was trouble today, at the docks," Thomas  said as he sat down on the edge of your bed. He looked tired, but fatigue failed to sap the confidence and dominance from his demeanor.

You sighed and nodded. "Ada told me not to go there, but curiosity got the better of me Tommy," you admitted whereas, the truth was, that just recently you began to involve yourself with Isiah, another Peaky Blinder and your new-found love had gotten you into trouble. 

"Curiosity, eh?" Thomas chuckled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Isiah wouldn't have anything to do with this curiosity now, would he?" he then asked, his eyes locked on yours.

You looked away, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks. "He never meant for me to get involved, Tommy. It just kind of happened," you replied quietly, seeing how Isiah took risks and those risks involved you. 

"Listen Y/N, you are a fucking Shelby," Thomas said, his voice stern but not unkind. "And you need to be careful about who you associate with."

"But Isiah is your friend, is he not?" you asked, slightly confused with Thomas's sudden change of tone.

"Isiah works for me Love. That doesn't make him a friend," Tommy replied curtly, his gaze still fixed on you. "Despite, even if he was my friend, I wouldn't allow him to be involved with my fucking sister,"  Tommy added, the veneer of calmness cracking a bit.

You sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a knot forming in your stomach. The way things were going, it seemed as though you had made a mistake. With the tension in the room growing thicker by the second, you felt compelled to speak.

"Honestly, I don't even know why I got myself mixed up with him, Tommy," you admitted, shame coloring your voice. "I suppose I was bored," you added as an afterthought.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed your face. "You're better than that, Love," he finally said, his voice steady and firm. "And if boredom is what bothers you, then I am sure we can make arrangements for you to work at the betting house," he then told you a lot more gently than before, placing some stray hair behind your ear. 

"Aunt Pol won't allow it," you  said quietly, not because you didn't want to work there, but because you believed that your aunt would not approve of such an idea.

"It is not up to Pol," Thomas said shortly, his fingertips  tracing the curve of your cheek gently. "But out of curtesy, I will discuss it with her, alright?" he added after a short pause.

Before you could respond, Thomas's hand dropped from your face, and he stood up, his presence in the small room suddenly overwhelming.

"But Y/N, if you are going to continue seeing Isiah...," he began to say and you quickly interrupted him. 

"Not after today," you replied firmly. "Not after what happened at the docks. I promise," you added, reassuring your brother.

Thomas looked at you, relief visible in his eyes. "Good. I'll hold you to that Y/N," he said before leaning down to give you a peck on your forehead.

You blushed slightly, shocked by this sudden display of affection from your half-brother. But before you could react, Thomas walked out of your room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and, when you settled back on to your bed, you couldn't help but wonder what just happened. Thomas and you have always had a close relationship since him and Arthur had assumed responsibility for you after your father got arrested by the police, but you have never witnessed such a display of emotion from him before.

As you lay there in the dark, the silence was broken by the moonlight filtering through the blinds. The light cast a soothing glow on the room and made the floral quilt on the twin bed look more inviting. Your mind was abuzz with thoughts, each one trying to get a different message across. You tried to silence them and focus on the recent events.

This whole situation with Thomas, your curiosity, the sudden shift in your relationship - you knew that it was not something to take lightly. It felt different, and you could not ignore the strange tension that lingered between the two of you.

You sighed deeply and turned to face the window. It was then that you noticed the stars twinkling in the night sky ever so slightly. They were there, silent and unassuming, much like Thomas. You couldn't help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

Thomas had always been a mystery to you, even before he left for France, but now it felt like there was a whole other person behind the blue eyes that you had grown up with.

Days had passed and you indeed started working at the gambling den , which was located in the heart of Small Heath. It was a bustling place, and it was chaotic during peak hours, but you found joy in the chaos. Surprisingly, Aunt Polly did not seem to mind much; she knew that this was one of the ways to keep you out of trouble.

While you were working there, your brother Thomas kept a close eye on you and as different men attempted to flirt with you, they quickly learned that you were untouchable, a notion further solidified by Thomas’s warning glares.

On two occasions, he even threatened gamblers with a gun after you were propositioned for a date, and it was clear to you that he wasn’t playing around. Thomas Shelby never made idle threats, after all.

"You do realise that most of these men are harmless, Tommy,"  you said to Thomas one evening, after you had closed the betting shop for the night. The sky was a deep indigo and the stars were shining brightly.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes sharp and piercing. "That may be true, but you are my sister and they need to show you some fucking respect,"  he retorted, his voice steadier than before.

"But Tommy," you began, still unsure of what to make of this sudden outburst. "I am capable of handling my own affairs. I can fend them off," you assured your brother who appeared somewhat overprotective of you.

"I am sure you are," Thomas agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But what kind of employer would I be if I did not at least protect my employees from unwanted advances, eh?" he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a half-smile.

"A pretty shite one I suppose," you admitted, returning his half-smile with a lopsided grin as he locked the door.

"Exactly," he concurred, shaking his head as you stepped onto the sidewalk, right by your brother's side. "Now let me walk you home. It's late," Thomas said as he always did when you worked in his betting house until after dawn. 

As Thomas and you walked side by side, the silence between you was comfortable, but there was still something that kept niggling the back of your mind. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it seemed like Thomas was hiding something from you.

Nonetheless, as you walked to the house you shared with Polly, Tommy and the others, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, trying to gauge what it was that was causing this strange behavior lately.

It was like he took a liking in you that almost felt, more than brotherly, but you decided not to focus on the matter and instead enjoyed the warmth of his company while it lasted.

Days passed, and your routine at the gambling den turned into sort of a normality, despite the occasional tensions between patrons and your brother that threatened to boil over.

On evening, at your house when you and Tommy were on your own, you ought to address it, his overprotectiveness and  the strange tension that kept building between you.

But, Tommy simply brushed it off and told you that he was simply concerned for your safety.

"But I am safe here Tommy, with you and the others," you reminded him, your tone gentle yet firm. "And at the gambling house, even if some of the customers are inappropriate, it is a safe place because no one would dare to fuck with you, Arthur or John and  I think you know that," you said, unable to mask the frustration that crept into your voice.

Tommy looked down at you, his gaze intense but soft. He took a deep breath before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully.

"Y/N, I know that you can look after yourself but, what I have learned over the years, is that no one is safe. Not here, not anywhere," Thomas said, his voice still firm but softer than before.

You stared into Thomas's eyes, feeling a strange mix of emotions coursing through your veins. Awe, admiration, and... something more. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on yet.

"The war changed you, you know?"  you said the words before you could stop yourself. 

Thomas sighed and looked at you, his expression filled with a mix of sadness and guilt. "Yes, I know," he admitted quietly. "I can't help it, Y/N. I've seen and done things that most people couldn't even imagine." 

You nodded, understanding dawning on you.

"No, you are right Tommy. I can't imagine," you said softly, caressing the scar on his cheek, causing Tommy to lean in closer, his eyes locked on yours. 

You felt your heart race as you looked into Thomas's eyes. There was something about him that made you feel safe, yet also intensely aware of your feelings for him. You had never felt this way about anyone before.

"But you know what's amusing though?" you murmured, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room as Thomas leaned over some more, his fingers lightly traced your jawline, you couldn't help but play along. "You are so overprotective towards me when it comes to potential suitors and there is almost no reason for you to be that way, because I never even kissed a boy before, so it just seems so absurd to me," you continued, allowing yourself to drop your guard, just a little.

"I find that hard to believe, Y/N," Thomas murmured, the pad of his thumb brushing the corner of your lips before slowly moving to trace the length of your jawbone.

Your breath hitched in your chest, hearing his low voice uttering your real name; you always felt an odd sense of familiarity from him, especially when he chose to use your given name, just for a brief moment. It almost felt like the two of you were not step-siblings. 

"No, it's true. I never kissed a boy before, Tommy," you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You didn't know what had come over you, but suddenly, you couldn't help but feel drawn to your half-brother. "What is it like?" you

asked, your lips barely moving as Thomas continued to trace a path along your jawline.

"What's what like?" Thomas asked, his voice low and husky, as he leaned in even closer to you.

"Kissing," you clarified, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks as you admitted this.

Thomas seemed taken aback by the question, his gaze lingering briefly on your lips before meeting your eyes again.

"I guess it depends on who you are kissing," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes, it's just a kiss and it feels like nothing because it means nothing. But other times, it's more than that. It can be a way to express your feelings for someone. To show them how much you care about them," Thomas explained, his gaze still locked on yours.

"Do you think you could show me?" you whispered, surprising yourself with your own boldness.

Thomas's eyes narrowed as he looked at you, taking in your flushed cheeks and the way your breathing had quickened.

"Seeing that you are my sister, that would be inappropriate, don't you think?"  Thomas said, a subtle hint of amusement in his voice. 

"It's just a kiss, Tommy," you replied, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. "And no one needs to know," you continued, your heart pounding in your chest as you confessed this vulnerable part of yourself to your brother.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes searching yours as he processed your words. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and for a moment, you wondered if he was going to tell you no . But then something shifted in his gaze, a heat that made your heart race.

"Alright. Fuck it," Thomas muttered, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

You gasped slightly, surprised by how sudden the kiss was and how soft and gentle his lips were.

Your  hands reached up to grip his arms, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingertips as you leaned into the kiss. Thomas's other hand reached up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Not knowing what to do, you followed his lead and when he parted his lips, you did the same before tentatively touching your tongue to his, experimenting with the new sensation. 

