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thornsinmycrown · 3 months

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PROTECTION | HEADCANONS

YANDERE!Mike Schmidt x GN!BABYSITTER!READER

warnings: [ MDNI +18 ] kidnapping, yandere, obsessive, isolating, stalking behavior, mention of sexual themes. word count: 731

summary: he just wants his little sister's babysitter to be safe.

He totally has a "crush" on you, something innocent at first. It's undeniable to this point, Abby draws you with them and her friends, there's a big wall wrapped in her drawings like wallpaper, her big brother and yourself holding hands with cute little red hearts all around you.

He talks about you at dinner time, asking Abby how did you treat her and if you were nice for the day, he promised her that you will always stay with them, that he would find a way to make you stay forever.

You know he hasn't had an easy life, talking to you in confidence about Garrett and how he couldn't save him, the way he feels about failing his own family and you admire his compromise over Abby.

Sometimes he takes it to extremes, overprotecting her and doing what you and the little girl consider dismissing fun time.

At first it seemed to be something normal to you, she was the only of his family left, the constant reminder of how lonely and how lucky he was to still have a bond with his parents at the same time, but with time you grew tired of wiping Abby's tears that were actually cried over nothing.

The first time you two had the talk and spoke about it, he was in denial. Mike assured he wasn't controlling Abby's life, he was keeping her safe from the dangers of the world.

You try to remind him what is obvious, that she is a kid and kids need to play and make friends, have fun and enjoy childhood.

He immediately felt bad watching you yell at him to make him take in count the child's feelings, and that's when he realized how important you were — how much of his tiny family needed a mediator like you.

He resents —and admires— your humanity. He is aggressive, cunning, rough to any edge, and deep down he knows you are too, except you don't let that take away your compassion.

Mike yearns for every piece of you now, any kind of affection is well received, whether it is a simple greeting or a friendly waving hand, he even prepares himself to gently smile no matter how awkward it feels, your small confused nodding gesture gets him every time.

You don't judge his incapacity to retain any job and he feels maybe you're the only person in the world who actually understands his struggles — his failures.

When he starts working at Fazbear's he fears he could be loading you too much responsibility, working the night shift wasn't his ideal and, though you'd never let him down, he felt worried you two were going to be alone for so many hours.

The first three nights everything was alright, until the fourth happened.

Animatronics chasing down his little sister was the last straw, it made him snap inevitably, you and Abby weren't safe at all, any time you could be murdered by any of them and there wouldn't be a way to save you.

He fears losing you, what would he do without you?

You help him get rid of them for the little girl's sake, temporarily disabling the animatronics like Vanesa instructed, but you get hurt in the process.

The yellow bunny twists the knife inside you, you let him in order to protect Abby, and it doesn't cost you as much as it costs Mike.

The idea of your loss only fuels Mike's grief, it's like losing his family all over again, but this time will be different — this time he has the chance to change the ending.

You wake up in a hospital bed, your ribcage hurts and you have an injured leg, the first thing your eyes see are his, red puffy eyes full of pain.

A week passes so you can leave the hospital, and he has a room for you in the house.

You try to explain to him you have a place to live since you rent a shared room with another person, but he insists you're not safe there.

"What if he comes back and tries to hurt you again?" "What if this time he—?" He cannot even end the sentence, he can only imagine the worst.

You agree to stay for a couple of days while your injuries heal, yet the unsettling part is just about to begin for you.

Author's note: I had in mind this headcanons since the first time I saw the movie and once I left the theater I started working on them but just release them now because I couldn't finish them in a way I like until today. I'll do a second part to this just because I think it has more potential to add to his character.

