#yandere william shakespeare

[moonsprinkler]

the ballad of reading gaol i. by oscar wilde // porphyria's lover by robert browning // sonnet 142 by william shakespeare

haute tension (2003)

[adogmetaphor]

a suicide girl but more like Ophelia

[decagondice]

༓ Foul & Fair ༓

༓ 'The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.' [Macbeth, William Shakespeare]

༓ Pairing. Trueform!Sukuna x Wife!Reader

༓ Synopsis. In a kingdom ruled by the feared and ruthless King, his reserved queen harbours a deadly secret. Devoted to her husband and his reign, she begins to punish those who defy him in the shadows, her hands stained with blood he never commanded her to spill. As guilt consumes her, she spirals deeper into madness, terrified of what Sukuna will do if he discovers the truth. But Sukuna, the King of Curses, knows far more than she realises. In a chilling confrontation, she must face the dark question: Does Sukuna's love run as deep as her sins, or is there something far more dangerous waiting in the shadows?

༓ Content. Inspired by Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' (Very loosely), sfw, Dark romance, Medieval Era, F!Reader, King/Trueform!Sukuna, Angst w/ comfort, Anxious & spiralling reader, Reader could be classed as a yandere (?), Protective Sukuna (?), Possessive Sukuna (?), Yandere (?) Sukuna, Emotional distress, Slight fear of abandonment, Spiralling, Mentions of death, Talks of violence, Hurt, Conflict of feelings, Mentions of Blood, Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 3.5k

༓ A.N. I thought I should contribute to the spooky season, though exclude spooky and scary and replace them with anguish and spiralling madness. I had another random thought, drawing inspiration from Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth scene at the sink where here reader is secretly taking down those who reject Sukuna (and his rule) whilst spiralling into chaos but he finds out. [As, you already tell I am horrendous at tagging and disclosing content, let me know if I have missed anything out :)]

[Artwork by Gustave Moreau - 'Study for Lady Macbeth', 1851]

The night was thick with the weight of silence, suffocating and tense, pressing against the castle walls as if burdened by secrets of its own. The grand, cold castle loomed over the kingdom like an ever-watchful beast, its towering spires stretching into the night sky as shadows pooled beneath its battlements. Pale moonlight cast silver streaks across the stone floors, spilling through the halls and filling them with a ghostly light that seemed to intensify the gloom. The oppressive darkness was alive, seething in the corners of vast chambers and dreary corridors, pressing into every crevice like a silent judgement.

At the heart of this silence reigned the feared King of Curses, a sovereign whose iron and stone throne stood as a testament to his ruthless rule. His dominion was absolute—unyielding in cruelty, yet disturbingly effective. The people despised him, their whispers venomous, though none could deny that under his iron fist, the kingdom flourished. The harvests were plentiful, the borders secure, and enemies scattered like ash in the wind. But for all its prosperity, the kingdom lived under a cloak of shadows, a foreboding silence settling over its people and their ruler.

In the dim chambers of your own quarters, the same darkness felt suffocating, wrapping itself around you like a shroud. The air was heavy with the sharp, resinous scent of burning pine, mingling with the faint, metallic tang that clung to your skin as if it knew what lay on your conscience. You move through the pale light, haunted by the shadows of your deeds, the stone floors beneath your feet feeling cold and implacable, much like the guilt gnawing at your insides.

Enveloped in an otherworldly pallor, the room stretched vast and hollow, its walls draped in tapestries that told of battles long past, of victories soaked in blood. The heavy curtains, embroidered with dark emblems of power, hung motionless, like sentinels guarding the space. Their once grand opulence seemed stripped bare, eclipsed by the sins you carried, like spirits bound to your very soul. Every step you took echoed with the voices of those who had spoken against Sukuna—voices you had silenced and condemned in his name, though he had never commanded it. The room spun, your vision blurring as fragmented memories of punishment and blood swirled in your mind, sharp and piercing like shards of broken glass.

Outside, the wind’s mournful wail, weaving through the stone halls like a restless spirit, moaning for the damned as it rattled the iron-framed windows. And beneath that same iron sky, Sukuna—the man both feared and beloved—remained vigilant, a dark watchful presence in a kingdom thriving and suffering under his reign.

Yet, even the most powerful rulers had their shadows.

You were his wife, the queen who moved with silent grace through the corridors of his court, always by his side, always poised, always watching. While others feared his wrath and kept their distance, you remained the only one to whom he showed an unspoken tenderness. It was an odd love, one not built on affection but on something far deeper—an understanding of the cruelty of the world and the weight of power. He never uttered words of devotion, but his eyes lingered on you longer than they did on anyone else. And in that silence, you found a bond that could not be broken.

But bonds can fester, too, like wounds left unattended.

You stood at the ornate sink, water spilling over your trembling hands, though it did nothing to wash away the sins embedded in your skin. The marble basin beneath felt cold, unforgiving—a stark contrast to the marks you bore. The faucet, carved like a serpent’s maw, hissed ferociously, its flow indifferent to how furiously you scrubbed, how raw your hands had become. The blood was gone, dried long ago, but its crimson stain lingered vividly, as though it had seeped into your very soul. Each drop of water that fell seemed as though it should run red—a silent stream of accusation pooling at the bottom of the basin.

The mirror before you reflected a woman you no longer recognised. Your eyes were vacant, dulled by sleepless nights and the weight of your actions. Gaunt, pale, like the ghost of someone you once were. You wanted to scream and tear the image apart, to erase what you had become. Your chest tightened with the growing sense of dread. You could barely meet your own gaze, knowing full well what you had done, fearing that the reflection might whisper your wrongdoings back to you. And the fear—always, always—the gnawing dread of what he might say when he finds out. What would Sukuna, your husband and king, think of you now—his dutiful wife—tainted by the very blood you sought to cleanse? What if he cast you aside, repulsed by your actions, leaving you to languish in the darkness of your own guilt?

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you feared his anger more, or his indifference.

The misdeeds you had carried out—the punishments you had dealt out in the dark corners of the kingdom—had begun to claw at your mind. Those who rejected Sukuna, who cursed his name in the streets, had found themselves at your mercy. You had killed for him, with a coldness that even now frightened you. You did it not for the kingdom, not for the crown, but for the man behind the title. The man who held your heart in his calloused, monstrous hands—hands stained with bloodshed far beyond your own.

The footsteps came as they always did, slow, methodical, echoing through the cold stone halls long before he arrived. You stiffened, your ragged breath catching in your throat. Sukuna’s presence was like the weight of the kingdom itself—a force of nature, dark and indescribable, and you, standing there with blood on your hands—both literal and imagined—felt like a creature awaiting judgement. His judgement.

The door creaked open, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop as his towering frame filled the space. Even without seeing him, you could feel the sheer power he radiated, a terrifying, inescapable darkness that made him the ruler he was. He was feared, hated, worshipped, and he wielded it all with a ruthless hand. You loved him, too, though that love came with its own shadow, twisted and warped in the way only power could corrupt.

He didn’t speak at first, letting his slow and deliberate gaze sweep over you, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment. You could feel the weight of his scrutiny, taking in every trembling movement, every faltering breath as you bore the burden of your sins, and it was clear that none of it had escaped his notice. His crimson eyes, sharp and unreadable, lingered on your hands, red from the water and from your desperate attempts to rid yourself of the evidence that existed only in your mind. The faintest twitch of his brow was the only sign of his reaction. 

“Why do you trouble yourself, wife?” His voice, low and gravelly, cut through the silence like a blade, but not without an unexpected softness that hung in words. He stepped forward now looming over you, and you felt the pull of him, the dark magnetism that had drawn you into his orbit long ago. “What is it you hope to wash away?”

You froze, your heart thundering in your chest. He was too close now, his reflection joining yours in the mirror. His gaze was unflinching, cold yet calculated, as if he already knew the answer. Of course, he knew. Sukuna always knew, far more than he ever let on. He was not a man to be easily deceived, and yet you had tried—foolishly, pathetically—to keep your deeds hidden, believing that the blood on your hands would go unnoticed by a man who had waded through rivers of it. You had not yet answered him, but in the oppressive stillness of this chamber, he would draw the truth from your lips as certainly as the sun would rise. 

The question hung between you like a blade suspended in midair. A thousand excuses raced to the tip of your tongue but none seemed sufficient. What could you say to him now? How could you confess the blood you had spilled without admitting the fear that drove you to it? That you thought you could act without his knowledge? That you could shield him, or worse, act in his stead? 

“It’s nothing,” you murmured, the lie burning your throat as it left your lips, trying to force the words out as calmly as you could. “I’ve been restless, that’s all.”

He said nothing at first, his eyes—a deep, glowing crimson that burned through the dim light— narrowing with a terrifying patience, as though waiting for you to trip over your own words. His silence felt more damning than accusation, and you couldn’t help but shift under the weight of his gaze. Still, you dared not meet his eyes in the mirror, fearing what you might see there—disappointment, perhaps, or worse, apathy. 

“Restless?” He repeated, his voice curling around the word like a snake tightening its coils. There, behind you, his presence was solid and immovable, much like the great stone walls of the castle itself. His hand had moved to your shoulder, heavy and possessive, his fingers cold against your skin. Deceptively gentle, his touch held an unmistakable strength, an authority that demanded answers.“You lie to me.” His voice was dark velvet, smoothing over the jagged edges of your panic, but each word sliced through the air, leaving you feeling bare, exposed. 