Your brother's lips were warm and as the kiss deepened, you felt a fire ignite within you, spreading from your core to every inch of your body. Your heart was racing as Thomas's hand dropped down from your hair, tracing a path around your neck as he deepened the kiss once more before, suddenly,  he pulled away.

You stared at Thomas, your lips still tingling from the kiss. You could see a storm of emotions raging within his eyes, but you couldn't quite decipher what he was feeling. Was it guilt? Shock? Excitement? Pleasure?

"I am sorry Love, but I have business to attend to," he told you with a horse  voice, his breathing heavy and uneven from the kiss.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath as well. You could feel a blush spreading across your cheeks as you moved away from him, giving him some much-needed space. Thomas looked at you, his eyes heated with desire, before turning away and leaving the room without another word.

Even after he had left. a jolt of pleasurable heat still lingered on your lips where Thomas’s mouth had just been, you couldn’t believe what had just happened. Your stepbrother, fucking Thomas, he had just kissed you and you didn’t know if you should feel guilty about it or if you should be elated.

“You’re an idiot,” you muttered to yourself as you ran your fingers through your hair, still feeling dazed. Your mind was racing, replaying the image of Thomas kissing you, over and over again.

Your lips were still tingling from the contact, but the room felt cold and empty once he left, leaving you alone with your tumultuous thoughts.

You couldn't believe what had just happened. Thomas had kissed you. He fucking kissed you and you were the one that had asked him to do it. 

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[eclipixels]

Meanie

Rafayel x Reader

Content: Rafayel's brattiness goes a little too far and he makes you cry

[2,026 words]

      It had been one of those days, the kind that felt cursed from the moment you opened your eyes. The kind where every little thing seemed to pile on top of the last, weighing you down until the smallest inconvenience felt like the final straw. And as if the universe hadn’t already decided to test your patience, Rafayel had spent the entire day being an absolute brat.

      It had started first thing in the morning, before you’d even had the chance to fully wake up. You’d stirred from sleep, groggy and aching, only to realize that you were freezing. Confused, you reached down and found nothing but the thin sheet clinging to the edge of the bed. The thick comforter, the one that had been keeping you warm all night, was completely wrapped around Rafayel, who was snuggled up in a cocoon of stolen warmth.

      You shifted closer, nudging him lightly in an attempt to reclaim even a small corner of the blanket. “Raf, share the blanket.” you mumbled, your voice heavy with sleep.

      All you got in response was a low groan, followed by him rolling even further away from you, tightening the comforter around himself like it was a suit of armor. Then, with the kind of sleepy arrogance only he could manage, he muttered, “Figure it out, princess.”

      Your eye twitched.

      Unbeknownst to you, this was his dumb way of wanting you to cuddle him. He assumed you'd snuggle him for warmth.

      Biting back a grumble, you decided to let it go. Maybe he was just half-asleep and unaware of what he was doing. Maybe he’d share once he woke up properly. Maybe—

      Nope. The second you tried to tug the blanket back, Rafayel let out the most exaggerated, drawn-out sigh, like you were personally ruining his entire morning. Then, instead of being a decent human being and sharing, he grabbed your pillow and placed it over his face with a dramatic huff.

      Fine. Whatever. It was probably a good time to get out of bed right now anyway.

      Dragging yourself out of bed, you shivered against the cold air and forced yourself toward the bathroom to do your usual routine. That’s when you realized you got your period. Great. Just great. The dull ache in your lower stomach had begun, and each step sent an uncomfortable throb through your body.

      You headed to the kitchen in search of your favorite tea, knowing it would help. Just the thought of it eased your tension slightly. But as you arrived, the familiar aroma already filled the air. Standing at the counter was Rafayel, cup in hand, his lips curling around the rim as he took a slow, satisfied sip.

      Are you serious right neow. Bruh.

      “Please tell me that’s not the last of my tea.” you started cautiously, eyes darting toward the empty tea box on the counter.

      “Yeah,” he blinked at you, then, with zero remorse, he shrugged. “I can have Thomas get you some more.”

      You took a deep breath. Counted to three. Reminded yourself that murder was illegal.

      He wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was just being Rafayel. A walking headache disguised as a very pretty boy.

      Fine. You’d handle it. You’d push through. You’d make do with coffee instead. It wasn’t what you wanted, but at least it was warm.

      You thought maybe, just maybe, that would be the end of his antics for the day. But no. Oh, no. He was just getting started.

      He spent the rest of the morning flicking the strings of your hoodie whenever he walked past, tugging at them just enough to be annoying. He poked you randomly for no reason and whined when you wouldn’t share your ice cream with him. When you had finally settled onto the couch to distract yourself with a movie, he’d waltzed in and changed the damn thing right as the plot was getting good. And when you glared at him, he just shrugged and said, “It’s not my fault you have bad taste in movies.”

      For the record, your taste in movies was excellent. He was just an insufferable little gremlin.

      You tried, really, really tried, to brush it off. To let it slide. Because normally, this kind of thing didn’t bother you that much. Normally, his teasing was something you could handle, even enjoy in small doses. But today was different. Today, your body hurt, your patience was thin, and everything felt heavier than it should.

      And then came the final straw.

      You had spent the entire afternoon resisting the urge to snap at him, telling yourself that he’d get bored eventually. That he’d stop pushing your buttons and go back to being tolerable. But then, when you were sitting at the dining table, desperately needing just one tiny moment of kindness, you spotted it—Rafayel’s favorite raspberry cream puffs. A fresh, buttery, flaky piece of heaven, sitting untouched with a sticky note of his name.

      You hesitated before asking. He’d already gotten on your last nerve,so maybe he’d take pity on you this once.

      “Raf,” you started, careful, cautious. “Can I have a bite?”

      He glanced at you, then at the pastry.

      For a moment, you thought he might actually say yes. His fingers drummed against the table, and he seemed to be weighing the question in his head. But then, right when hope sparked in your chest, he picked up the pastry, raised it to his lips, and took the biggest, most exaggerated bite humanly possible.

      Your mouth dropped open in disbelief.

      And that was it. That was the moment your already fragile patience snapped like an overstretched rubber band. You didn’t even have it in you to argue. Instead, you felt your throat tighten, hot frustration prickling behind your eyes before you could stop it.

      It wasn’t even just about Rafayel; everything felt overwhelming, and all you wanted was for him to be sweet to you today. The weight of the day had pressed down on you like an unbearable blanket, suffocating in its intensity. It wasn’t just the cramps or the discomfort; it was everything. The hormones, the exhaustion, the world itself feeling just a little too sharp around the edges. And yet, Rafayel had spent most of the day being bratty, teasing, occasionally infuriating in that way only he could be.

      Tears streamed down your face as you froze.

      “Baby…” Rafayel’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, softer now, tinged with something almost hesitant. “Are you crying?”

      You turned away from him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling, but it was pointless. He tried stepping towards you but you stopped him.

      “Go away,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

      The words weren’t just a request; they carried weight, a command laced with the bond you shared. Rafayel felt it immediately. His chest lit up with the warmth of it, the magic forcing him still, locking him in place as though the universe itself had pressed pause. His lips parted slightly, caught between protest and realization.

      And then, as if the pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked together, understanding dawned in his sharp sunset eyes. He had felt something all day, an ache lingering at the edges of his awareness, but he had brushed it off. As a sea god, human pain wasn’t the most agonizing thing in the world to him. He could experience it, but it never debilitated him. So, he hadn’t paid much attention to the dull cramps, the underlying discomfort. But now, as he took in your curled-up form, your teary eyes, the way you refused to even look at him—he felt dumb. Of course. You were on your period. And he didn’t do a single thing to help you feel better.

      He got so wound up in wanting your attention that he didn’t realize how miserable his attempts were making you.

      “Do you hate me?” Your voice was small, fragile in a way that twisted something inside him. He hated that you even felt like you had to ask.

      “Of course not,” he said, voice rougher than he intended, thick with something unspoken.

      “Then why were you being such a meanie?”

      That nearly made him laugh, but the sniffle that followed kept him firmly grounded in reality. He let out a slow, heavy breath, dragging a hand through his lilac hair as guilt settled deep in his bones.

      “I’m so sorry, cutie. I just wanted your attention.”

      You didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, he thought you were going to push him away again. But you didn’t. And in Rafayel’s mind, that was progress. Carefully, as if waiting for you to stop him, he reached out and wrapped his arms around you. His grip was firm but gentle, protective without being suffocating. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in.

      “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured against your hair. “Whatever you want.”

      At that, you finally peeked up at him, lashes damp. A spark of mischief danced in your eyes, and your lips curled into the beginnings of a smile.

      “Anything?”

      Rafayel nodded, unwavering. “Anything.”

      And that was how he found himself being dragged around for an entire day of doting on you.

      The moment the words left his mouth, you wasted no time in taking full advantage of his promise. First, it was bubble tea. Not just one, but three different flavors because, in his words, you needed options. Rafayel handed over his black card, watching as you delightedly picked your favorites.

      Then came the hoodie situation. You wanted those fluffy weighted ones. He ordered five because why not? Not just that, he got you a few dresses and accessories too. Of course, they had to be designers, because if he was going to spoil you, he was going to do it properly.