#dark content #mike schmidt x reader #yandere mike schmidt #yandere mike schmidt x reader #dark mike schmidt #dark mike schmidt x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #fay writes

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samraeduke · 1 year

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“The Queen of Air & Darkness - Archfey of the Unseelie Court”

I’m thinking of painting a series of fey creatures, and this is the first of that series. Eldritch, twisted and full of magic✨

#Illustration #the queen of air and darkness #archfey of the unseelie court #archfey #fairy #fay #mythology #procreate #ipadpro #dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #feywilds #fae

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jewishcissiekj · 5 months

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Just spent too much time making an awful The Dark Woman meme it's bad out here

Posting it won't just stay in my gallery for nothing

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lazyumbreon · 10 months

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by @lazyumbreon

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ehlnofay · 22 days

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Travelling with Martin the second time is more an ordeal than it was the first.

There’s the Blades tagging along with them, now, with their elaborate plans and zealous concern; every time any one of them takes a step they rattle like tin cans, so loudly that if any of the cult is trying to track them down it’s a wonder they’re not all gutted already. Then there’s all the extra bits the Blades insist on – like tents, which Pax is by no means opposed to but slows them down ridiculously, always needing to be set up at night and taken down first thing in the morning, or the horses, which speed them up but Pax resents, all the same. (They always need breaks to rest or eat or what have you, and riding for too long sets them aching to hell, their legs and hips and stomach all quavering with exertion. Pax rides the same horse they found halfway through their first journey with Martin, and she is getting more familiar than she ever wanted to be with its little snorts and stomping gestures. Martin keeps patting it on the nose whenever they’re down on the ground again. Martin rides the paint horse, too – it’s two to a steed, plus bags, which Pax knows would be enough to snap their spines like dried-out twigs but of course the Blades have spelled saddles. Feathered, Martin says, like Pax has any idea what that means.) They all spend as much of the day riding as they can without the horses withering away and dropping dead, unable to divert at all from the roads without riding face-first into a tree branch, the Blades getting all serious and severe at any passing glimpse of another traveller, or the edge of a town, or a suspicious-looking boulder. It’s fucking exhausting. Maybe if they’d dressed Martin in something less impractically fancy, and left their glittering armour behind, they wouldn’t all be so conspicuous. Pax is the only one here with any sense.

In Blackwood, the trees don’t sprawl so low down; you can ride horses well off the road as long as you’re careful of the muck. For the first leg of the first trip with Martin, they didn’t have horses at all – they both just walked, past razed fields and empty buildings, the span of land around Kvatch near entirely abandoned, scrounging what they could and sleeping wherever they wanted. They couldn’t proper restock on supplies until they hit Skingrad – certainly didn’t have tents or armour that reflects every whisper of starlight so bright it blazes, and they were fine. It all feels unnecessary. And annoying. This close to the end, all the little extra things to pay attention to make Pax want to jump out of his skin.

Because they are close to the end. They’re in the denouement, now.

The Blades set up a watch routine, too – everyone crawls into their superfluous tents and leave one person up to keep an eye out, until they wake the next person for their turn, and so forth. Pax hasn’t done watch shifts like this since he left Blackwood. (It doesn’t really work, when you’re alone. Besides, he wakes easy, and he goes to sleep quick. Martin’s bad at it, so swapping watch back and forth when they were together just would have left him confused or lethargic the next day. Not worth the bother.) Pax gets watch shifts, most nights, set in the dark hours just before the sun rises; Martin, though he asks, doesn’t get any. Pax usually wakes him up, instead of whoever else she’s supposed to. It isn’t like he has anything he needs to be especially well-rested for – just sitting on a horse in an enchanted double saddle, same as the rest of them, his too-long hair getting in his face, careful arms loops around Pax’s middle. He won’t even take a turn to direct the bloody thing, because he still hasn’t learned how – the fact that he’s never managed to fall off is a damned miracle, honestly.