With a gentle motion, he turned you to face him, his gaze capturing yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. His hand, large and rough from countless battles, brushed against your cheek, pushing aside a strand of your hair dampened with sweat. The gesture was too tender, too human for a man like him—a man who slaughtered thousands without a second thought, whose name was a curse on the lips of his enemies. And yet here he was, gentle with you, the only one in his kingdom to receive such mercy.

You leaned into his touch, a broken sigh escaping your lips as your knees threatened to buckle. Your body, fragile and trembling, was held up only by his presence. His hand, firm yet careful, traced the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your pulse that fluttered like a trapped bird.

“Look at you,” Sukuna’s voice rumbled low, carrying an edge of something you haven’t heard before. Could it be…concern? “You’ve grown so pale.”

Your breath faltered, and you felt the sting of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The lie had been pitiful, and now the truth hovered on the edge of your lips threatening to unravel everything. He knew already, didn’t he? Sukuna was no fool, and here you were tangled in your own web of fear and love, too afraid to admit what you had done. But now, standing in his shadow there was no escape.

“What have you done?”His voice was quieter now, but there was a dangerous sharpness to it, like a blade glinting in the dark..

His gaze shifted to your hands again, and the faintest frown tugged at the corners of his lips. He took your hands in his, lifting them from the water, the cold droplets running down your wrists like tears. He studied them, turning them over, his fingers tracing the raw skin where you had scrubbed at invisible bloodstains. The touch was almost reverent, as though he understood, in some unspoken way, the burden you carried.

"You've stained them for me." It wasn’t a question, but a statement. His voice was rough but slow, as if he were working through something. He could see the turmoil in your eyes, the haunted look that came from guilt and fear—fear of him. 

How could you not fear him? He, who had bathed in the blood of his enemies and found joy in their screams? He had no right to judge you, to be angry or disappointed. He had slaughtered far more than you ever could, his hands forever soaked in the blood of the innocent and the damned alike.

“I…” you started, your voice shaking, “I only wanted to protect you.” The words came out too quickly, too desperate, and the moment you spoke them you regretted them.

His fingers traced a path up your neck, curling under your chin, forcing your face upward with his scarlet eyes boring into yours. “Protect me?” he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr, the barest hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. “You think I need protection?”

“No,” you whispered, trembling now, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Not you…but those who sought to challenge you.” You swallowed hard, the confession falling from your lips before you could stop it. “The ones who spoke against you. They…they cursed your name. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t let them defy you. Not with their worthless lives and their petty defiance.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, low and humourless, vibrating through the air between you. His hand slipped from your chin to your shoulder, his grip tightening slightly, enough to make you feel the control he had over you, the power he held. “And so, you thought it was your place to end them?”

The pain came suddenly, like a hot blade piercing through your skull, leaving you gasping for breath. You pressed a trembling hand to your temple, your vision blurring as the world around you wavered. The familiar, nauseating throb of the headache began to claw at your mind, the weight of your guilt manifesting in sharp, crippling waves. 

And then the memories came—hazy, fractured, like fragments of glass slicing through your consciousness. You saw flashes of faces twisted in agony, the sound of desperate pleas that had fallen on deaf ears. The crack of the whip as it tore through flesh, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. Their eyes—wide, terrified, as they realised their fate. The words they had uttered against Sukuna, the defiance that had sealed their doom. You had watched, cold and distant, as their lives bled out before you, justifying it all in the name of loyalty.

Blood. So much blood. It stained your hands, dripping from your fingers, soaking into the earth. You tried to wash it away earlier, scrubbing frantically, but it clung to you, thick and accusing. The cries of the condemned echoed in your ears, haunting and relentless, as if they would never leave you. You saw the moment their eyes dimmed, the light of life snuffed out, and the weight of their deaths settled on your soul like an iron chain.

You blinked, the vision dissolving into the present, the pain still pounding behind your eyes. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your body trembling as the memories faded, leaving you hollow. The room spun around you, and for a moment, you thought you might collapse under the weight of it all—the guilt, the shame, the horror of what you had done. Even now, even with his touch grounding you, the wrongs you had committed refused to let you go.

As you fought to regain your breath, your back pressed firmly against the cold stone, and your fingers dug into the edge of the sink, your knuckles white. “I thought… I thought you would be pleased,” you admitted, the words brittle and frail. “I did it for you.”

His gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment, something passed through his eyes—something that might have been understanding or amusement. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “You think I would have been pleased with your disobedience?” His voice was calm, yet it dripped with dark promise, a reminder of the power he wielded over you and the consequences that could follow.

“I would have thought,” he continued, “that you would come to me. Yet here you were, washing away the evidence of your transgressions as though I wouldn’t have known.”

You flinched at his words, the accusation clear, your heart hammering against your ribs. He was a king of slaughter, a creature born in blood. How could you have thought to deceive him?

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “I thought I was doing what you would have done.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “You misunderstand, wife.” His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers weaving through your hair with a possessive grip. “I kill because it is necessary. You kill out of fear.”

Your pulse quickened, panic rising in your chest, but his hand tightened just enough to keep you grounded, his voice softening as he spoke. “Do you think I wouldn’t have known what you have done? That I would let it pass unnoticed?” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “I know everything, even when you think you hide from me.”

Tears stung your eyes, and your lips parted, but no words came. He had known all along. He had watched you unravel, had let you dig yourself deeper into this darkness, even expecting you to come to him on your own. But you hadn’t. Instead, you had fallen deeper, spiralling into this madness, desperate to protect him, to prove your loyalty to a man who needed no protector.

He raised his other hand to your face, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, almost tender in the way they brushed aside the tears that spilled down. “You should not have feared me,” he said quietly, the darkness in his voice replaced by something softer, something that felt almost like affection. “I have bathed in blood far worse than this.”

He understood what you feared, even if you couldn’t say it aloud. You thought he would cast you aside for this—for acting in his name without his consent. But you had no reason to worry. Your actions, though misguided, came from a place he knew all too well—love, twisted and warped by power. And for that, he could not fault you.

His thumb grazed your trembling lips, silencing the sob that threatened to break free. And then, slowly, his hand moved upward, covering your eyes with his fingers pressing lightly against your eyelids, casting you into a sudden, terrifying darkness. You stiffened, but his touch remained gentle, his palm resting delicately against your skin as if to protect you from the weight of your own actions. You felt a moment of peace, of quiet—a reprieve from the torment that had consumed you.

“You worry for nothing,” he whispered against your ear, his voice low and intimate. “It is not judgement you should fear. Not from me.” 

His words settled over you like a balm, easing the weight on your chest. He would not leave you. He had never intended to. Even in your spiral, in your darkest moments, he would not cast you aside. He, the king of slaughter, had already known what it meant to live with blood on his hands.

And then, you felt his lips brush against the corner of your mouth, a touch so soft, so delicate. You shuddered under the weight of that moment, the fear that had consumed you slowly dissipating like mist in the light of dawn. It was not a kiss of anger, nor of passion, but a dark promise, a reminder that you were his, bound to him by blood and love, no matter what you had done. You would always be his.

His hand slipped away from your eyes, and when you opened them again, you were left feeling exposed, raw under his gaze. Yet, there was no signs of disgust in him, no fury. He had known all along, had let you descend into this unravelling, but he had not abandoned you. Sukuna, the King of Curses, the tyrant feared by all, had always been waiting, knowing that no matter how far you strayed, you would always return to him.

“Come,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble, commanding but not unkind. “Leave the water behind. It cannot wash away what we are.”

He took your hand in his, pulling you gently away from the sink, the water long silenced behind you. The shadows whispered, but their hold on you had weakened. Sukuna had pulled you from the darkness you had created, and as he led you from the room, his grip firm but reassuring, you knew that whatever sins lay on your hands, you would not bear them alone.

A.N. I don't know how to feel about this piece, whether I hate it or like it. I also felt like I was descending into madness trying to bring this idea into fruition. Anyways, Happy Halloween :)

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Bungou Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Twenty Two, The Genius That Leads

(A/N- I read Romeo and Juliet before writing this and now I love the idea of William being called the prince of cats like Tybalt because of their similarities and that being the story much of his character is based on)

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven, part one

Chapter seven, part two

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty, part two

Chapter twenty one

“Deal.” The moment you said that a smile came across his face. You glanced back at the book you were asked to retrieve, before he could say something you grabbed it from the table. You looked back over at him, keeping the book curled up in your arm. “Not a word.”

“Only if you keep your end of the deal, doll,” Ayatsuji replied as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ll have a hard time hiding that book at the party, what do you plan on doing?”

“I will be leaving early, I have my own matters to tend to.” You took out your phone, ready to call your driver to pick you up. “The Society is not the only affair that keeps me busy. There is something I need to get to the bottom of, a mystery if you will.”

“How interesting, but you are not a detective, are you?” He hums, tapping his gloved finger against his cheek. His eyes are fixed on you, scanning over your form, trying to find any sign of what you are thinking.

“Perhaps, it is a family profession after all.” You picked up the skirt of your dress and began making your way towards the door. You spared him a glance as you pushed open the door to the hallway. “Now I suppose I’ll see you soon enough and hopefully we will be on the same side of the playing field. Goodbye, have a lovely evening, detective.”