      Your cramps were still bad? No problem. Rafayel ran you a hot bath, complete with rose petals because apparently, a ‘normal bath’ wasn’t enough. He even adjusted the water temperature to be exactly how you liked it, using his evol abilities to keep it warm for as long as you wanted.

      He acted as though all of this was some grand inconvenience, sighing heavily every time you asked for something new, dramatically rolling his eyes, but the twinkle in them never dimmed.

      When you asked him to get you a heating pad, he gave you an offended look. Why were you asking for a heating pad? He was right there? He pressed his palms against your lower abdomen and you felt it start to warm to the perfect temperature.

      While you scrolled through your phone, he sighed. His fingers absently traced circles against your side as he did. “I have become a mere object for your convenience.”

      You grinned, completely unfazed. “Correct.”

      At one point, when you asked him to bring you snacks in the middle of the night, he left and came back with an entire grocery bag full of your favorites.

      “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered, setting it beside you with a huff.

      You beamed up at him, eyes full of mischief. “I am lucky.” To emphasize your point, you popped a piece of chocolate into your mouth, chewing happily as if you hadn’t been crying just hours ago.

      Rafayel squinted at you, suspicion written all over his face. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

      You shrugged, feigning innocence.

      He sighed heavily. so dramatically, as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. Then, with zero warning, he threw himself onto the bed on top of you, arm draped across his forehead like he was in some kind of tragic play. “This is karma, isn’t it?”

      You hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider. “Maybe.”

      But the truth is, he didn’t mind. Not one bit. Because seeing you go from overwhelmed and teary-eyed to giggling and carefree—seeing you feel loved, taken care of—was worth every second. If spoiling you until he was broke meant you’d smile like this, he’d do it a hundred times over.

[wonderjanga]

How Do You Just Know My Parental Figure?

Marvel just knows everyone’s mom’s for some reason and gives no explanation as to how. He just does.

Supes: *shows Billy a picture of his parents for whatever reason*

Marvel: “Supes… your mom is Mrs. Martha?”

Supes: “Yes? Do you know her…?”

Marvel: “Yeah! We met in ‘61 at a pie eating competition! She was the one making the pies for the competition.”

Supes: “Why were you at a pie eating competition? Were you participating?”

Marvel: “Uh yeah? I wanted that prize money and pie. Anyways, me and her hit it off when we got to talking. Then, the time bubble happened, but when it burst, we got back in touch and we make pies together now!”

Supes: “Huh. Ma’s never mentioned you.”

Marvel: “Really? i’ve been to the farm and everything.”

Supes: “You’ve been to the farm?!”

Marvel: “Yeah? A bake pies with her and try to help around the farm. By the way, Mr. Jonathan is your dad, right?”

Supes: “Yes?? How come I never knew this…?”

By the way, Billy goes as Billy and not as Marvel because he met like a maybe fourteen year old Ma Kent as Billy at the pie eating competition. Also, Martha knows he’s Cap so since Martha knows his identity, he figured she’d told her son. By the way, whenever Jon comes he’s so happy to see Billy cause wow! His grandma never told him there was another kid here. He figures Billy was a farmhand or something. Jon’s pretty sure that’s a thing anyways.

or

Wondy and Marvel: *sparring*

Marvel: “You know Diana you look just like your mother.”

Wondy: *falters slightly cause that came out of nowhere* “What?”

Marvel: *takes that as his chance to grab and throw her* “Yeah, you do! I guess it makes sense since you’re her daughter and all.”

Wondy: “Wait? you’re saying all of this like you personally know my mother.”

Marvel: “I did! Several thousand years ago. We used to be best friends! Then I was selected as a champion and had to leave and that’s when of our friendship fell out.”

Wondy: “So you’re an Amazonian?”

Marvel: “No, no no no I was an Amazonian.”

That previous champ and Hippolyta were actually besties but a young Hippolyta didn’t want her to go to man’s world because then she wouldn’t be able to come back to Themyscira. The previous champ went anyways and that was taken as a sort of act of betrayal, not that Diana’s mother would admit it. Not to mention, the previous champ couldn’t even come back to apologize considering you forget the island’s location if you leave.

or

Reporter: “Captain Marvel, as a member of the Justice League is there anything you would like to share with us about Bruce Wayne considering he sponsors you all?”

Marvel: “No, I don’t actually know anything about the guy. But you who I do know? Patrick Wayne.”

Reporter: Pardon? Please elaborate?

Marvel: “He was a pretty funny guy. He let me be a test dummy for all his little gadgets. It was fun!”

Meanwhile…

Bruce: *sitting on his couch watching this and remembers how he did research on his grandfather, and how most of those experimental gadgets were deadly*

Patrick and Marvel were actually pretty good buddies. They were like this 🤞. Then, the time bubble happened and by the time Billy got out, both Patrick and his son Thomas were already dead. Billy got really fortunate with Martha still being alive now that he thinks about it.

[veebeeboo109]

~ Some drabbles of the LADS Men and Hair~

(Done as a writing warmup) ===LADS x Reader===

Xavier:

The least particular about his hair, he couldn't care less how it looks. The only time he even thinks about it is when its starts to get in his eyes. It only happens every few decades, as his hair grows at the same rate that he ages....which is slow.

Like most people he likes ot have his hair played with, but there's something about that just really soothes him. A few gentle pets and he's off to sleep.

Your hair might be different in this life, but he still loves it. He remembers how you used to do it back on Philos, and always gets a little flustered when you do it similarly now.

One of his favorite activities is the little beauty rituals you do, and he's always quietly eager for you to ask him to join him. Quiet evenings after a long day where you put your and his hair up and slather your faces in some new mud mask that smells like roses or lemon. The little bunny headband that shows up next to yours in the bathroom drawer is there inescplicably. And the new set of hair clips. And the under eyes masks.

During those nights, he'll comb through your hair. Taking his time to meticulously untangle each and ever knot, working so slowly you never even feel a tug. It's ritualistic. It's worship.

Zayne:

He's not too picky about his hair, but he likes to keep it groomed. A haircut every three months is mandatory, and he's been seeing the same barber since he was young. There's no fuss or frill to it, just practicality. He can't have crazyu hair products or unruly hair while in the OR.

While he's not vain, he does take some pride in his appearance, and messing up his hair can sometimes irk him a bit. Not enough to remark back, but enough to cup your fac in his hands and give your cheeks a soft pinch. A low warning about ruffling your hair too if need be. He'd never actually do it, but its fun to him to see the little pout on your face.

Your hair is a different story to him. Like other parts of you, its an integral perfect part fo you. The color of it sticking so firmling in his mind that a flash of it out the corner of his eye will have his heart skipping a beat. Constantly in search of you.

When you're together, he likes when its down. He understand that hunters need their hair up most of the time, so it's nice to see you in this way. Like a special treat, just for him.

He'll softly run his hands through it. Tender, tiny touches, never rustling more than a few strands at a time. Whether you're watching a movie, or sitting and working near each other, he'll find some way to fiddle with it. Tucking some out of your face. Adjusting an errant strand. Something.

Rafayel:

The most particular about his hair than the rest of the boys, but by no means fussy. Though compared to others he can be. His hair is used to water, and so can dry out easily. He struggled for a long time to maintain it-- inexplicable frizz and split ends arising enough to make him want to just cut it.

But if looked different...if he cut it, how would you recognize him? A bitter part of him hissed that you weren't here. That this life was one to live without you. But that hopeful part of him....that yearning ember that burned with the vow he made, held onto the hope too tightly.

So he kept his hair as close as he could to what it had been before. To the other times he'd been luck enough to meet you.

Once he's gotten a reputation as a painter and has a public persona, Thomas helps him. Sends him to a stylist who regularly douses him in deep conditioner and oil treatments.

It's a pain, but tolerable. Like most things.

When you come back to him, you take over his haircare. He insists. You set up in his oversized bathroom and help him figure out the deep conditioner. MAssaging his scalp and doting on him.

He's melting sugar in your palm, too spoiled to find anything to complain when you've got your fingers in his hair. It becomes a vice of his. A little ruffle or a pet and his breathing stutters.

He finds hair care for your hair too. A conditioner or clarifying treatment, insisting you take part in the ritual he's subjected to. Only he won't let you put it on yourself- even though you can.

He lingers. Running his fingers through your hair far longer than necessary.

After waiting for so long, any touch is too short. Every moment of contact is prolonged to its absolute length.

Sylus:

He's a man of particular tastes, but has a hard time trusting people. So he can't exactly go to a barber. Letting someone near his neck with scissors or worse a razor? No thanks.

He cuts his own hair, with the help of his evol and a few mirrors. It's taken him a while to figure it out, but it'll do.

He's the one who likes his hair being played with the lost, will go so far as to ask for it. At first its a taunt, a playful jab at you to see if you get flustered at the request.

You're surprised by how quickly he melts when you start touching him. Runing your fingers through his soft silver hair until he's practically purring.

Its a dangerous activity for him, because more often than not he ends with his head in your lap and on the brink of sleep. Unable to stop himself from sinking into the delicious feeling of your warm touch, and the reassuring hum from the linkage.

Since he's one to spoil you, anything you want for your hair is yours to have. A new haircare regimine? Ordered. New hair appliance? 1-Day Shipping. A personal stylist? Done.

[voluptuarian]

I'm trying to avoid people's dumb takes on Nosferatu but I keep being exposed to the tip of the iceberg and am annoyed enough about it to rant about it.