So she wakes him up, if the Blades won’t – and she doesn’t usually go back to sleep, right after, because there doesn’t seem all that much point. They both stay up, around whatever burnt-down firepit was constructed in the night, the small tents arrayed around them; the leaves of the trees rustle, flickered through by some small animal, owl or bat or squirrel living in a hollow. Crickets chirp, loud and endless. It would probably be peaceful, if it could be, but Pax is keyed up, taut as a bowstring ready to snap, and he can’t really remember how to feel peaceful anymore. They’re getting ever-closer to the capital and the temple and the end of this whole strange, terrifying thing, and he wants it over and done with instead of lurking in this strange in-between space. They’ve all done so much to fix this and none of it will feel like any kind of accomplishment until the fires are lit and the Gates closed and sealed beyond reopening. It’s almost, almost, almost done – but it’s not the end yet, and in the quiet night all there is to do is waiting, and Pax, antsy, irritable, is very, very bad at waiting.

Martin’s better at it. Which isn’t to say he’s not nervous – he’s all nerves, even more than normal, which is really saying something – but he’s patient, and doesn’t complain, even though Pax knows he wants it over just as much as they do. Probably more. (Definitely more.) He just sits, in the dark and the dew, all quiet and watchful in just his undershirt and warm wool trousers, and even those are fancy, all fine-sewn and slippery as water to the touch. They wear oddly on him. He keeps the Amulet tucked under his clothes, cold metal setting against bare skin, and the red gleam beneath his shirt makes it look, at certain angles, like his heart is glowing.

The fire is well out; no owls call. Pax lies, in their own much less swish sleeping-things, in the dirt and grass, all of it wet so thoroughly with dew that it soaks the back of their tunic. Through the silhouettes of leaves and branches, they can just make out the lustre of the stars.

The old Emperor talked an awful lot about stars, when Pax met him; she wonders, vaguely, what he’d make of these ones.

There’s a shifting, up nearer the firepit; and, “Pax?” Martin whispers, sound half-swallowed by the still, drifting night. “Are you awake?”

“It’s sopping wet,” Pax replies. He props himself up on his elbow and turns his head; Martin’s got a lantern lit, and it’s just enough to make out his face by. “Even I’ve got my limits.”

Martin exhales; Pax knows he’s smiling because they can see the dim white gleam of his teeth. It’s not too cold a night – they’ve travelled far enough from Bruma to be clear of its sodden snow and ice and winds – but it’s not warm, and the wet fabric plastered to their back is chill enough to make them shiver. The stars, up above, shine cold and clear.

“I was wondering,” Martin says, voice still hushed; his eyes flicker up to the snatches of sky between the tree branches, too. “What will you do, when all this is done?”

It’s a perfectly reasonable question; Pax realises, quite abruptly, that doesn’t have an answer. She sits up, shuffles awkwardly over the dewy grass. “I don’t know,” she says slowly; she shrugs. “Go back to the roads, I s’pose. Get some venturing work. Join a guild, maybe, if I get bored.”

(They haven’t thought about it; they’ve been busy. A part of them – quite a large part, if they’re being honest – kind of wishes the Crisis would never end, one way or the other. Wishes it would keep on in this sort of suspended state forever. But it won’t, and it can’t, and it would be ridiculous to say as much. Just – they’ve never done anything this exciting, before. And they don’t really know anything that could measure up, once it’s done.)

(Pax has never really been one to plan for the future. Back in Blackwood, he didn’t have to; he knew he’d just run with the same crew he always had, and he learned only from them. Learned letters and archery and what dregs of mage-craft he had any aptitude for – learned to scamp on the roads and crack locks reasonably well. And then he left, and became a hero, and that’s a good occupation in itself, but it’s not going to last forever. He’s not sure what his other options are – he could try to work square, but he doesn’t think it would last. He’s not one suited to an apprenticeship, or an honest job, or much of anything, really. The only thing he really knows is this.)

In the lanternlight, the shadows are so stark that Martin’s face looks creased with ink. “Oh? What guild? Fighters? Thieves?”

“Thieves’ Guild wouldn’t take me,” Pax tells him loftily; they wriggle a bit closer, goose-pimples rising on their shins. “They don’t like independent operators, and I’ve been one since I was born.”