“We will see…”

You stepped out into the long hallway, slowly making your way to the garage where your driver would be picking you up. You looked down at your phone, dialing up your driver’s number. The ringing mixed with the echoing of your heeled shoes as they clicked against the floor. You were a far enough distance away from the auction hall that you knew Ayatsuji was not following you, but something still felt off. You felt yourself grow more tense as you walked along the hall, as if someone was watching you. The mixture of clicking and ringing did not help calm your nerves, only blocking out another one of your senses…

Click…

Ring…

Click…

Ring…

Click…

Ring…

Click…

Ring-

You heard the line get cut at the sound of your phone getting a call. You pulled your phone away to see who was calling you, you looked down to see the contact name as none other than William Shakespeare. You hit the bright green button on the screen without hesitation, answering the call as you held it up to your ear.

“William, I have the book-“

“(Name), I need you to come to room two-three-six, the plan has changed.” You heard William’s voice speak to you, but he was not worried, not bothered, if anything he was… happy? “Things may be turning in our favor after all.”

Did he find Miss Jane already? Thoughts ran through your mind as you made your way down through the floors of the hotel. The clicking of your heels rang through the halls, everything was silent except the clicking of those heels. Soon enough you came to the door, knocking once and the door was answered not even a moment later. It was answered not a moment later by a familiar face, just not one you were expecting.

“Joan?”

Before you stood the maid who was one of the first people you met at the Society’s headquarters, only she was dressed in an outfit suited for business, a black suit and a blue plaid tie. Her long blond hair was down, not up in her usual bun that also let her blue eyes be on display. She smiled back at you, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she stepped aside to allow you to come in. “It seems we have quite a bit to explain to you.”

“What do you mean- Oh!” You cut yourself off as you entered the room, turning your head to see sitting at the table of the luxury room the familiar face of William who summoned you along with-

“I apologize for setting you up, (Name).” Those words escaped those lips, soft and gentle as always. You saw sitting at the table with William, the form of Miss Jane. She was not dressed how you expected, she herself wore a black vest over a white button up, a long blue skirt, it was simple but elegant. She rested her head against her hand, a smile coming across her face. “The truth is, I never turned myself into Fitzgerald, I would never dream of it.”

You heard the sound of the person you once thought to be a maid closing the door behind you as she approached the table. William looked over at you with a smile, before a laugh escaped from his lips. “Honestly it surprised me as well, but Jane, Wells, and Leroux fooled us all.”

“Wells?” You turned to look at the woman who opened the door for you, was that Joan’s real name? Who was she really?

“Ah yes, let me properly introduce you,” Jane said, reaching out a hand over to the woman standing beside you. “This is an old friend of mine from my work in England when I was looking for capable individuals to join the Society. May I introduce to you H.G. Wells, she has been the one keeping our Society safe from the shadows this whole time along with the one who has been brewing up those  updates  on where I was for Emma and the others that led to this elaborate planning for this ball that fit into the plan I devised with Wells and Leroux.”

“But Gaston is missing, I found his blood in the room along with-“

“Not missing, he is exactly where he needs to be in this plan.” Wells cut in, coming to sit down on the couch not too far from the table, swinging her arms over the back of the couch and crossing her legs. “Leroux was kidnapped by a well-known European criminal known as Nikolai Gogol. Due to Gaston’s time working with the European Union when tracking down Fyodor Dostoevsky, he found evidence that the two had connections to one another.”

“So this all has to do with Fyodor, doesn’t it?” You asked, glancing around the room at everyone.

“Exactly, Gaston had informed me of what happened when he was asked by the Port Mafia to look into the disappearance of one of their executives who had Fyodor in their custody. We immediately knew Fyodor was planning something.” Jane nodded to your question and answered as it all was obvious. “We knew that the Port Mafia would be wanting any information they could in Fyodor after so even before all this we had all of Gaston’s observations from his work in European Union on Fyodor printed into a book and set up to be sold at an auction, that’s the same book you are holding now. We planned on dangling a carrot for the Port Mafia to desire and for Fyodor to destroy.”

You glanced down at the book you held, this was all a ploy. 

“I apologize for you having to be a pawn in all of this, but you played your role wonderfully.” Jane complemented with a smile, a giggle escaping her voice. “Now Gaston has Fyodor under constant surveillance and that  rat  has no idea, he will practically reveal everything to us and that bastard has no eyes on us because he is so focused on the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia.”

“I see, I have just a few questions…” You found yourself sitting down at the table along with the others, you felt yourself crew at your lower lip in thought. “How did you fake yourself leaving at the mansion all those months ago and how did you know that Nikolai would be here?”

“Ah, well the first answer is with Ms. Wells and her ability. She was disgusted as the driver who brought the two of us there. That envelope I gave her with the instruction to  open when the time was right  was all she needed to know what to do.” You glanced over at the woman on the couch, she was disgusted as a maid for all these months, what was stopping her from being disguised as a driver? “You see Wells’ ability is called Time Machine and allows her to manipulate time itself. So inside the envelope told her the exact time to activate her ability, when you got inside the car. She activated her ability on me, giving me 3300 seconds to go back in time myself and slip away from Fitzgerald, who was also used as a pawn in all of this. After that I returned to Europe for a few months, working with some old friends of mine in the Order of the Clocktower, but I am afraid that is trivial at the current moment.”

“I did not expect for you to be this much of a mastermind, Miss Jane.” You heard William chuckle as he crossed his legs with a closed-eyed smile. “But I suppose I should have expected that from the leader of the Society of Protection.”

“Well, I do pride myself on my understanding of the human mind, so manipulating it with both my plans and my ability is all too easy, no offense my dear (Name).” Jane apologized with a smile which you nodded to.

“None was taken, Miss Jane. After all, I have quite a lot to still learn.” You giggled along with her smile, which was true you did have so much to learn compared to the actual geniuses that hid within the Society. “But what of my second question?”

“Ah, about Nikolai, well that is thanks to your visit to Mr. Tonan with Leroux and Dr. Stevenson such a long time ago. Do you remember his assistant and the strange behavior he had?” You nodded at Jane’s question which caused her to hum. “I did not believe him at first, just a strange assistant and nothing more, at least that is what I thought at first. As you know Gaston is a composer at the Paris Opera House, a theater, he has experience with actors and the art of such so it is easy for him to tell when one is acting. He told me that he forced the attitude of a sane man to have a perfect accent, but not to one who works with actors from that part of the world every day, so detecting a fake accent was child’s play for him.”

“So Mr. Tonan’s assistant is Nikolai in disguise?” You asked, most. to yourself as you pondered the question and then it clicked. “Wait, Mr. Tonan and his assistant were invited to the ball, so Nikolai was among the guests.”

“Just as planned, they fell into our trap like rats.” Wells smiles as she speaks, running her hand through her hair. “And now we will trap them all like rats, all of them running in a maze they don’t even know.”

[white-poppie]

𝐆𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐋♡𝐕𝐄 — H.Shuji x reader

Synopsis: You are a small novelist, struggling for inspiration and ideas until you come across a charming gangster, called Hanma Shuji, who turns out to be your muse. Months later when your novel is published with him as the ML, the obsession only grows.

Pairing: Hanma Shuji x gn!author!reader Genre: YANDERE!, MAFIA! AU TW: crying, drinking, smoking, reader and Hanma both being twisted in the head, gore, Hanma being the sadist he is, hanma calls reader 'pretty' and 'doe', WC: 1.7K +

NOTE: I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT PROMOTE THIS KIND OF BEHAVIOUR. It is impractical scary and even gross. Violation of someone’s personal space/ life is not being romanticized in this post. Rather it is JUST A FICTIONAL TROUPE WITH FICTIONAL CHARACTERS.

A/N: Don't worry, its SFW!

Your grip is shaky, and tender as you gulp the bitter liquid down, it burns your throat in an ambrosial haze. It's as if your brain is barren with not a seed of creativity getting planted to fertilize into a bigger idea. You breathe a sob-sigh and sniffle, downing yourself in the liquid confidence.

You bury your face in your palms, and your elbows shake as you lean on the wooden counter. The music is loud and chaotic; it isn't a place for someone like you who spends most of her time, copped up in her mind, creating realms of her own as she writes.

You can't write. You can't write. You can't write. There have been no ideas, no inspirations, no random snippets of intense plotting and character-building...what will you do?

The neon lights dance on the yellowish-coloured tonic in your glass.

You hear the seat beside you being dragged. Your eyes fall towards the source of the sound, eyes meeting slender veiny hands, bejewelled with tattoos on their backs. A thick vein runs down his right hand to his elbow.

Your eyes gently trail upwards. His black long-sleeved turtleneck is rolled up to his elbows, his highlighted hair is neatly combed to one side, and then you look up at his long, chiselled face, sharp nose and dragon eyes...you realise he is already gazing at you with his lips turned into a soft smirk. You feel a sudden heat suffusing your cheeks. You try to avert your gaze, but his eyes have already captured yours and neither of you seem willing to let go. He continues to look into your eyes, and you feel yourself slipping away. You can savour the intensity of the moment, and it's almost electric. He tilts his head and asks, "What's a pretty angel like you doing crying in a place like this ?"

You breathe sharply and look away, averting your gaze from the handsome stranger, "just...going through things." You say.

He looks at you and nods, but he clearly isn't used to taking no for an answer. "Why spend your youth wallowing on the side, when you..." He raises his glass and points at the group of people huddled on the dance floor, "could be enjoying it on the stage instead."