There's nothing in there that implies she was a kid. She lived in her family home, in the room she had lived in her whole life-- very typical for an unmarried adult woman at the time, especially in a well off family. Everyone determined that this had to be Orlok "grooming" a "child" are just fixated on that interpretation because it's nasty-sounding enough that they can condemn the relationship as "irredeemable" and "problematic" without sounding like pearl-clutchers. It's the magic word that lets them look vindicated in writing the whole thing off. She's not played by a child, she is dressed and styled as an adult, and the needs she's expressing, for attention, for recognition, for physical and emotional intimacy, are in no way limited to children. She's a young woman yearning for things that everybody wants and she's been denied. Ellen having been neglected, lonely, and starved for affection doesn't negate her adulthood. Her walking into a bad situation as a result of all that doesn't make her "groomed." Plenty of grown adults wind up in bad relationships because they're naive and desperate for love.

Similarly, everyone determined that one side of the triangle here wasn't "real" or that she "actually" only felt a connection with one of them and nothing for the other is similarly ridiculous. Thomas is the relationship Ellen chooses intentionally and conscientiously and which provides her the future she wants while satisfying her physical and emotional desires in a safe, secure, loving environment. Orlok is the first love, the first major relationship that she fell into because she was reckless and desperate for affection, that at first satisfied her needs but turned sour and dangerous-- that relationship becoming scary, unpleasant, coercive, doesn't erase the good things they had together once. Ellen and Orlok is the bad breakup between people who's freak matched too well. In the normal world it'd be a bad breakup with a toxic partner; in hers he's unfortunately also a an amoral inhuman manifestation of consumption.

And as for "Orlok doesn't love Ellen blah blah he's only an appetite blah blah." Love is an appetite. Need is an appetite. Loneliness is an appetite unmet. It's all hunger!! Why the FUCK is a zillion year old ghoul aristocrat holed up in a ruin in Eastern Europe tuned in enough to immediately respond to the random calls of some nameless unimportant woman he's never met a thousand miles away?? Because he's as desperate as she is, and for similar things. He was already listening, was already looking for someone-- he was desperate and searching first. His needs are twisted because he's a literal monster, but they still echo hers. The freak is matched, the freak in this case being deep emptiness and desire to be wanted and embraced. Unfortunately for him, Ellen can look elsewhere to satisfy those desires when he no longer makes her happy and find people who will-- and she does. Orlok can only go where he is called, must be chosen under special circumstances, which, seemingly out of everyone within his considerable reach, only she has offered. If what Orlok feels isn't love, its the survival in his mockery of life of what would have been love. But what ends in real love with union, ends for him with destruction and a return to lonely solitude-- that's his curse.

Ellen saves the man she chose by rejecting their future together, by breaking their marriage vows, and by sacrificing herself. She chooses the sacrifice as an act of autonomy, but one that subverts her own desires and victimizes her. It's a tragedy, but it's also a victory. It's a succumbing to the predations of the lover who wouldn't let her go, but its also making peace with him, taking into her embrace a figure she hates and fears but still feels connected to. It's fulfilling the monster's insatiable need, granting him the union he craves the only way it can be: through his death. Orlok is loved, and betrayed, and saved. Thomas is loved, and betrayed, and saved. Ellen chooses love for both of them, betrays them both, saves them both, betrays and saves herself. All of those things can be happening at once, just as tenderness, rejection, repulsion, evil, and love can all be happening at once. Is it comfortable? No. That's the point! But expressing your discomfort with that story as "I will willfully misinterpret this movie and dismiss its themes in whatever most easy to excuse way I can because I feel uncomfortable" is the path of the hack and the coward, and I think that's the what the majority of these "takes" are really about.

[sugarcubetikki]

From day one, there have been multiple theories and interpretations about what Adrien’s future career path and passions would be as we all wanted to see this boy be able to choose and discover something for himself rather than the dozens of activities his father was making him do. I believe the most popular theories in the fandom were Adrien becoming a baker or a stay-at-home dad. I think the popularity of these theories arose due to Adrien being good with kids and showing a fondness towards Marinette’s family and their bakery in early seasons. Furthermore, as Miraculous is built on subverting gender roles, and Adrien’s characterisation is more traditionally feminine with the narrative I guess we were building on that (and men taking on more domestic roles seems to be loved in fandom spaces in general).

However, I hadn’t quite seen running as a potential career choice for Adrien and most of us wouldn’t expect it either.

I, for one, didn’t expect it but I am not disappointed and I think it makes a great lot of sense for his character for three reasons.

Reason #1

As much as I love baker and stay-at-home dad Adrien aus, I’m glad that canon chose not to take that route in this episode. I think that choice would be more detrimental to his character rather than beneficial in our canon narrative.

As Thomas commented, so much of his character already revolves around Marinette considering that he’s pretty much all he has left and feels the most comfortable around her right now. (Even before his father’s death, his sense of identity seemed to revolve around her a lot as we saw him expressing that his love for her was the only thing he was sure of in S5. I think it’s because he’s been deprived of autonomy so much that he seems to be used to basing his desires around other people’s).

That’s why I believe him going into baking or being a stay-at-home dad at the future would not really help him grow as a character as both those choices still keep him under Marinette’s wing.

As this episode established, Adrien needs to figure and explore his passions for himself. Whilst Marinette will always be there for him, he needs to understand what he wants by his own volition.

(Having him make a breakthrough in discovering his interest for running without Marinette at the end of this episode was a great start!) Reason #2

I thought it was interesting how they started this sequence with Adrien looking up sadly at his big and lonely house before running away from it.

It takes me to what Sublime asks him later on.

This is what Adrien has wanted from Season 1: to run away and escape the four corners of his house to explore the outside world. It feels like a callback to Origins where I think of Adrien running away from house to start school. There’s also several times in the show where he runs away to escape the cold and lonely atmosphere his house brings.

The bars on the gate of the house in this scene also makes it look so much like a prison.

Of course, we now have Adrien standing on the outside of it rather than inside considering that the person who was keeping him in the house in the first place is dead.

It still doesn’t mean that Adrien thinks of the house as less of a prison. An association like that is hard to forget especially now that the house is where both his parents died.

But now, without Gabriel, we know he’s free to run from it for as long as he wants.

I also want to add that in Hinduism, running is considered as a physical response to escape distress.

Reason #3

Should someone’s passion really be built on running away from something else? Well no. But I don’t think we’re meant to see it that way. Adrien running at the end of this episode away from his house is meant to symbolise him finally breaking free from the Gabriel’s controlling influence. Him running away is mainly a step towards his growth.

Besides, running isn’t only seen as means to escape problems but it also signifies pursuit of a goal and taking on a spiritual journey for self-growth. (Dream analysis tends to associate both escapism and pursuit to running in dreams depending on the context and circumstance). This also fits Adrien’s character quite well. Not only is he escaping past trauma, but he’s taking on a new journey to explore what he wants in life.

So yeah, let the boy run!

I’m super excited to see where they take his characterisation with this one. The symbolism behind his potential passion/career choice is just gorgeous.

Edit: I’d just like to make it clear that I don’t see this scene as Adrien finding his passion for life. I more or less see it as Adrien taking a step forward to discover something he potentially is passionate about by himself without input from any of the people in his life (he also makes a new friend on his own and that makes me happy). Running is indeed a potential career choice for Adrien, and it could possibly be something he can see himself doing in the future, and we will definitely get more buildup to this passion of his in future episodes too! It’s not a definite career choice for Adrien though, because as Marinette said, he’s young and he has plenty of time to explore what he’s passionate about. This scene isn’t really about making a definite choice, but rather Adrien being allowed to explore something he feels is right by his own choice.

[vervainandspritz]

LOVE YOU WITH MY EYES CLOSED

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Part one Part two Part three

Summary: At a young age Y/N was given away for marriage, years later the dust began to settle and her life caught a rhythm she stopped fighting. Is Tommy, the man she once knew too well, ready to play along and let her go once again?

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: depression, heartache, mental and physical abuse

A/N: Slow introduction, next chapter will pick up on pace. Enjoy

Coming back to Birmingham ignited more mixed feelings than Y/N expected it ever would. Pushing through the difficult changes back in the day caused her to stomach so much pain and.. distress at the inability to make her own choices. She thought there was nothing in her to cause fear anymore.

A weird kind of fear it was, this time. Looking out the window as the train plummeted through the fields, shaking and groaning under the weight of people all heading to the city she couldn't shake off. Four years passed so quickly, in a pace she didn't understand when she looked back at the first months of constant struggle she endured. Leaving everything behind. Becoming nothing more than a tool to life of.. prosperity for her family.

She fought it for so long, back then. Much to her father's misunderstanding, her unbreakable spirit made everything so much more difficult.

Yet eventually everything must come to an end though, in a reality where her value was tightly connected with how pretty she was, and how aesthetically pleasing she looked, hanging on the arm of a man she barely knew.

It was much easier to ignore from the distance, but the closer she got to Birmingham, more wounds began reopening, hurting and itching despite her neutral expression and unmoving figure.

One of his hands rested on her thigh, the other one holding a newspaper. The lack of communication was nothing short of normal between them. After all, when nobody was around, they didn't have to pretend as much. Nickolas Winterbourne, a man coming from a life where nothing ever ran out, where pantries were never empty and clothes never dirty. He existed in a controlled environment snuggly clothed in money at every corner, shielding him from any difficulties life planned to throw his way - unaffected by the simple disdain of modern times they happened to live in.