Martin clucks his tongue. “You can’t say things like that around me, Pax. I’ll have to have you arrested.”

“Like you could,” Pax tells him, grinning, and leans over about as far as she can reach to elbow him. She has to lever herself back up, afterwards. The watery-pale stars are winking at her.

Martin is looking up at them again. “There’s always work for a hero, I’m sure,” he says, and waves a hand. “You’ll have endless people to save and feats of derring-do to perform. Perhaps you could write an autobiography.”

“Ha.” Martin’s received their letters, sent on longer stretches away from Cloud Ruler; he’s read their writing, their chicken-scratch hand and the less than delicate way they pick their words. Pax is fine enough as a communicator; they get to the point quickly and clearly. But metaphor and flowery prose is rather beyond them. And they’ve seen the speech Martin gave in Bruma, the endless editing of his drafts, debate over this word or that. “You know you’re the better writer of the two of us, Martin Priest. Reckon you should pen our book.”

Martin tips his head further back. “I wasn’t even there for most of the interesting parts,” he points out, “and I’m sure to be far too busy, besides.” His eyes are closed. Pax shunts themself another bit across the grass.

“Oh, I’m sure you can take a half-hour every evening to scribble out a few paragraphs in your four-poster bed and your kingliest pyjamas,” he says, unsympathetic, and flicks him in the shoulder. “With a silk canopy, and duckling-down blankets, and a pen nib of solid gold.”

“All right, all right.” Martin opens his eyes; they look grey, in the dim light, the orange lanternlight flickering off their whites. He reaches out an arm, and Pax rolls his eyes but shuffles damply into it all the same. “I suppose I have no choice.”

His arm, settled around their shoulders, is heavy-warm. Pax leans their shoulder into his ribs, under his armpit. This close, they can see the faint gleam of the Amulet through his undershirt. Quiet, they ask, “Still nervous?”

Without missing a beat, Martin replies, “Excruciatingly.”

He’s always nervous. But on this, Pax can’t even really make fun of him for it – if someone told her that she was the heir to the whole Empire, and tried to thrust her into court to take it all over, she’d tell them to eat shit. If the fate of the world depended on it, though, that wouldn’t really be an option anymore. And Martin’s too nice, most of the time, to tell anyone to eat shit. And Martin’s too nervous not to take every bit of it so painfully seriously. Not just the world-ending bit, but all the etiquette and legalese, too. Jauffre gave him some books to read to try to acquaint himself with it all; none of them seemed to help much.

“You’ll be fine,” Pax says, and leans their head on his shoulder, the post of their earring jabbing into the skin behind their ear. They gesture out at the silhouetted tents. “You’ve got all this lot, and the Elder Council – they’ll help you out. If they won’t let you take a piss by yourself they’ll definitely be there to assist with the stuff that’s actually important.” Martin exhales; it’s almost a laugh. The earring is beginning to hurt quite badly, so Pax lifts their head. “Besides, you’re trying. You want to get it all right. That’s more than some would do.”

“Thank you, Pax,” Martin says, and then they’re both quiet.

The stars above look watery-dim. The silhouettes of trees have slightly more dimension. Martin is pressing his palm, fingers splayed, to the smooth-cut bump of the Amulet under his shirt. Pax is still shivering, a bit – lying her whole back down in the dew was a bad idea. Now she’ll have to wear her one other tunic and hope this one dries out in time not to wet everything else in the bags.

“I hope,” Martin says, voice silver-soft in the dark, “that when you’re out roaming, shocking everyone with your valour and intrepidity, you’ll come to visit a great deal. You won’t have the excuse of being out saving the world anymore.”

Pax leans her shoulder harder into his ribs. “Only if you’re not boring when I’m there,” she replies. “You won’t have the excuse of saving the world either.”

“No,” Martin says. “I’ll be running it instead.”