You look at him in wonder...stage. William Shakespeare used it before: "The world is a stage and all men and women are players."

You blink and answer, "Why be the player when you can be the narrator?" You say softly, steering your eyes from the dance floor, back to him.

His eyebrows raised in delight at your words. He was used to people being scared of his appearance, his stature, his voice and tattoos. He just screamed 'danger' wherever he was. People talked to him for only a few reasons: for money, for partnership, for mercy or for him to warm their bed in such a way that he would ruin any other partners for them.

"Why be the player when you can be the narrator?" he says excitedly, "--when you can control the play from the sidelines." He says, adding his own twisted ideology to your personality-introducing a statement to him. It wasn't what you meant, but you didn't correct him. "You are an interesting one, you know?" he says and fetches a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, "you are one of the only people I've met who can keep a conversation dynamic." He grins with a wicked smirk, and you swear your heart hammers for him in a way that it has for no one.

"I didn't catch your name," you say softly.

"Hanma Shuji," he says with a proud smirk, "what's your name, pretty?" He asks.

"Y/N L/N," you say and ask again, curious about the man in front of you. You are never one for small talk, but there is just something so magnetic about him that you have to ask, "What do you do for a living, Hanma-san?"

"Just Hanma is okay," he corrects and sighs, a mischievous grin on his face, "I am a mob boss, have a big gang wrapped around my finger like fools." He studies your expression, "Did I scare ya? It's okay if you wanna leave, not gonna hold it against you or send my 'scary men' after you." He says exaggeratedly.

You blink blankly at him, studying his face. “I had my suspicions…got that vibe from you.” You say and pause, “But for some reason I am not scared.”

Hanma dissects your reply, drawing closer to you as he says quietly, his words heavy and menacing but like a siren's song, “You should be.”

“I should be,” you nod your head softly, “but I am not…"

Hanma studies your face with an unmoving stare. His breath trickles down your face, a gentle blend of cigarettes and mint. He looks at you as if he is remembering the exact proportions of your face.

"You intrigue me," he says and chuckles, "you still haven't told me why you were crying in a bar." He says and softly wipes the remaining tears from the corners of your eyes. For some reason, you don't feel revolted by this stranger's touch.

You shake your head and reply, "A writer loses all sense of the world when their mind is barren of inspiration. I was just looking for a push, I guess. But I was only met with a bottle of whiskey and more questions than answers. I can't help but feel like I'm in a never-ending cycle, blindly searching for an answer that I may never find. I'm stuck in my own head, unable to break free. I can't seem to find my way out. "

As Hanma hums, "So you're a writer, huh? Should have known by how eloquent you are." He's silent for a minute and then says, "Never was a book guy, sitting in one place just reading... it's too monotonous for an adrenaline junkie like me. In my teen years, I loved those twisted romances and thriller mangas." He chuckles in a way that makes you shiver.

You raise your eyebrow at him, "Dark romances, huh? Did they inspire you into becoming a mob boss?"

Hanma hisses with a faint smile on his face. "Not so loud, sweetheart." You chuckle and apologize.

"What do mob bosses do?" you ask curiously.

He crosses his arms and leans back. "What don't we do?" he replies. "Money laundering, smuggling, extortion, you know, the usual." He smiles, and you can see a hint of mischief in his eyes.

You can't help but smile at how nonchalant he is about it. You sense a darkish longing from both ends, like two poles of the magnet so close, just waiting for the right distance to be pulled close. It's like a course of warm ideas is injected into your brain. You can't help but feel drawn to him like he's the natural ending to your story.

It is interrupted by Hanma receiving a call. He picks up the phone and his expression immediately darkens. "I'll be there." He says and cuts the call and looks at you with longing and apology. He stands up, takes a deep breath and says, "I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I'll keep an eye on you." He takes one last look at you before turning to leave.

"I found my muse..." you mutter to yourself as you see him leave.

[1 year later]

And he meant that. He meant when he said 'I'll keep an eye on you.' He was a mob boss, so it was easy for him to find your whereabouts and know everything about you. It almost seemed like he didn't want to hide his presence from you. However, you for some odd reason didn't mind this man spying on your life; it made you excited.

By this time you had completely researched his life, persona, crimes, and remembered them like a textbook. Multiple articles of his gang's works were pasted on your apartment walls along with letters in front of your apartment. These letters had no sender or address, but the cologne smell was him. You pinned the letters to your walls, sighing and reading them multiple times a day, knowing he was watching you all the time.

You smiled softly, signing your book 'Ghastly Love' in the author convention. Having been acclaimed as one of the bestselling dark romances on booktok and bookstagram, you were elated to have met Hanma Shuji that night...the man who inspired you to write a book. You had never met him for a year. However, you felt his presence, his gaze and the imaginary version of him you created in your head.

Another happy fan comes and you sign the book for them. Multiple people praise your writing, but it feels so empty. The convention ends and everyone leaves. Everyone is wrapping up when one last fan comes.

I'm sorry I can't do anything. My train got late." He says, drawing your attention as the security guards push him away and all the other writers stare at him.

"Come on I just want Y/N L/N's sign. I've travelled far for this, I'll leave in 5 minutes." He says and you chuckle.

"Let him in," you say and smile, impressed by this fan's dedication. He walks confidently towards you

You look up and smile at another person, he is taller than the rest, your hands are ready to sign the book when you spot the familiar tattoo on his hand...Hanma.

A shocked gasp escapes your throat as you look up at him, your eyes watering. He lowers his mask and smirks. "Hey doe." He says, calling you the name your ML called your FL in the novel. "You've become quite famous over the past few months, yeah? But let me tell you, the guy you wrote about in your novel is nothing. This right here, in front of you is the real deal." He smirks.

You sob and hug him tightly. You had him now...and you wouldn't let him go. He was your muse, after all. Suddenly, he pulls away and looks deeply into your eyes. He whispers, "So freaking proud of ya'." He says and kisses you.

'Dedicated to the handsome stranger I found in the bar that night. Thank you for being my muse; I highly anticipate meeting you again, and this time I won't let you go."

DID YALL KNOW IVE WRITTEN A BOOK LIKE Y/N TOO?!?! Of Vengeance and Ashes” -> BUY NOW!!!! I am a 15-year-old author who needs support, I assure you it won't disappoint! It's okay if you don't buy, it would be enough to share the link with someone else who might be interested! I humbly request you support my career as a child author by purchasing my book. This would help me to write more books in future.

Also Check out: L'appel du vide (✔️) (Synopsis: Your husband, Hanma Shuji is dead! With no memories of what transpired two days before his death, you team up with Tachibana Naoto, Chifuyu Matsuno, Ryuguji Ken and Mitsuya Takashi, you go on a journey full of betrayals and twists. Can you find out what really happened to your husband? )

© white-poppie 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or translate without permission. do not claim work or layout as yours.

— TOKYO REVENGERS - Fanfictions

TAGS: @akumicchi, @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp, @rintaroubby @nanaseishiro @cleaningfairylevi, @buttercupspotify

PPL WHO ASKED TO BE TAGGED IN THIS FIC (temp tags, lemme know if you wanna be added to my permanent taglist): @shujivenus, @soulhasshattered

﹒ Taglist  ﹒

[greekgodznerd]

The Infinite Monkey Theorem

“The infinite monkey theorem states that a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter keyboard for an infinite amount of time will almost surely type any given text, including the complete works of William Shakespeare” - Wikipedia

so could the monkeys finish writing the entire code for yandere simulator before the creator finishes it?

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 1 MATCH 51

William propaganda:

“just included for being responsible for the fact that i can drop the phrase "Sexy Yandere Vampire William Shakespeare" into a conversation”

Rise propaganda:

“Me starting a run of Persona 4: Maybe I'll romance someone who isn't Rise this time?

It never happens. I always romance Rise”

[spopsys-archive]

<3 | Ikemen vampire

<3 | Leonardo Da Vinci

| Care for me

Comfort/ sick fic | Polyamorous relationship (Comte x MC x Leonardo) | TW sickness (cold), coughing

| Too perfect

Fluff fic | Leonardo x OC (Julie) | TW minor harassment (a stranger briefly grabs Julie’s arm)

| Artistic MC asking for advice

Headcanon | Vincent and Leonardo (separate) | No TW

| MC on their period

Headcanon | Vlad, Comte and Leonardo (separate) | TW periods, brief allusions to blood

| Reacting to MC drinking period blood like a shot

Headcanon | Vlad, Comte and Leonardo (separate) | TW periods, unhealthy/ unsanitary practices (drinking period blood), intrusive thoughts

- — — — <3

<3 | Comte De Saint-Germain

| Care for me

Comfort/ sick fic | Polyamorous relationship (Comte x MC x Leonardo) | TW sickness (cold), coughing

| Hope in desolation

Angst (?) fic | TW death mentions, imagery of people being burnt by wax

| My one and only

Yandere fic | TW yandere themes/ mindset, unhealthy obsessions (neither are acted on necessarily in any way)

| More forward, perhaps?