For what it was worth, Y/N considered herself lucky. He was… polite, usually gentle which was way more than she could have ever asked for from people in his social class. His hands were smooth, untainted by physical labour that he never had to do. His disposition contradicted his father's, a man purely self-absorbed and cruel with one purpose – wealth.

Y/N was grateful for the person he was deep down, even though he was forcing her into situations they could avoid, yet rarely violating her physically or mentally.

Nickolas was… indifferent. His demeanour calm, collected and bordering on bored most of the time. His eyes looked at her with a never ending patience and neutrality she grew to appreciate, after watching the way many of his brothers treated their own wives. She was lucky.

The mindset she worked so hard to build, throwing away the values she dreamed of as a little girl, the warm dreams of having a loving marriage with several kids, conversations that would seem to go on forever sprinkled with tender kisses on the forehead and warm touches that would warm her up on cold nights. She exchanged those hopes for expensive dresses and a mansion much too big for any amount of wood to warm. There were continual expensive dinners and meaningless conversations with people she wouldn't care to see ever again with fake seemingly polite smiles. These people never stopped beckoning for their service, acting like the simple action of pouring themselves tea was too much to burden their minds with.

So she was grateful, playing along with the quick pace of life they had. Dressing up quickly, perfecting the empty smile she got used to wearing on a daily basis.

“Be grateful, because you could have had it much worse” she mentally repeated to herself.

A soft squeeze of his hand tore her out of her thoughts, his brown eyes watching her patiently. He witnessed the difficulties she struggled with back then. So her silence rang louder than ever.

”We will spend two days in Birmingham and be back on our way. Tomorrow is the day of the gala, and the day after you will spend on your own matters.” He spoke quietly, reading the troubling emotions in her eyes. He always saw through the mask of neutrality he taught her how to wear like her second skin: a mutual understanding.

Her eyes slowly followed along the lines of his face, finally settling on holding eye contact. Slowly nodding, she covered his hand with her own before forcing out a small smile.

”Thank you” She responded, straightening her back before the train started slowing down before coming to a full stop.

Patting her thigh for the last time, he pulled away.

”Come on. It's time to go”

~~

After getting out of the train, Y/N watched how after stepping out her boots immediately covered in mud.

Some things never changed, she thought with a smile as the scent of smoke filled her nostrils.

”Christ” Nickolas muttered, his face twisting in disgust. Birmingham was nothing like the London they were used to, first expression of the city obnoxiously underwhelming for Winterbourne.

Standing by the road sign they waited for a moment before the designated car pulled up, halting by their feet as the driver opened the door, offering to help in packing the luggage.

Y/N seemed distraught, looking around as she immediately recognized the streets despite small differences and the fact she didn't leave even remotely close back then. A city centre it was, fair distance from Small Heath. A place she used to call home.

”Come on, get in the car” Nickolas whispered, noticing her distracted gaze, grabbing her arm lightly and nudging her towards the vehicle, bringing her out of memories thick like smoke. Looking at him she nodded, obediently getting inside before the car took them to the hotel.

One she had never been in before. This whole situation felt suffocating in ways so weird, she was barely able to look him in the eyes. Even as they moved to the building, getting all the formalities done she couldn't help but let her mind wander towards the ghosts of her past.

Loud, obnoxious laugh filled her head bringing a little smile on her red lips. One that definitely belonged to John, his eyes glimmering with mischief like most of the time. Through the eyes of imagination she saw Ada's long, dark hair she constantly complained about, sighing dramatically in a way that never ceased to make Y/N roll her eyes. Suffering from success, she used to call it, teasing her friend with whom she grew up so close.

A sound came to her ears as lift brought them to the right level, she moved seemingly on an autopilot when her husband fumbled with keys, looking for the right one.

As the door swung open she let out a silent sigh as she remembered. The memory she worked on suppressing so long caught up randomly, big, blue eyes surrounded by thick, dark eyelashes. Colour so dynamic, swiftly changing with the feeling simmering beneath his tough exterior, yet always so bright and clear when he looked at her. She felt like she saw him for the first time, despite it being nothing but her exterior shell shattering at the unwanted memories flooding back in.

Suddenly, she felt out of breath and barely an hour after checking into the hotel, she was in bed facing away from Nickolas. The wall she put up between them nearing the height of one he tried to shatter after getting to know the girl. She seemed so small as she lay on her side, every inch of her body hidden under covers. Hair scattered on the pillow, keeping his gaze away from her features.

They just got here, and he was already losing, Nickolas thought, before remembering the small detail that could shatter his reality if ease if looked into.

”Goodnight” He whispered, pressing a kiss onto her shoulder before turning away and giving her space as the lights went out.

It was only so long he could bend reality to his will, he thought, before closing his eyes and allowing Morpheus' embrace to swallow him up.

In contrast to him, Y/N didn't fall asleep once. The unknown anticipation swirled around in her stomach, pushing her even further away from the man sleeping by her side. Something was coming, and she knew it.

~~

”Do you really trust what you're saying?” Her voice came to his ears, quieter, less confident than usually she'd speak to him.

Leaning forward on his arms, he let his head drop in defeat for a moment before lifting him up. Strong, unyielding gaze meeting her worried, slightly anxious eyes.

Her position in the family and in company made her learn how to deal with emotions on her own for years.. which was never an issue. Woman could only be so vulnerable after raising that many kids and protecting them from the disgusting reality with her fragile hands and soul on her shoulder. But she managed.

So the rare vulnerability she displayed that evening, looking in her nephew's eyes was nothing short of special. The string of responsibility connecting them in ways none of his siblings would understand.

Staring blankly for a moment, he ended up nodding.

”I know, Polly.” He spoke up, his voice heavy with exhaustion and the fear he tried to bury somewhere between his ribs, to never be seen again. But it was there, alive as ever, making his heart thump in an unnatural rhythm. Reminding him of one of survival. Desperate attempts to stick to life even when the dirty earth in the tunnels tried to swallow him alive.

”You need to trust me when I say things will go back to normal. I waited for long enough.” His voice came out sharper than he'd like it to. Blue eyes soothing the damage his voice has done and Polly understood.

Being a witness to the struggles he faced on daily, responsibilities piling on him like layers of clothing, giving no space to grieve the loss of someone who was never supposed to be gone.

…and so he didn't. Instead building an empire on his bitterness and pain, trusting that… whatever was up there would provide if it was meant to be.

That day for once in his life Thomas wanted to pray.

~~

“You need to pick up your pace, Y/N. We can't afford to be late to such an event.” Nickolas snapped, his usually calm and collected demeanour dishevelled with stress as he watched time ticking away on his watch.

She didn't sleep, almost at all. Putting on the mask was more difficult than usual, having to layer the makeup on her tired face, exhausted eyes. The years of struggles managed to catch up in the nine hours she spent on trying to fall asleep. Dreamless nights and loveless days connected with the anticipation in her stomach making it impossible to close her eyes.

”What will they think of us if we show up late, Y/N?” He shot once again watching her movements with his chin higher than he usually carried.

In moments of distress Y/N saw his father in him, usually perfectly hidden away lack of spine showing through the wounds of what the perfect life did to him. Minor inconvenience making him furious.

”Put on your jacket and smoke a cigarette, Nickolas. By the time you're done I will be waiting.” She responded in a neutral way, already taught to not feed into his bitterness in such situations. Not because he was right, but rather to avoid making him cranky as he would surely ruin her already difficult evening.

Watching her with contempt for a moment, he let out a heavy breath before stepping away.

”Five minutes or you will walk there. I'm not going to be late because of your irresponsibility.” His voice faded with the distance growing between them.

Y/N sighed looking at her reflection.

A man that was never supposed to be a husband.

All eyes were on them as soon as they arrived. Y/N smiled, nodding along to the people she saw for the first time as they spoke to Nickolas. She was to not speak unless spoken to, Mr. Winterbourne taught her four years ago. Smile, look pretty and watch your husband. Be attentive and elegant at all times.

Entering the event took them about fifteen minutes with all the pleasantries Nick kept giving away to his associates. Deep down she hated it. The constant need to pretend, not a single movement one of her own.

”Mr. Winterbourne!” A voice came from behind their back as they walked into the main room. An older man with jet-black hair approached quickly, his arm wrapped around the waist of his wife. Glancing at her, they exchanged a joyful look before standing right by Y/N. “Long time no see” His voice was low, but not threatening. Something about the tall and broad man was inviting, friendly.

”Indeed, it's been a long while.” Nick responded, straightening his back before greeting the older woman, getting a hold of her hand gently and kissing the temple. ”How is life treating you, Sir?” His tone mannered and calm, just like always whenever he was in a public eye. After getting a response, he began talking about the details of the gala before the woman suddenly interrupted him.

”...and who is this beautiful woman?” She spoke completely relaxed to which Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. If she interrupted her husband or any man he was currently talking to in such a manner, she'd get severely punished if not slapped at the spot. Nicholas raised his eyebrow but quickly put on a collected exterior again.

”This is my wife, Y/N” He introduced her, slightly embarrassed that he forgot to do so in the first place. What would they think of him? The older man reflected, kissing her temple with a smile and his wife took her hand in her own.