Already, the stars are beginning to snuff themselves out, like candle-lights; in half an hour or so, the sky will start to lighten properly. The Blades will all wake, springing up like little clockwork puppets, and the tents will be packed up, and the horses saddled – they’re tied on slack ropes to trees down the other end of the clearing, and now, if Pax squints, he can just make them out – and then the day will begin, the timer trickling down.

Pax wets his lips. “Three more days,” he says. “Thereabouts.”

Then they’ll reach the city.

Martin breathes out, slow. “Then I’ll really be Martin Septim.”

The Amulet glows under his shirt, royal-red, rising and dimming like a heartbeat. If Pax hadn’t been arrested, that day – by chance, for one of the few robberies they actually didn’t commit – then they wouldn’t have been taken to the gaol, dribbling blood all over the floors, antagonising the guards trying to mark them down in the records, and they wouldn’t have ended up in that dust-coated cell with the shitty neighbour across the way, and the old Emperor would never have glanced at them twice, and the door never would have opened, and they wouldn’t be here.

Pax is not one for gratitude, generally, but they have never been so thankful to be falsely imprisoned in their life.

“My census name’s Camilla Patesco,” he says.

He’s looking at the first watery dregs of dawn in the sky, not at Martin’s face; but he can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “I won’t tell anyone.”

#FAY WRITING JUMPSCARE.#I don't know if this is any good honestly - it's a rewrite of an old piece and I wrote it too recently to be able to judge #but it's been forever since I posted anything so. I'll toss it up regardless #because I have been thinking about them a great deal #I should get to posting all the fucked up miserable stuff. it's been in my docs for ages #I need to get on that #anyway #hope you enjoy!#the elder scrolls #tesblr #tes #oc tag #pax #martin septim #oblivion #microfic #my writing #fay writes #two weirdos. sitting in the dewy dark. what weird little conversations will they have

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thewindowofthesummerhouse · 1 year

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Fay Dalton

#Fay Dalton #illustrations #vampirela #macabre #horror #dark

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neon-in-the-night-time · 4 months

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kids who read the magic tree house as a kid when they grow up and consume other arthurian legend inspired media and morgan le fay is a villain character: 😮

#no because i for realsies was shocked when morgana went dark in bbc merlin #i was like morgan le fay of magic tree house could NEVER #rambles #magic tree house #merlin

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completeoveranalysis · 8 months

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[7]

OH NO NOW IT’S CATCHING

NOT THE MARKETPLACE HIMBO ;_; His Kenergy was unmatched

The split screen between Fai and Kurogane as they go Full Intensity Mode is FANTASTIC though. Kurogane’s sword is OUT and READY FOR THREATS.

Luckily the people mostly just seem to be threats to themselves more than anything at the moment but it’s good to be prepared

OHHHHHHHHHH Oh dear that is bad

The time loop could sustain itself comfortably potentially forever as long as everything was the same and there were no changes, but the second they arrived things grew less and less stable, and the more new things they did the more this escalated.

To the point where now when they’re asking new questions people all around them are just coming apart at the seams and the entire time loop is collapsing.

The really interesting part is that this is probably a bit of a parallel to what Evil Wolverine is doing to the universe at large - where things are all nice and working just fine as long as everything is contained within the rules that run the universe, but the more Evil Wolverine pokes holes in the timelines and disrupts things with his plans, the more the logic of the universe starts to collapse around itself and things just generally start falling apart. It’s like a slowly escalating entropy scale that suddenly starts to tip the heavy it gets - and I assume his plan is to get it to flip entirely so he can finally just do what he wants and the rules can’t stop him.

And CONFIRMED: Kurogane and Fai both read them as alive, so they are living beings in some sense or another.

Which has that LOVELY CLAMP TWIST OF THE KNIFE, where we could already guess that they were alive due to the cues given, but they didn’t confirm it in the narrative until AFTER they all started falling apart right in front of us.