Fluff fic | Female Comte (genderswap) | No TW

| Simplistic/ non-materialistic MC who doesn’t care about money

Headcanon | Oliver, Comte, Jean, Masamune and Zero (separate) | TW insecurity

| MC on their period

Headcanon | Vlad, Comte and Leonardo (separate) | TW periods, brief allusions to blood

| Reacting to MC drinking period blood like a shot

Headcanon | Vlad, Comte and Leonardo (separate) | TW periods, unhealthy/ unsanitary practices (drinking period blood), intrusive thoughts

| First kiss

Headcanon | Female Comte (genderswap) | No TW

- — — — <3

<3 | Napoleon Bonaparte

| Withholding cuddles and kisses after a (playful) argument

Fluff drabble | TW (playful) argument

| MC who is a trained knight

Headcanon | Lancelot, Mitsunari, Hideyoshi and Napoleon (separate) | TW mentions of fighting

| MC with short hair (bob/ pixie cut)

Headcanon | Napoleon, Mozart, Isaac and Theodorus (separate) | TW minor mentions of gender stereotypes

| Cuddling MC who’s tired of her studies

Headcanon | Napoleon and Vincent (separate) | TW burn out, mentions of skipping meals and sleep

- — — — <3

<3 | Jean D’Arc

| Solace

Angst with a happy ending fic | Jean x OC (Julie) I TW thunder storms, arguments, insecurity, self doubt

| Proposing to Jean first

Fluff drabble I TW marriage, crying

| Simplistic/ non-materialistic MC who doesn’t care about money

Headcanon | Oliver, Comte, Jean, Masamune and Zero (separate) | TW insecurity

| Pronoun and sexuality headcanons

Headcanon | Shakespeare, Jean and Sebastian (separate) | No TW

- — — — <3

<3 | Isaac Newton

| Keep talking

Fluff fic | TW mild insecurity

| MC with short hair (bob/ pixie cut)

Headcanon | Napoleon, Mozart, Isaac and Theodorus (separate) | TW minor mentions of gender stereotypes

- — — — <3

<3 | Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

| MC with short hair (bob/ pixie cut)

Headcanon | Napoleon, Mozart, Isaac and Theodorus (separate) | TW minor mentions of gender stereotypes

- — — — <3

<3 | Dazai Osamu

| Carefree

Fluff fic | No TW

- — — — <3

<3 | Arthur Conan Doyle

| Kisses and giggles

Fluff fic | No TW

| Theocona hurt/comfort

Headcanon | Arthur x Theodorus | TW mentions of intrusive thoughts

- — — — <3

<3 | Vincent Van Gogh

| Sketch

Fluff fic (?) | No TW

| Artistic MC asking for advice

Headcanon | Vincent and Leonardo (separate) | No TW

| Cuddling MC who’s tired of her studies

Headcanon | Napoleon and Vincent (separate) | TW burn out, mentions of skipping meals and sleep

- — — — <3

<3 | Theodorus Van Gogh

| MC with short hair (bob/ pixie cut)

Headcanon | Napoleon, Mozart, Isaac and Theodorus (separate) | TW minor mentions of gender stereotypes

| Theocona hurt/comfort

Headcanon | Arthur x Theodorus | TW mentions of intrusive thoughts

- — — — <3

<3 | William Shakespeare

| Childish glee

Fluff fic | No TW

| Fear not my dear, take your time

Angst/ hurt/ comfort fic | TW self harm, self depreciation, blood, injury, self neglect

| Yandere Shakespeare ramble

Yandere drabble | TW yandere and everything that comes with it

| MC struggling with self harm

Headcanon | TW self harm, self-deprecation, self neglect

| Pronoun and sexuality headcanons

Headcanon | Shakespeare, Jean and Sebastian (separate) | No TW

| Balding Shakespeare headcanons

Headcanon | TW cursed, a lot of regret

| Foot health headcanons

Headcanon | TW cursed, a lot of regret

| Shakespeare portrait AU

Headcanon | Portrait AU | TW manipulation mention, claustrophobia, nyctophobia

| Long haired Shakespeare headcanons

Headcanon | No TW

- — — — <3

<3 | Sebastian

| Pronoun and sexuality headcanons

Headcanon | Shakespeare, Jean and Sebastian (separate) | No TW

- — — — <3

<3 | Vlad

| MC on their period

Headcanon | Vlad, Comte and Leonardo (separate) | TW periods, brief allusions to blood

| General Vlad dating headcanons

Headcanon | TW possessiveness, fear of losing someone, food (strawberries)

| Reacting to MC drinking period blood like a shot

Headcanon | Vlad, Comte and Leonardo (separate) | TW periods, unhealthy/ unsanitary practices (drinking period blood), intrusive thoughts

- — — — <3

<3 | Charles Henri-Sanson

None yet

- — — — <3

<3 | Johann Georg Faust

None yet

- — — — <3

<3 | All

| Give it back!

Crack fic | Mostly Napoleon and Comte centred | TW swearing (quite a bit), mentions of injury, mention of rabid ferrets, mentions of feral animals

| Who I think would be the best brother

Headcanon | No TW

| MC making a Twilight reference

Headcanon | No TW

| Vampire biology stuff to explain their existences idk

Headcanon | TW blood, mentions of procreation, mentions of trying to changes ones genetic makeup, biology stuff, probably scientific inaccuracies, this is quite long actually

<3 | Series

❤️ | Love sick fool - Shakespeare x gender neutral MC

| Perhaps I am nought but a love sick fool - Love sick fool: Part 1

Fluff fic | No TW

| Love sick in more ways than one - Love sick fool: Part 2

Angst fic | TW death/death of a loved one, illness, crying

| Return - Love sick fool: Part 3

Fluff/comfort fic | TW death mention

| Love - Love sick fool: Good ending

Not yet posted

| Sick - Love sick fool: Bad ending

Not yet posted

❤️ | Shakespeare portrait AU - Shakespeare x gender neutral MC

| Reveal to me - Shakespeare portrait AU: Part 1

Angst/ hopeful ending fic I Tw claustrophobia, nyctophobia, betrayal, manipulation

| A way - Shakespeare portrait AU: Part 2

Not yet posted

| Out of the dark - Shakespeare portrait AU: Part 3

Not yet posted

| And hold my hand - Shakespeare portrait AU: Good ending

Not yet posted

| And let me keep you close - Shakespeare portrait AU: Bad ending

Not yet posted

❤️ | Mansion rules - No relationship focus

| Rule 1

Horror/ unreality fic I TW chasing, panic

| Rule 2

Horror/ unreality fic | TW allusions to mind control/ manipulation

| Rule 4

Horror/ unreality I TW blood, injury, gore, horror, panic, drowning, screaming

| Rule 5

Horror/ unreality fic I TW screaming, death, hallucinations (auditory), ghosts, blood, gore, self inflicted injury

| Follow the rules

Horror/ unreality, angst fic | TW self loathing, blood, gore, shadow people, curses, horror, religion mention

[cto10121]

…Yeah, this really needs its own post. You’re in for a wild ride, @pisces-hideout.

So yes, William Shakespeare and Ben Jonson were total frenemies and their Goku-Vegeta dynamic is as good as historical fact. And it is absolutely glorious.

So Ben Jonson was eight years younger than Shakespeare, a bricklayer-turned-soldier who came into playacting/writing around the late 1590s (seriously, what’s with all the most important people in Shakespeare’s life being 8 years apart from him in age?). Shakespeare and Jonson first met (per Shakespeare’s first biographer Nicholas Rowe) when Jonson submitted his first play, Every Man In His Humour, to Shakespeare’s troupe, the Lord Chamberlain’s Men. The LCM disliked the play and were ready to refuse it—except Shakespeare, who gave it a quick look and persuaded his troupe to perform it. After that they became friends and even drinking buddies…but that didn’t stop Jonson from giving Shakespeare hell, though.

Because from the get-go Jonson was the complete opposite of Shakespeare in every way. Arrogant, irascible, macho, scholarly, and opinionated, he 1) was a consummate artiste who wrote super slowly and 2) fought with and made enemies of other play poets, wrote plays, poetry, social and lit criticism, and pretty much doing everything under the sun. He was also very political and spoke truth to power; a controversial play he co-wrote with Tom Nashe literally got him arrested and thrown in the Tower (where he famously converted to Catholicism). While a lot of his plays were commercial failures, he was renowned for his literary work and got an intense following by other pretentious fans called the Tribe of Ben—and of course his satiric social comedies were all the rage in the 1600s.

Oh, and he also killed people. In war, yeah, but also one guy in a duel. Gabriel Spenser, a fellow actor. Got his thumb branded for it. Yeah.

And yes, homeboy ragged on Shakespeare. He straight up told his buddy that Shakespeare “wanted [lacked] art.” He criticized him for his awful geography, particularly giving Ilyria (Czechoslovakia) a coastline. And when Shakespeare’s fellow actors gushed about how Shakespeare was such a genius that he never blotted a single line, Jonson tartly replied, “Would he had blotted a thousand!”

He also had this to say about Shakespeare:

In the end he was a tsundere a softie. After Shakespeare’s death, he wrote an especially great dedicatory poem (“To the Memory of My Beloved the Author, Mr William Shakespeare”) for Shakespeare’s First Folio, famously calling him “Sweet Swan of Avon!” With regards to his family, he was a total yandere; he called his wife “a shrew, but honest” and wrote the most touching tribute to his son Ben when he died.

Shakespeare, meanwhile, wrote fast and effortlessly (per the actors), had a good reputation, did not involve himself in ~theater drama, did not court followers, was consistently successful…and by all accounts trolled Jonson superbly. Check it out:

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

[ayatsu]

┌✽✻❊✺❊✻✽┐

William Shakespeare

Gender: Male

Age: 26 years old

Date of birth: April 23

Ability: "Storm" allows you to use air as your weapon, but he does not know how to use it, so he does not activate it.