”Oh, I see” She said, looking at the ring on her finger. ”Absolutely beautiful, how about we get something to drink while men talk about the important matters?” She suggested light-heartedly, winking at her husband who chuckled, shaking his head before giving a simple nod.

”Great idea. I will find you in just a few moments, Precious.”

The way their interactions took place made Y/N truly shocked, she's never seen such behaviour among people in their class before. Were people of Birmingham different than them?

Waiting for his approval obediently Y/N only moved when he gave her a stern nod, clearly not pleased with his own performance, yet he would never admit it.

His behaviour was different this time, she could clearly see it. He was more emotional in the wrong way, every little detail making him visibly angry.

”I’m Meredith” The seemingly fourty year old woman stated, glancing at Y/N sideways. ”You seem to love these kind of events, don't you?” She joked, seeing the way Y/N’s smile dropped as soon as they turned away from their husbands. Internally she panicked hearing the elegant woman's remark, her eyes widening with fear. ”Oh, no worries. We're on the same page… besides. They serve really good drinks, so soon enough it will be bearable.” The tone of her voice was light and amusing as she gave Y/N a little shove. Her demeanor was relaxed and open, matching her husband's which was… refreshing.

”Better get to it then” She mustered a smile in response.

To be fair, time did start passing faster as they settled by the table, slowly sipping on tasteful drinks and talking in a way that allowed Y/N feel much less comfortable than she was at first. A breath of fresh air.

”We’re local. My husband, Christopher, is the owner of several businesses passed down through the family. That's how he knows Winterbournes.” She explained eventually before leaning in closer. ”He doesn't get along well with your father in law. Tradition and peace are the only things keeping them tied together.”

Y/N listened carefully, appreciating that after a couple drinks Meredith's tongue got a bit loose. Usually she'd never hear a single detail about her husband's business or family. She wasn't family by blood, so her access to information was very restricted.

Getting lost in her thoughts again she zoned out for a second before Nickolas’ voice came to her ear from close proximity.

”This is my wife, Y/N Winterbourne.” He introduced her and it took a second to stand up, smooth out her dress before her eyes met the guests.

…and just for a second, her heart stopped, mouth slightly parting as she met the blue gaze she dreamed of for so many years.

”May we dance, Mrs. Winterbourne?” Thomas Shelby asked, standing side to side with her husband. Slightly shorter yet visibly towering over him.

For once she forgot her manners, not able to tear her eyes away from him as she gave a quick nod and without another word, he grabbed her hand pulling her towards the dance floor among other couples. Completely stiff and frozen, her vocal chords were not cooperating as she was on the verge of a panic attack.

His hands grabbed her own, setting them on his shoulders as he pulled her closer.

”Breathe” He said quietly in a husky tone as his scent almost made her faint.

[that-tmr-girl]

How TMR Boys Would Confess Their Love

Aris

Gets you alone because he'd be way too nervous to do so in front of others

Takes you for a walk on the beach and reaches for your hand

Tries to rehearse what he would say but completely forgets the script while with you

Ends up just babbling out his feelings

Is surprised but relieved when you say you love him too

Gally

Denied it to everyone while his feelings for you grew

Saw a guy flirting with you one day and got so jealous he forgot that he "didn't feel anything for you"

Walked up and told you the truth in front of the dude

Very clear and to the chase

Kissed you until the guy left when you said you returned those feelings

Minho

Was already pretty flirty with you so you had an idea that he liked you

Got tired of just flirting though and wanted to make it official

Randomly decides to tell you he loves you for real for real while you two were in the middle of giving pick up lines

Immediately goes to tell Newt and Thomas when you agree to a date

Makes sure he looks his best just for you

Newt

Wanted to tell you but didn't want to make you uncomfortable

Kept overthinking it and was worried about ruining y'all's friendship

Minho had to push him into it when he got tired of watching him fawn

Wrote a really sweet letter that summed up all his feelings and placed it in your hammock

Kept yours in his pocket all the time when you wrote him back, also confessing

Thomas

Spent a while trying to figure out if he really fell in love with you to make sure he wouldn't hurt you

Realized he definitely loves you when he couldn't even sleep because of you he

Got out of bed and went to your hut to talk to you

Sort of mumbled his feelings but the message was clear

Immediately kissed you when you said you felt the same

[saintmuses]

❝𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜❞

Pairing:

Soft!Dark!Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary:

Thomas had successfully convinced his older brother to end the relationship with her so he could have her all to himself.

Warning(s): SMUT. Dub-con. Fingering. praises. Somnophilia. Breeding kink. Pure Filthy. Reader’s tipsy. Possessive!Thomas. Depraved!Thomas. Soft!Thomas. P in V. Flashback in italics. Minors, dni.

Word Count: 1.4k

Thomas chuckled softly as he watched her slowly drift off to drunk-induced sleep.

He then undressed slowly, his eyes never leaving her delicate nude form on the bed. After he took all articles of clothing off, he climbed onto the bed and positioned himself above her, his hard length pressing against her body.

Thomas had been searching for her for weeks, his mind constantly wandering back to their last encounter. He was not exactly surprised to find her at a pub, looking slightly tipsy. After all, his brother ended the courtship with her.

He walked over to her table, his eyes drinking her in. "Well, well.” 

She stiffened after hearing his voice, and she slowly looked up at him, eyes unfocused. "No." She lifted the half full glass  of whiskey in her hand, preparing to swallow the harsh liquid.

He exhaled a chuckle, leaning down to grab her unoccupied wrist gently, bringing her hand towards his mouth. She tried to jerk her hand out of his grip, but he did not let her. "Don't be like that," he purred, his lips brushing against her knuckles as he spoke. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

The next time she tried to remove her hand from his hold, he surprisingly released it. “You don’t approve of the relationship between me and Arthur that you convinced him to end the relationship with me…the fact he listens to you…well, that would be his downfall someday.” She stated before slamming the glass down on the table, making the table shake from the force.

He laughed softly, leaning back in his chair. "You wound me, darling," he said, feigning hurt. "After those encounters you two had with each other that I got to witnessed, you can't honestly tell me you’re not the right person for him?"

She chose not to answer him, instead of leveling his eyes filled with amusement with a glare of her own.

"Well, then," he smirked, reaching under the table and grabbing her ankle, his fingers trailing up her leg teasingly. "Perhaps I had the right to tell him."

"I'm too drunk to deal with you," she muttered, barely flinching at the surprise sensation of his hand on her leg.

"You're never too drunk for me," he replied, lifting her leg and placing it on his lap. He started massaging her calf slowly, his fingers deftly tracing patterns on her skin.

She sighed unwillingly as the muscle tension began to dissipate. "People are looking at us because they're wondering why Thomas Shelby is nice."

He chuckled softly, his fingers continuing to work their magic on her leg. "They're wrong," he murmured. "I can be very nice...when I want to be." His hand moved up her thigh, the touch growing more intimate as he spoke.

She jerked her leg out of his wandering hand, before pushing her chair backwards, standing up. "If you want to be a gentleman, you better walk me home because it's night time, and I don't trust people out there." She said sharply before stumbling away from the table. She paused before turning to him, “nor do I trust you.” 

He watched her leave, a mix of amusement and annoyance flashing across his face. Standing up, he quickly caught up with her, his hand gently guiding her back towards him. "Come now, love," he purred. "There's no need to be like that."

Letting her go, Thomas walked beside her, his eyes roaming over her figure hungrily. "I jus’ want to make sure you get home safe," he said, his voice low.

Once they arrived at the door of her flat, she dug her hand into her purse, searching blindly for the key.

Despite her not speaking mostly on the way to her flat, it did not deter him.

“You should let me in,” he leaned in closer, his breath fanning against her ear as he spoke.

“No, I don’t.” She got the key out of her purse, and turned the brass knob. "You can go now." she said sharply, slurring a bit.

Thomas groaned softly as he continued to touch and explore her body. His hands moved up to cup her breasts, massaging them gently before tweaking her nipples between his fingers. His other hand slipped down to her stomach, teasingly stroking the bare skin there. 

“The reason I had him end the relationship is because I want you all to myself.” He murmured softly. “I’m a greedy man.”

Thomas' hand moved lower, tracing a path down her stomach towards her belly button. He lightly teased the tiny indentation with his fingertip before trailing lower still, down towards her hidden folds.

Thomas' voice was rough with lust as he whispered in her ear. "I want to breed you, my little darling. Your cunt is mine and I'll stuff it with me cum."

He looked down at her pussy as he pushed her knees towards her chest.

Thomas' eyes darkened as he looked down at her exposed pussy. "You're so beautiful," he breathed out, his voice husky with desire. "I could spend all night just worshiping this perfect little cunt." He then leveled his hips where his cock would meet her pussy.

Thomas groaned loudly as he pushed his thick cockhead against her tight entrance. He took a moment to savor the feeling of being so close to her before pushing forward, slowly sinking deeper into her wet pussy.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, discomfort flitted across her face and he paused, his hips stilling inside of her. "Little darling," he whispered softly, nuzzling his face into her neck. "Sweetheart, I need to fuck you properly, make you mine because I need you."

Thomas' hips began to move again, pulling almost completely out of her before slamming back in, burying himself deep within her cunt. He set a hard, punishing pace, claiming her as his own with each powerful thrust.

Thomas' breathing grew heavier as he pounded into her. He couldn't resist the tight grip she had on him, the way her body moved with his every push. Her sleeping state only added to the perverse thrill for him.