:D It’s the CLAMP way!

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kirbybecomesastarwarrior · 4 months

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Your au is really interesting and charming! your ocs are very interesting. Question, is dark matter and/or zero a part of this au?

Dame Morgan: Conductor of Chaos

Ohoho~ I have big plans for them... >:3

Lore/Explanation:

My Morgan is loosely based on "Morgan Le Fay" from Arthurian Legend... and her name suggests that she has a connection to fairies, so... of course, I was going to tie her into Ripple Star. (the planet of the fairies...)

Their partnership actually started after (Kirby 64 and the crystal shards): If you know the game, there are two endings (a bad ending if you collect all the crystal shards) & (a good ending if you collect all the crystal shards).

KBASW Kirby follows the bad ending route... and this is where things get interesting: Dame Morgan's added to the mix...

So in the KBASW Kirby and the gang just miss one crystal shard... and it just happens to fall into the hands of... the worst person you could possibly imagine... And instead of Fairy Queen being possessed... Dark Matter finds another host...

(This is also why I made Dame Morgan's eyes purple in a reference to Queen Ripple and her purple eyes~)

Dame Morgan goes to the remains using the one shard crystal to absorb the last remaining remnant of Dark Matter... (they purify the queen... but Morgan is secretly there and uses the last bit of the shard to pull him away... just before anyone notices it...)

At first, Dark Matter freaks out because it's another star warrior: he's done for... But instead of purging them... she offers them a deal... an offer that Dark Matter couldn't possibly refuse... It was everything they could've asked for:

A free hiding spot/victim no one would suspect

A new vessel they could control freely

Access to the raw power of an ex-star warrior

AND THEY WERE WILLING!

All they needed to do was help her with her goals, revenge on the GSA, intergalactic conquest, destruction of other worlds, unsealing Void Termina... you know that sort of thing.

DM when they hear all this: SWEET NOVA GURL... you're speaking my language! So, hey, why not?

Unlike Dark Matter's other possessed victims... this one felt different... she was able to separate from their dark aura with ease and regain control of herself perfectly. Maybe it was because she was willing...

However, Morgan played it off as if they were the only ones who relinquished control back to her body (playing dumb). And being the prideful smuck he is... Dark Matter goes along with it. "Hey, of course... we're partners, right?"

He didn't want to lose his flesh puppet, plus their ideals matched up with each other, and saw no problem in helping them (DM) with their goals (taking over Ripple Star)... what could possibly go wrong.

This should have been DM's first sign to run...

For a while, things were great... little did they know Morgan was allowing them to believe they were in control. Dark Matter's hubris and desperation backfire on them...And, soon enough something happened they never thought was possible... and regret it dearly.

He was no longer the puppeteer... this time... he was the puppet?

Also, shoutout to @camachine

I always felt something was missing in Dame Morgan's design that I couldn't quite place... but then I did a little cross-over post (@camachine 's style of drawing the characters to be more fluffy): it just clicked so well with Morgan I had to keep it for her design.

And that's why she has a tuff of hair fluff now (for those who were wondering.) Plus, it shows how unhinged she's gotten after leaving the GSA... And I love it for her.

Morgan remains quiet working behind the scenes and is the main villain of the KBASW (AU)... It all comes together in the end... And needless to say, Ripple Star's in big trouble.