Once during the war, when he was in serious danger, he used the ability for the first time. However, due to his inability to use it, he received a deep wound on his side.

After disappearing from sight for a couple of minutes, he somehow bandaged himself and returned to the battlefield. However, he lost consciousness from a lot of blood loss. I woke up already under Johann's strict control and under his lectures.

Since then, he has been using only cold steel.

Appearance: William is a short guy, slim, even slightly thin. A little tanned, but not to the point of swarthiness. His hair is red, cut in an uneven "square", which he made for himself. He put red eyeliner on his red eyes to make them look more expressive. Sometimes he can put on lipstick, purely in order to kiss someone jokingly.

He dresses strangely by other people's standards. Casual bright clothes are sometimes even repulsive. However, Will considers it beautiful and is not going to change his tastes for the sake of someone else.

Sometimes there is a mood not to stand out so much. On such days, he has one image: a black tight-fitting tank top, light plaid trousers and a white knitted cardigan. In the hot season - without a cardigan.

Character: Shakespeare is an eccentric man. He likes to attract attention, no matter how. Many people consider him stupid because of this, because he has only "Transcendents" among his friends.

Also, by nature, he is very jealous. Although there is no such person yet so that he can be jealous, but when he appears, let him be ready that he will have yandere.

└❋──────────────❋┘

[yandere-romanticaa]

Similarities and differences of how Kenshin and Shakespeare would treat their darlings (example: kisses, gifts, etc)? Gotta give our resident yanderes some love~ 💕💕💕

I don't really know a lot about Shakespeare, but I still think that he and Kenshin have similarities. They are both willing to chain their s/o up for their own selfish and insecure reasons. Kenshin knows just how cruel the world is, how his darling can dissapear in a heartbeat if he ever turns his back on her. He treats her like glass, too scared to touch the thing that he loves the most in this world.

As a vampire, and a rather old one at that, Shakespeare has witnessed many diffirent things. From the most wounderful joy to the saddest drama, the man has seen it all but never in his eteral life did he ever feel such extreme emotions. He and his s/o are star crossed lovers, they simply are not meant to be, and yet he still presses on. He doesn't let go, he can't let go. He feels as though his heart will be ripped out of his chest if his darling ever strays away from him. It's cruel, he's cruel, but he just cannot allow it...

As for their diffirences, I imagine that Shakespeare likes to tease and lightly torment his s/o at times. His thirst for s/o's blood is uncontrolable, unberable even. That sweet, sweet nectar that flows through his darlings veins is a drug to the writer, a drug that can't leave no matter what.

Kenshin on the other hand is terrified by the idea of hurting his s/o. He's only willing to do that only if he must. Kenshin is a man who is willing to burn the entire world to ashes, and all for his darlings safety. If he lost his s/o, Kenshin is unsure if he would be able to live with himself. The guilt would be far too great, but rest assured Kenshin won't allow anyone to hurt his darling, ever.

[ophelian-darling]

hello and welcome back! it’s really nice to hear that you plan on writing again… i’m so excited (°◡°♡) this is not a request per se, i would like to hear your thoughts on our illustrious yan! don giovanna. what sort of characteristic of his darling that caught his interest? perhaps with a short interactions that goes between them?

- 🍓

yes yes yes 💕 thank you so so much 🥺

TW: Obsession, Isolation.

enjoy ♡

Giorno appreciates all shapes of beauty and considers them to be a blessing: the life of small creatures, the sun and its flowers; and there was the most alluring one: love. he secretly wishes for a taste of these pink tingles and warm feelings of belonging to someone- a tie that he needed the most. 

Love has always been a complicated emotion for him. During his childhood, he wasn't able to understand how someone can dedicate their whole souls and offer their precious hearts on a platter for someone, easily and wholeheartedly. however, the strange sensation would become too familiar later on. He doesn't know how and when- but it happened. The don didn't imagine that he'd be mad about someone else. 

It didn't take less than a smile for him to fall for you. it was the comely curve of your lips, the way you spilled your words regardless of what you said: so gentle and genial, too innocent for him to comprehend. a simple word from you swelled his heart with Warmth and yearning for something he didn't have- it was love. 

The moonlight fell across your features, dazzlingly beautiful as you listened to him; the blood under your skin heating with each soft word the Adonic don lets out.

"Have you ever seen something so beautiful yet you felt like it can't be yours, darling?" he asked, green eyes glinting as he regarded you, waiting for your answer. 

You thought for a moment: surely there were lots of pretty things you couldn't have (tangible things to be exact, an answer he obviously didn't wait for) but you ended up replying with a gentle smile"Plenty of things, but I'm used to the idea that I simply can't have everything to myself. this is life, after all" 

This is life, after all. Would you have mercy on him if you knew that your smile was the thing in question? it may seem selfish: the desire to take you away from everything and everyone, hold you and never let go of you, build your own world on his dreams and wishes… However, leaving you alone wasn't the best option either. 

"The feeling of dread when you can't have it is the worst, tesoro." Strangely enough, you noticed that gray flicker in his eyes…have you hurt him in a way without realizing it?!

"I am beyond blessed to have you understanding me even in my silence, yet at the same time I'm past agonized to not having you see the pain I feel everytime I look at you and can't have you all to myself."

He faintly remembers something his mother had said. It was something about how falling in love was painfully sweet. He was a lonely child, watching his classmates of boys and girls chasing after each other while staying under a shadow. He had always thought that he's not worthy of such close connections and preferred to be alone. 

Even after overthrowing the Boss, taking over Passione and Italy as well as being blessed with the treasury of a king at such a young age, Giorno still aspires to live a maudlin experience of romance: the arrow of a first glance, the fever of a first touch and the sweetness of a kiss. None of whoever knew him -or claimed to know him- would recognize that hue of needing to love and hold onto someone; all of his ardency coffined under stoic countenance. 

Life never seemed to be so munificent and reverent till now. Not a pearl from his jewelry box, or a single diamond ornament on his fingers or hell- even the empery he owns is nothing compared to the blessing of you. It went so fast that he forgot what was exactly the spark that made him smitten: was it the glamour of your eyes? your balsamic voice? or that pure, merit heart of yours? Giorno couldn't tell, all he was able to confess was his undying love for the enchanting human he was only able to behold. 

As much as it is soothing to stare at you from afar, the lingering frustration of not getting your attention nagged at the elegant Don, so was the morbid Jealousy. Would a loving shepherd let their pristine lamb be consumed by the beasts?! no. He couldn't blame you for the eyes you lured; he was himself a bewitched lovelorn, but the way everyone had the freedom to look at you (or worse, interacting with you) was sheerly unacceptable. you had to be owned as soon as possible. 

For someone who's well versed in the art of deception and craftiness, naiveté and sincerity were highly treasured as lost traits- good traits that he wanted to see in someone -particularly a lover- who would bask in their guiltless love and clear affection as a source for warmth. and thankfully, you appeared in his life, both as a soulmate and a reminder of the still goodness in this cruel world. 

Nights were gruellingly long and cold. Even in a secured paradise of all riches and human wishes, the king found himself missing a counterpart. leading the organization was not a problem (and he wouldn't let you know about what's underneath the surface of this luxurious life, fearing that your feelings for him might shatter from the truth of his business's savagery) but the real issue was the realization that he can't bear all the weight alone. a syrupy 'Ciao Giorno!' was sweeter than any fruit or wine he could easily afford, the feeling of your lips on his was warmer than a ray of sunshine, the loving feeling of your hands was fonder than any of the softest feathers on his coats. thinking of you would escalate to writing so many folders of serenades, but there was one word that abridged your existence to him: amore. 

"How much do you love me, Amore mio?"

You grinned, widely opening your arms "this much!". 

"And how much do you love me, Gio?"

He didn't answer verbally. Cupping your cheeks mellowly, he sealed your lips with kisses, each one softer and sweller than the other. He knew your weaknesses well: the kisses and touches of his were a tasty philter you savored. 

"I can kiss you till your lips bleed"

"Please stay my innocent Amore forever"

[janumun]

I loved your NSFW HCs for Comte, Arthur and Isaac. Could I please request one for Shakespeare, Vlad and Leonardo?

Thank you so much ♥️ And yes, sure. Happy reading!

William Shakespeare

Shakespeare is an eccentric, a yandere; an inscrutable gentleman. Even you do not fully understand what it is that hides behind the man’s disarming smiles but you’re intrigued. (And you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat.)

“A-Ah… S-Shakespeare… please,” Voice all quiver, body all agitation, you try to twist around in his grasp but he’s inescapable, his presence all encompassing.

He has you both snuggled away into a secluded corner of the mansion’s vast library. The hard wooden juts of the shelves dig unforgivingly into your back but your mind’s a fog.

“‘O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art’,” silver seeped in the lowest of lustrous tones, brushes across your throat; lips feathery light as they sear a path against your neck.

Licking dry lips to return moisture lost, you attempt to re-enact the famous balcony scene from ‘Romeo and Juliet’, pulling at whatever helpful threads from memory.

“‘If they do see thee, they will murder thee.’” You speak the dialogue, a strangely apt warning for what would happen if the other residents of the mansion happened upon you two, in this position.