As Thomas continued to pound into her, his cock swelled even more, growing larger inside of her. It stretched and filled every inch of her tight pussy, claiming it as its own. He groaned loudly in pleasure and desire for more.

Thomas couldn't seem to get enough. His hips continued to slam against hers in a frenzy of lust and possession.

"You're mine, you know?" Thomas whispered into her ear, his voice filled with possessive affection as he kept pounding away at her exhausted body. "You belong to me now, little darling, forever and always." As his pace slowed down slightly but his thrusts still remained deep and powerful, Thomas whispered praises against her neck, his warm breath tickling her sensitive skin. He called her his good girl over and over again, as if he couldn't believe he had found such a perfect match in her.

With one final thrust, Thomas filled her cunt to the brim with his cum and held onto her tight, still buried deep inside of her for several seconds. As he slowly pulled out, he allowed his thick cum to drip out of her pussy like ribbons of his possessiveness.

Thomas' eyes darkened with satisfaction as he looked down at his hand, feeling the slick evidence of his possession on his fingers. He then placed his palm flat against her stomach, still trying to catch his breath.

"Look at that," he purred, his voice husky with desire. "Me cock has stretched out your pretty pussy just the way it should be." He leaned down to peer at her stretched abused hole, his purr turning into a low growl of appreciation.

Thomas glanced at her discarded clothes and picked up her underwear. He put her legs through the holes of her shorts and pulled it until it laid tightly against her cum-filled cunt with a low growl of possession. "There you go, little darling. Me cum will keep that hole nice and warm for me..."

He crawled up her sleeping body.

"You've been such a good girl for me," Thomas whispered softly, pressing gentle kisses all over her sleepy face. His touch was tender and caring now, the roughness from before fading away as he nuzzled against her neck.

Thomas pressed his lips against her lips, the gentleness of his kiss a stark contrast to the rough passion he had just infused into his little darling.

[gatheringbones]

[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.

My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.

How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.

Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.

Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.

Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.

And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[eclipse-msoul]

Belong to me in Oblivion

Reader X Romantic yandere Batfamily

chapter 2 :

You stood in front of the mirror , your eyes bright as you hummed a tune while you applied lipstick to your plum lips. You could barely hold in your excitement and why wouldn't you not be excited ? You were going to see your very close friends soon.

It's been far too long since you've seen them face to face. Your mind was already running wild with your imagination. Those two must have grown. But a thought made your chest tighten.

What if they didn't want to be friends now ?

They would be full grown adults , no longer the teenagers you remember and You didn't know how to deal with it. 

Pushing aside your worry , you went out to the living room. You smiled sadly at the pictures of your beloved parents on the wall , before heading out.

Singing down the Gotham street , you made your way to Wayne Mansion. It was hardly a ten minute walk , so you soon arrived. Alfred was already waiting for your enthusiastic visit.

You greeted the old man with a cheerful smile and accompanied him to the kitchen. “ Alfred , you've sure prepared a lot. Bruce and Thomas are going to eat this for days.” you giggled.

As his eyes flickered to you , they softened. His lips extended in a small smile. “ We'll see , miss (Name).” He muttered , giving you a ruffle in your hair before asking you to help him set the table. 

You nodded before picking up a tray of fruits and heading for the table.

He inwardly scolded himself for making you work.Truthfully speaking he could do this all by himself , but this was the only way you would accompany him. It wouldn't be like to say he had started to think of you as his daughter.

It wasn't wrong either. Either Master Bruce or Master Thomas would have you as their bride and you would become his daughter in one way or another. At least that's what Alfred believed for now. 

Time passed before the bell struck seven. You had remained at the Wayne Mansion , saying you planned to give those idiots a surprise. The night in Gotham was dark but the Wanye mansion remained beautifully lit.

Hmpf , they hadn't even replied to your message yet. So you had no choice but to sit together with Alfred and wait for them to come. Luckily the wait wasn't going to be extended forever.

The horn rang signaling the arrival of their vehicle. You let Alfred go greet them and hid behind the wall. Since they took so long , you would have revenge and scaring them was the best thing you could think of.

You inwardly giggled , thinking of their soon-to-be shocked and scared expressions.

Minutes passed but you couldn't see nor hear anyone come in. You sighed thinking they took another path but as soon as you turned back someone said ‘Bo’ and you screamed.

You readily jumped backwards causing you to collide with someone. Your trembling figure paused when you heard the familiar laughter. There was no doubt , it was them.

They both broke out in laughter as they took in her shocked expression. You huffed in anger , “ THOMAS ! BRUCE!” Launching at them in a fit of anger.

Bruce easily dodged your attack and pulled you in for a hug. You, despite not seeing his face , could already tell. This bastard was laughing at you wasn't he ?

“ There , there , (Name).” He mused , “ You were going to trip , you know.” He said , like he and his brother didn't just scare you half to death.

You grumbled under your breath before looking up right at him. Your anger quickly dissipated, your ears Turning a shade of red.

Was Bruce always this handsome ? He chuckled, giving you a grin , “Like what you see ?” His small whisper made your breath hitch. Your shy eyes blink as you hitch a step back. “ N-No !” you stutter.

You slowly turn your neck towards the other man and paused. This time both your cheeks flush red. Thomas approaches you and pinches your cheeks.

“ How are you doing.” His voice sounded the deepest you've ever heard. It made your heart beat so loud , you felt the need to worry that they may hear you. You gulped , trying to take a few steps back.

Just before your back ran into the warmth that just entrapped you. “ (Name)?” Why the hell did his voice have to sound so damn good. You had to stop yourself , before controlling your expressions.

Then you smiled , “ I'm good….But you both didn't have to scare me so much, you know.” you folded your arms to show dominance. “ Says the one planning to scare us.” Bruce , yeah you're going to murder him one of these days.

You knew they caught you. “NO-I did not !” you tried to defend yourself.Thomas didn't even let you speak out to retaliate. He pressed his long thick finger on your lips , quickly quieting you.

“ (Name).” He whispered. You felt like a prey surrounded by your predators. There was nothing you could think of , not when his ever so green eyes looked right through you.

“ It's good to see you.” His deep rep lips , quivered up in a smile. Even the Greek Gods couldn't be that stunning.You could hardly keep your eyes open from the brilliance he gave out.His voice had almost made you forget that Bruce was also there. Almost.

That man didn't take kindly to you forgetting him. His beautiful sculptural hands wrapped around your neck , pulling you back from Thomas. “ You didn't forget about me.” Those words sounded so low yet so threatening. “ Did you, my lady ?”

You felt like the temperature was lowered by a hundred Celsius. Where was Alfred during these times? It was hard not looking into his eyes when he was barely two fingers away.

Like the devil himself , the man appeared carrying some refreshments. He coughed to get our attention. His old yet refined eyes flickered among us. Alfred spoke, getting our attention. 

“ Master Bruce , Master Thomas and Miss (Name). The food has been set, make your way to the table.” you were going to hug Alfred later , pulling out of their hold you ran towards the dining table.

The men remaining in the room could only stare as you rushed out. Bruce and Thomas turned towards Alfred , the old butler stared at them.

His brows knitted and the man silently warned them. ‘Not so early.’

The dinner went off without any problems. It took a few minutes before you felt comfortable with them. Bruce made you giggle with the silly jokes and Thomas reminisced of the old days.

The clock struck nine , dinner was already finished. Thomas took something out of his pocket and handed it to you. You took it with a confused smile.

As you turned the white slips backwards , your expression morphed into a happy grin. You examined it and then looked back at him. He was sitting on the opposite side of the table to you. That didn't stop you from hugging him.

You of course in your joy forgot , it was a hug without any thought and you pulled out the second your thoughts loaded , muttering an apology about how you just did in the heat of the moment.

Thomas just chuckles and Bruce gives you a small pat as he rises up. “ You should get refreshed and we'll leave. We know how much you adore those flying Graysons.” His smile is bright and those blue eyes seem to indulge every fantasy a girl can possibly have.

You nod , heading to the guest room to recharge before getting out. Along the way a thought comes to your head. When have you ever told them about you and the flying Graysons ?

You just knock that thought out muttering about maybe Alfred told them. The old butler often told them and you about each other. 

If only you could see the load of files and pictures hidden underneath the mansion along with the reflection of cameras. But Alas a lamb can hardly know about her slaughter.

TBC…

[slasherwrites-lemonmilk]

𝓗𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓸𝓻 𝓢𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓼 (𝓧 𝓕𝓮𝓶! 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

(Includes Freddy (1980-1990s), Jason (1980s/2009), Michael Myers (RZ!), Ghostface, Leatherface (1970's Bubba, 2000's Thomas Hewitt), Art the Clown, Pennywise (1990s and 2010s), and Pyramid Head)

Intro: Established Relationship: The boys walk in on their s/o wearing their clothes.

Jason Voorhees - 1980's

You were sitting on the couch of the familiar cabin you now called home, the air outside was nice--too nice. That meant your beloved camp-revenger boyfriend Jason was out more frequently dealing with the rogue college kids on break. To pass the day by you had decided to clean the cabin up a bit, make lunch, and mend some of Jason's torn clothing. You had noticed that he opted out of his usual tattered leather jacket--something he rarely goes without. Examining it further--you found a bunch of holes, and you had the perfect color thread. You spent the next few hours stitching the jacket carefully, afterwards you just had to try it on yourself.

Call it the Crystal Lake

Cause you're swimming in it.