Shakespeare was hardly a welcome presence here. You had been cautioned by far too many.

And yet –

‘My life were better ended by their hate

Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.’

Your eyebrows pinched at the words, at the solemnity of his expression as he uttered his confession to you, unnerving odd eyes staring right into yours as if he were trying to fathom your own feelings through sight alone. However, the clouds parted, his face cleared far too fast for you to make sense of him, a pleasant smile taking him once again.

“I am far too glad you deem my oeuvres worthy of your attention,” he commented, pulling away from you at last. You felt strangely bereft, missing the warm of his body on yours.

You perceived a heat on your cheeks as soon as you had that thought. “Please, I cannot bear thee looking so sad. I promise we shall meet again soon.” His voice was gentle, soothing and yet you thought you glimpsed the dark of promises unsworn deep within his gaze.

You smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Perhaps, you were a fly caught in the spider’s web after all.

Fond of chains and manacles around you

Shakespeare likes to have your wrists encircled within his grasp, pinning them to the wall as he enters your bent form from behind. Your body a half-undressed canvas, flowing fabric around your feet, your collar long loosened and parted to reveal the enticing curves of your bosom: all of it has him breathless and hard and wanting.

He wants to make this fair maiden his for all eternity. 

And when you lift your skirts up and above to flash glistening skin, looking at him, mouth parted, the rouge of your lips smudged, eyes a deliberate haze seducing him to fall to his own tragedy –

He’s reaching for your hands, taking them in his grasp – slowly tightening – as he moves to clasp them above your body. Fingers digging, unmerciful, into the delicate flesh of your wrists, skin so thin, almost gossamer, taking the shape of his grip like words to parchment, as he assaults your senses with his own lust. Wanting you to drown in him, the way he feels asphyxiated by his love for you he almost hates the way you have him, mind and body, so enraptured.

 As for how you two usually end up in such comprising positions:

Shakespeare loves teaching you how to dance to olden music long forgotten. He came up with that suggestion when he once noted your endearing habit of tapping your heels, a personal pantomime flowing from your lips; in silent accompaniment to a musical play he had had the pleasure of attending you at.

He was gratified when he put forth himself to your services and you enthusiastically agreed.

The sound of his low sonorous laugh followed at the clack of your heels against polished granulite. “You’re doing so well, my dear.”

“Are you sure? I don’t feel very good about this.” You frowned at your feet as the pair of you swayed, slightly out of sync to the music.

Another light chuckle. It soothed your nerves to hear him so relaxed and patient with your amateur self.

“Of course. Does my lady not believe me when I say so?” A complicated pirouette and then he’s pulling you along, arms first, as you glide across the floor together, his form that of a majestic demon.

“And even if thou flounder,” he sent you around in a free twirl, almost making you dizzy before you slipped and stumbled – right into his waiting arms.

Lifting your head only to find his eyes already trained on you, something unfathomable and bright within their depths.

“Shakespeare–”

He’s taking your mouth in a slow stimulating kiss, pulling your bodies flush against each other, hands fluttering against the surge of your hips. When you feel the grind of him against your body, you’re already falling, moaning into his mouth as you let the lateness of eve pull you into further amorous pleasures.

 Loves it when you wear chokers cough to complement whatever outfit you’re dressed in. He has expressed his interest in the unusual necklet one too many a time.

Gentle hands slide across your naked skin, soothing and probing in motion, but they do nothing besides stoking the fires of your arousal.

His eyes seem to hold an almost fey glow as he delicately touches the ornament adorning your neck. You’re whimpering at the sight of his hunger.

Fingers slide underneath the material to tug at it – and in order – your neck.

Impenetrable gaze meets yours before he’s bending down to lave around the taut chain, making you gasp at the feeling of his cool wet tongue.

“Did you know… in worlds long lost to time, the necklace gracing your neck used to be a sign of slavery, subservience… to a master.” 

Eyes upturned. Beauty ephemeral. The slip of a vulpine smile.

“Do you wish to pledge your undying loyalty, to be bound, just as I wish to be the only one shackled to your name, my love?” His fangs are grazing against your neckline, searching, waiting.

You eagerly breathe your consent heavenward.

A yearning sound, the piercing of skin is all you know in your little world before pleasure takes and destroys you for any man besides him.

Leonardo Da Vinci

All Leonardo wants in life is his cigarillos and a naked cara mia in his lap to keep him warm and cosy.

 In accordance with his habit of falling asleep anywhere and at any place within the mansion’s premises, the first view from the floor Leonardo has of you, is undoubtedly your butt which he thinks is the finest in all of Paris.

He once had, what he now likes to call, the “screeching glass incident", befall him because he dared to speak up in praise of your excellent bottom.

You bet the man still likes to huff and sulk about it just to see your cute flustered face as you recall what you did.

Coming down to have a glass of water past midnight, in a house full of weirdos vampires wasn’t perhaps the most stellar idea you had ever had. You realized it as soon as you moved to put your now empty glass in the sink, only to stumble over something… lying on the floor. A thud and then a groan followed, before a hand was reaching out of the darkness to steady your leg… “…Cara…” a touch at your bottom was what finally stimulated your voice box, your hand – still holding the glass – coming down to hit your perverted perpetrator over the head.

The glass broke with a resounding crash, a wounded “OW!” right on its heels before the room was flooded with light, a hard headed Leonardo curled up on the floor, clutching his head. 

Suffice to say the man learned not to try steadying you in dark scary places without prior warning.

Sex with Leonardo is a ride all on its own, much like the man himself.

He’s languorously lapping a path up your slit, strong arms encasing your shaking thighs, building you up only to drop butterfly kisses around the area once you’re close, watching sundry emotions dance across your face in response to his teasing.

“Hah…” A light suck to the clit before he’s moving away amidst demurring and cries of protest. “You’re a beautiful mess, cara mia.”

But once he’s done edging your exhausted body, he’s dragging you close by the hips, fervently thrusting inside in one swift move. You’re throwing your head back - overwhelming ecstasy the only thing that matters - to scream out his name.

He’s rough and harsh and intense once he’s inside you. He knows exactly how his campagna likes it and he loves it just the same.

“Haha… the way you’re moving your hips… it’s hot the way you’re chasing your release, using my body however you please. Seeing you try so hard makes me want to keep up.” He says as he swings your body up into his arms.

Leonardo is a tall and broad man: he’s huge. And damn strong.

Be prepared to be tossed around: onto the bed, onto the carpet, to fuck over his trash pile of a room, get frisky on top of his books. Folded like a lawn chair, he’s pounding into you hard while you’re left helplessly groaning out your pleasure into his mouth, hot on yours.

“Got me tight, cara mia?” The question is a husk, a deeper, more gravelly intonation of his usual pleasant voice and it send shivers down your spine. Leonardo moves to adjust the strength of your legs around his hips, pushing into your wetness, the impact sending you back against the wall. He continues to skewer your body onto his cock over and over.

 Vlad

You’ve hardly seen the pleasant smile on his face falter, his speech a thing spun of low silken tones. He’s gentle in his demands of you, be it politely asking you to run a few errands out in town, helping him look after his gardens while he’s out on business or… be it asking you how you’d like him to have you collared – would you prefer to be on your knees, on his bed or -

Vlad doesn’t like being unnecessarily violent with you, although he is quite demanding in bed. He finds your tears of frustration rather lovely.

The one time you have seen the look on his face change, mangled into something almost unpleasant – the smile on his face taking on an unctuous quality, is when –

“Comte bought you these flowers, you say?” The question is uttered in a tone so insouciant, you know something is off about it a minute before you feel the rush of the wind in your ears, the motion of his pull so swift, you’re underneath him in seconds. Vlad moves to drag his lips against your hair, kissing at the locks, breathing in the scent of the roses adorning them like a poisonous crown. “…A floret of my favorites, nonetheless. Hah… truly, you mock me, dear Comte.”

“Lord Vlad?” You question him, eyes wide in bewilderment. What brought this on? Weren’t Comte and Vlad old friends?

“It’s nothing much, draga mea. Only, would you allow me to find solace in your body? I find myself rather fatigued this evening.”

“Of course,” you answer still somewhat agog, even as you’re moving to place your hands across his back. He’s swifter, pinning your wrists above your head in a fast hold, ruby eyes straining to contain something dark and wanton. You swallow thickly against the aggression of your arousal his amorous gaze inspires in you.

You open your mouth to utter his name but he’s leaning in to swallow your pleas into his mouth, fangs brushing against your tongue with the roughness of his kiss. He’s moving to straddle you, free hand hiking up your skirts, tearing at them to get to you.

He’s murmuring inaudibly against your skin but you’re far too gone at this point to question him about it. “Mine, mine, mine… never again…”

 .

[End notes: I realize I ended up making a ficlet out of Shakespeare’s head-canons. Writing Vlad also left me dissatisfied since we don’t have a lot of content to draw from yet. Fix this, Cybird! Give us the hot white blonde! However, this is my current take on him, reading his introductions, his dialogues, based on a random JP Q&A with Vlad as well as the sprite-less part he plays within the current routes. I hope these managed to satisfy you regardless of my feelings on the matter. Thank you for reading!

I would also like to thank Leo for being the good child among these two dark beings. ]

[fancyfeathers]

I love your blog! Your darlings are so well written, you want to be mad at them for accepting their fates but their backstories are so complex that you actually cant get mad?!