Great timing--Jason's home!

This man can't take his eyes off of you, I mean--you're so small in his jacket. And it's his jacket, you're standing in the living room--in his jacket.

Immediately his large rough hands roam over your body, half an hour ago those very hands slaughtered unwanted trespassers, and now they held the same gentleness one would use with a baby. He didn't talk, but the way his hands roamed the jacket on your figure--and the way you smiled at him made his heart melt. He used little actions to show you how he felt, he'd slowly been learning sign language--but actions always get his point across.

He would proceed to cuddle you for the rest of the day, only letting you take his jacket off if you got too hot.

He'd scoop you into his arms, holding you close--you're still wearing his jacket--as you softly read a book out loud for the two of you.

2009 Jason Voorhees

This man had a long day--a group of rowdy college kids interrupting his evening with you. He had just just gotten home, his deep lumbering steps ringing throughout the under base of the campground. The underground tunnels were originally hard to navigate--but you learned overtime, countless lectures and reminders from Jason--but you learned.

When he reached the ending tunnel to your large shared bedroom, there you were--curled asleep on the bed swallowed up in his old tattered blue flannel. He just stood there for awhile, watching you with an overwhelming feeling of comfort, seeing how much you missed him while he was gone. Eventually he lumbered over to the mattress, crawling in beside you carefully and scooping you gently into his chest. His large calloused fingers gently running over your scalp and through your hair as you slept, deep rumble-like hums sounding softly through his broad chest.

Also doesn't talk either--so expect him to tell you you're adorable by cupping your cheeks, giving you so many more shirts and jackets you can wear too. He'll even dress you himself and mash together outfits he thinks you’ll look cute in!

Most of them are god awful--but some actually slay?

Okay fashion icon

What are you wearing? Jason Voorhees.

You give him fashion shows--and you swear his face goes red under his mask, even if he huffs and denies it silently.

He's actually so sassy for no reason.

Rob Zombie! Michael Myers

(Teehee I'm in love with Tyler Mane from 2009 istg--AND he's my favorite Michael and I love him--this one's lowkey a self-write)

Michael was a man of few words--most believe none, but rest assured he speaks when he finds it necessary. He didn't own a lot of clothes, so you never minded doing his laundry in his childhood home--(You bought the house and restored it--just for him)

But imagine this man's shock when he comes home to find his small little s/o dancing around cleaning the kitchen--in one of his shirts.

Feral.

Literally feral.

Foaming at the mouth at the sight.

Sure--it was just a plain old, white t-shirt that miraculously wasn't blood-stained, but on you? It was everything to him. The way it draped down your body, spilling past your skin like a waterfall.

Fuck.

He wanted you.

Michael Myers was a man of many things, he was The Shape, The Boogeyman, The Incarnation of Pure Evil--but a patient man he was not.

So of course he'd immediately have his way with you--but then of course he'd take care of you in his own weird way.

"You look divine." In that deep scratchy voice he only graces you with. That's all you would get out of him--probably for the next month or so. With actions--he'd gently rub circles around your back--he'd 'pick up' a few more clothes and shirts, just to share with you.

Overtime you notice his closet gets...fuller? Eventually you pick up on the reason why, and after that it's over for Mikey--Cause now you'll wear everything he owns. Coveralls, boxers, tanks, shirts--nothing's off the table.

Art the Clown

Another mute...

UGHHH-Yeah he won't talk to you.

Like man is genuinely committed to the bit 24/7

OH YEAH--Anyways~

Art would be coming back from washing up when he'd see you wearing his clothes--more specifically--trying on the man's clown costume. He'd stifle any laugh that might escape and watches as you strike pose after pose in the mirror. He'd carefully watch you with those mischievous dark eyes, watching the way his costume rolled off of your body, pooling on the floor in your smaller stature. After all--he was very tall (David is 6'2) and he tended to tower over you.

My goodness you were so stinkin' cute.

He'd finally let you know he was there with a small 'toot' of a horn--causing you to jump and spin around.

He'd make really dramatic gestures at you, practically shouting how cute you were without using words.

Lots of polaroid's are taken of you in his costume--you can't escape it. (I hc that he's a polaroid nut)

He steals shirts for himself that he thinks you would love to steal wear. Always in blacks and whites, its his brand after all.

He may not talk, but he makes sure that his actions speak volumes.

1970s Leatherface

Honestly, he'd be so flustered if he caught you in his clothes. His first thoughts about how cute and small you were compared to him--watching how his shirt practically drowns you.

He wouldn't let you go, not even for chores. How could he? You're too cute!

He'd dress you up in all of his clothes-and showing Luda Mae every single one of them. Hoyt would probably hurt sexist comments as you--or target an insecurity, and though Bubba never stands up for himself--he stands up for his s/o.

Bubba would tell off the whole family in angry and displeased grunts and whines, possibly breaking furniture as well just to prove his point.

2000's Thomas Hewitt

(Oh my god I'd climb this man)

Thomas would have been coming back from the slaughterhouse when he spots you--curled up on the couch beside Luda Mae, mending some of the family's clothes.

But what caught his attention--was the fact you were curled up--in one of his button ups and a blanket.

This poor man tripped and stumbled his way over to you, soft, loving, and excited grunts all leaving his throat as he thudded over to you.

He'd fall to his knees, sitting eye level with you, his large calloused and worked hands caressing your cheek softly. He doesn't talk very much--but he manages to croak out a few deep words for you in that moment.

"You're beautiful..."

Expect him to lend you a lot more clothes--and if you really want to work him up?

His apron.

Imagine him walking into your room, and all you're wearing is his large apron. It doesn't even cover your body--it's so big its slips right off.

Pray to God the family isn't at home-he wouldn't let you be quiet.

Freddy Krueger

He didn't notice when you managed to snag one of his infamous red and green sweaters-but he noticed when you started wearing it to sleep.

Appearing in his well-known boiler room, sitting there-waiting for him in his own large tattered sweater. He chuckled lightly when he sees you, his eyes tracking up your body and he can't help but call out.

"Sweetheart--you're too sneaky for your own good~"

He'll shower you in playful but sincere compliments, but he will not keep his hands to himself--so beware. Every touch will be gentle yet sensual, he does know how to take his time surprisingly.

He'll make you feel absolutely stunning in whatever you wear--actually.

He will not keep it PG-13.

So now--you only wear his clothes when you want dick.

Ghostface

He doesn't mind when you steal his clothes, actually, he looks forward to it. He loves watching his shirts slowly go missing, and he loves randomly walking in from a blood bath--to see you swimming in his favorite shirts on the couch, waiting for him to get home.

"Look at my pretty baby, all comfy on the couch~"

Of course he only wears scary movie fandom shirts.

You get bonus points if you can tell him facts about the movies he doesn't already know about--team that up with wearing his shirt?

Pregnant. (sorry lolz)

As a funny little haha joke--he actually starts taking some of your clothes.

You'll walk in to find him sporting one of your shirts--amazed he could fit in it at all.

He thinks it's the funniest shit ever.

Pyramid Head

He has hundreds of old-bloodstained-tattered white muscle tanks to choose from, if you don't mind that kind of thing that is. If you don't--great!

He's in the middle of lifting weights when he spots you walking past his in-home gym. Somehow--through the metal on the pyramid shaped helmet on your boyfriend's head--he can see exactly what you're wearing.

And the way it naturally hugs your body.

Well- he's done working out now.

He follows you back to bedroom, watching you sit in bed watching TV from the doorway. Eventually making his way over to you in long strong strides, his eyes raking your body--in his shirt. Look how tiny and fragile you looked.

Daddy Bear mode activated fr

You'd be off limits--not even the nurses can see you dressed like this. You're all his. His hands would roam your body over his shirt, or play lightly with your hair. You're his Princess afterall.

Pennywise (2017)

He came back from his sewer hideout back to your shared home, and walked in on you wearing the fluffy ruffles of his costume collar (which explains why he couldn't find it earlier) and you had done a recreation of his makeup.

Were you...

doing an impression of him in the mirror?

(nerd----me too)

This man did a silly little head tilt, watching you before he let out a string of amused giggles. Of course he's going to mock your impression of him--but then he'll help you master it. You're his s/o, if you're gonna do something--do it right.

He himself will be the one to force you into the entire costume, gushing about how cute you are all the while. He doesn't really own any other clothing, besides maybe an undershirt or two--so you don't have many options to steal borrow.

So instead he'll let you sleep in his costume's (washed) long sleeve undershirt. Petting your head and whispering compliments to you the whole time.

He's so whipped for you--but he'll never admit it.

Pennywise (1990)

Poor Penny

He's an old grump half the time--and an old whip with corny perverted dad jokes the other half.

Also--are you trying to give him a heart attack?

I mean...

There he was--complaining about how you didn't finish the laundry and he couldn't find his suit--until his golden eyes locked onto your own, before trailing down at your outfit.

He thought his heart would stop right then and there-

There you were, taking pictures of yourself in the clown's costume--frozen in place as you both stare at each other. Pennywise taking a cautious step forward as his eyes remained fixed on his outfit--on your body.

"Penny?"

Your worried tone snapped him out of it--quickly scooping you into his big arms, he'll ruffle your hair playfully and pepper kisses over your face annoyingly.

"You look so itty bitty, love~"

I'll be so honest--he'd definitely take dirty pictures of you in his costume if you let him (or not)