And Eloise is my favorite of the kids.

In one of your posts you compared the noble boy she meets to a Young Vincent Phantomhive… but how messed up would it be for the Moriarty plan if she met O!Ciel Phantomhive and Sebastian instead… Eloise is very smart - O!Ciel is too, as well as very determined and a manipulative little shit (which we love).

Good luck Moriarthree dealing with this Queen’s Watchdog and his pet demon.

I know black butler is not in your possible requests but I found the idea pretty entertaining.

Keep up the gréât writing!

*Turns to Kitty*

“Wanna help?”

“Oh yes I do.”

Co-writers on this one baby!

Father Like Daughter (Yandere William James Moriarty and his darling having a genius daughter)

While this would definitely be an AU but it is definitely fun together, if they ever met it would be during the public school arc and I imagine even through it is a boy’s school that all the children in the Moriarty family would be sent due to them needing to be away and safe during a particularly dangerous mission that could take awhile, the girls’ enrollment is managed through Albert and William pulling a few strings with a few friends who work there, along with Eloise’s high IQ, Hyacinth’s high literacy level, and Madeline’s and Marguerite’s high physical performances.

Andrei would be placed in Red House at age seventeen, Hyacinth in Purple House at age fourteen, Marguerite and Madeline in Green House at ages fourteen, and Eloise in Blue House at age sixteen which would place her in along with Ciel.

Due to the the special circumstances I believe one of the members of the crime gang would be keeping an eye on the children, James Bonde and or Miss Moneypenny. Of course Eloise’s circumstances would draw attention especially because she is a lady, but not just a lady but a lady with an insanely high IQ, and any stupid welcome house traditions will be stopped immediately by James Bonde who is posing as the caretaker of the Moriarty children due to their special circumstances which is another curious thing about this family.

Both Sebastian and Ciel notice her lack of effort in her classes and personal studies but still having extremely high marks even in the most difficult of studies. When Sebastian checks up on her as housemaster during quiet time she is reading her own personal fiction literature, and Mr. Bonde has to explain to him that little Eloise had always excelled since she was a little girl, studying Shakespeare and advanced sciences when she was barely five years old, and her cousins and sister were just as talented but in different ways, her sister Madeline of Green House being a top tier fencer and mathematician, her cousin Marguerite of Green House being a skilled markswoman and equestrian, her cousin Hyacinth of Purple House being a talent in the theater along with having a deft hand in sewing and art, and then her eldest cousin Andrei of Red House being the heir to the title of Earl of the Moriarty family and being skilled in the psychological sciences.

When Ciel is late to tea, he spotted Eloise and and Andrei in the gazebo as well which quickly shows the quick favor the Moriarties had won from the prefects. That evening when Ciel is complaining to Sebastian, Eloise comes knocking with her little charming smile but when the door closes her little act fades away.

“You have no actual intentions as a student here do you? You are up to something and that is painfully obvious.”

“How did you-“

“Know? You have no idea what my family life is like, you learn a thing or two in the Moriarty Estate. I have a proposal for you, I can help you if you help me eventually, and need I remind you I have a relative in each of the houses. So do we have a deal?”

“…I-“

“I will let you sleep on it, it is the only fair since I am your senior. You can let me or Mr. Bonde know, or perhaps Miss Moneypenny… but she is looking after Hyacinth in Purple House.”

So the next day when Ciel goes to speak to her, he catches her at a time where Mr. Bonde is at her side, but speaking to her in a tone in much more of a scolding than his usual tone to her, showing that he is no servant of the Moriarty family that he was led to believe, much on how Sebastian is not an actual housemaster.

“Eloise, you cannot have others dragged into the affairs of your family, your father and uncle sent you lot here to keep you safe.”

“I am sorry alright, but something is not right about any of this, that Ciel boy is not hear for school, something is clearly wrong-“

“Stay out of it, or else I will alert your father, do I make myself clear?”

“…Very.”

When Bonde steps out, giving Ciel a smile as he walks off to check up on the other Moriarty children in the other houses. Ciel steps into her room and sees her in pure anger.

“Who is your father exactly-“

“And who is your butler? It seems we find ourselves in a stalemate of secrets.”

After the incident with Cole, I think Andrei would be the one to take his place due to his high level of manners and being the heir to the Moriarty name. Putting more Moriarties in Ciel’s radar, and honestly why he does not really need help from Eloise anymore, he is now curious about what she wants and who exactly her family is. So when speaking to Andrei one day and bringing the topic of Eloise.

“Number one, my cousin is far too old for you to court if that is what you are after, but then again she is already being courted by that gentleman at the university. Number two, if you are trying to find out about our family, we would be fools to tell the Queen’s guard dog, now wouldn’t we? Leave family affairs to the ones who bear the Moriarty name.”

Then he tries his luck with trying to talk to shy, little Hyacinth, but she just hides behind the other students or Purple House.

Then with Madeline and Marguerite in Green House but the two of them refuse to give him any of the answers he seeks.

Their family is so secretive is as if they were related to the Lord of Crime himself

(Both Kitty and I doubt Eloise and Ciel would be friends, rivals at best, enemies at worst since their personalities would clash rather easily)

(Kitty honestly had the idea of Ciel meeting Eloise’s lover and immediately remembering his father and also the idea that her lover could be the reincarnation of his father but that really wouldn’t work because of their ages)

(Also just imagine when the Moriarty kids are all at the gazebo and their father’s pay them a visit and the bunch all just are surprised and slightly yet clearly worried and distressed at the sudden visit, Eloise especially)

[do-mkokoro]

How to counteract a yandere 101: Out-yandere him.

Thanks @chiefofpigs for providing Shakespeare a flowery speech.

Edit: Here is the aftermath

[dear-yandere]

event prompt 2 + william shakespeare.

--For @weburythesunlight22--

Please excuse my terrible Shakespearean.

Art belongs to the lovely @alva-radio!

“All the quaint stars shine for thee, mine love.” His voice was sultry and soulful against your hot skin, tone far deeper than anything you’d heard from him before. His breath hit your skin in warm waves, serving as a painful reminder that this wasn’t a dream -- he was real, the thick shackles on your wrists and ankles were real, this was real.

Hot tears fell from your cheek to his, his eyebrows furrowing with worry. He stopped his ministrations, delicate lips twisting from light smile to a deep frown. Warm fingers brushed over the wet trail on your cheek so delicately you realized he thought of you as a doll -- so fragile, so vulnerable.

“Wherefore art thee crying? Doth thee not concur?” His voice was low with concern and hurt.

“P-please take these off.” You fumbled with the thick restraints binding your wrists, but they were no ordinary handcuffs. The wrought iron clung to your skin only barely tight enough to not restrict your blood flow. The length of the cuffs themselves were almost theatrically long in nature, resembling shackles you’d see an actor wear in a play.

The thought of being his unwilling actress made you sick to your stomach. Yet, the fires of love still burned no matter what he’s done to you, what he will do to you.

Perhaps you were just as crazy as him.

“But they art a symbol of mine love for thee.” His bottom lip trembled at the thought of not being bound to you, of not having you always within reach. “Doth thee not like it?”

You fumbled over your words. The way he pleaded you with those mismatched eyes was beyond disconcerting, easily sapping your confidence with a mere look.

“I... I appreciate it, my love, but I’m not g-going anywhere. Please, there is no need for them...”

You hoped he didn’t hear the lie in your words, but he seemed far more enthralled with running his fingers over the metal handcuffs and your hands, the coldness a stark contrast to your blissfully warm skin. He always loved that about you. Whereas he was as cold as the dead he often wrote about in his human life -- a lesser vampire born of unfulfilled desires -- you were still alive, still idyllically warm and meek.

He simply wanted to protect that fragile humanity. It hurt that you couldn’t seem to understand that.

“Marry, thou art wrong. I love thee with so much of mine heart that none is left to protest.” He managed a guileless smile that unknowingly sent your heart into conflict. Bringing one bound hand upward, his curled lips delicately pressed against your skin in an ardent and chaste kiss. “Heareth mine own soul speak: the very instant I saw thee didst mine own heart fly to thy service. I understandeth anon, I exist to protect thee.”

His words made your heart flutter -- never had someone loved you so wholly, so fervently and reverently that it made your soul sing. There was no deceit in his words, the slight sheen of his teary eyes was proof enough.

“But...” you started, protests nearly dying on your lips. “Is this really l-love? Where I’m from, we don’t shackle our lovers.” You turned your hand around, allowing your fingers to tenderly caress his jawline and reddened cheeks. He seemed to relax against your touch, but a tense darkness still lingered in his eyes.

He hummed in thoughtful contentment and needily rubbed his cheek against your warm touch like a frightened rabbit. Your heart pounded against your rib cage with both love and fearfulness.

“But is love truly such a tender thing?” 

He broke the weighty silence, voice bereft and distraught with reflection. “I hadst lived far longer. Love is too rough, too malapert, too boisterous...”, he briefly trailed off. Your stomach did flips as he took each finger between his slightly cold lips, laying gentle, individual kisses upon each one, before continuing. “And it pricks like thorn, I hath learned. But I shall happily bleed for thee.”

He laid a final kiss on your lips, taking a moment to savor your warmth. You wanted to cry and beg him, now knowing that discussing your freedom was fruitless, but the look of sheer adoration in his mismatched eyes gave you pause.

“I shall never alloweth thee leaveth, mine love.”