Also dropping what I consider Morgan's character song

youtube

Villian~

#kirby #dame morgan #kirby oc #kbasw #zero kirby #morgan le fay #zero two kirby #dark matter #queen ripple #kirby 64 #kirby and the crystal shards #ripple star #anon ask #answered #kirby gsa

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vivi-designs · 1 year

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Map

#ever after high #eah headcanons #eah au #eah fanfic #eah apple #raven queen #cinderella #ashlynn ella #duchess swan #briar beauty #evil queen #farrah goodfairy #good Fay #dark fairies #rosabella beauty

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whydon-twego · 11 months

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Emrys observed Arthur Pendragon from afar for several years and was fascinated. How is he so golden and adored? How does he still have faith in the people around him after being betrayed by everyone around him except his sister? How does he manage to get back up after each defeat? Emrys is curious, which is already incredible in itself since he has lived for so long that nothing now makes him curious anymore. And Arthur is also about to be betrayed by his uncle Agravaine and perhaps it will be the last time Arthur will be able to get up after a defeat. Emrys does not intend for that to happen. Arthur now has Emrys and Morgana to watch his back. He has Emrys and Morgana allying themselves with each other and killing and interrogating anyone who tries to harm a single hair on Arthur's head. Arthur finally succeeds in building the Camelot he has always dreamed of. Arthur is the Golden King. Emrys and Morgana make sure this never changes.

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thornsinmycrown · 3 months

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STAY SOFT

DARK!DOCTOR STRANGE x AFAB!READER

warning(s): [ MDNI +18 ] no use of y/n, afab!reader, use of petnames (hon/honey) eventual smut, 18+ dark content, yandere dynamics, minors do not interact. word count: 2.9k

summary: years have been passing by, years where nothing seemed to be fortunate for Doctor Stephen Strange on his quest for greatness that until one day he realizes the key of happiness was always presented in front of him, you.

CHAPTER ONE.

You were accompanying each other through the corridor, both doctors heading to their interview. The cameras were ready to capture your smiles as you talked about the miraculously successful procedure, with the new technique that the neurosurgeon had co-created in conjunction with you, the recently transferred back doctor on duty, after, saving the life of one of your patients.

"Ready for the interview, hon?" asked the neurosurgeon, visibly excited.

"It depends," you answered with your iced coffee in hand, "what exactly are we talking about?" you questioned, remembering one of many professional conversations where you had been slowly silenced by Stephen's eccentricities.

"Well, we're talking about the patient," he assured you with a relaxed smile, "how I intervened…"

"We intervened," you corrected, mid-sip without even being bothered. From a man like Strange you could expect anything.

"Of course, that's what I meant," he brushed it off, "we're a great team."

You raised an eyebrow with a half smile hiding behind your coffee so, you wouldn't laugh outright in Stephen's face with your bitter sarcasm.

"Oh, really?".

But, sometimes, you just couldn't help it.

"Yeah. I am the best neurosurgeon in the world, you are the best psychiatrist, we complement each other perfectly, don't you think?" he flirted. Again.

Ever since you had met Stephen Strange, you realized that his world revolved around three things: he, himself and him. Since Stephen Strange had met you, his world began to revolve around four things: He, himself, him and you.

"It's true, we know so much about each other," you completed, a subtle sarcastic tone that passed for friendly, drawing a goofy smile from the doctor. "Truth or Dare?" You decided to play around a bit before the interview.

"I love a challenge," Stephen bragged, winking at you playfully. You looked to the front and rolled her eyes before saying the dare.

"I dare you to tell me what my master's degree is," you said, placing yourself in the corner of the sofa by the door as an old habit in your office.

Stephen stopped short, adjusting his cell phone on the coffee table's surface, he really didn't expect that to be the dare, but he knew he wasn't going to win, pretending not to understand was not an option since he wasn't stupid: he could feel your petty aura, who, in a desperate attempt for him to leave you alone, agreed to listen to his cynicism.

"Of course I know, it's…something that starts with 'gers'?" His tone revealed the lack of attention he gave to his partner, the same one that soon narrowed her eyes in an almost accusatory way.

"Amazing that with your eidetic memory, you can't recall a single title easily in casual chat," you accused, taking a last sip from your coffee canister before setting it down on the small table across them.

The office was full of cables and high lights in the background that gave the place an overly saturated aspect, for Stephen it was like rediscovering that his natural habitat could be even more glamorous, cornered by a camera and reporters waiting to write down his every word, as if the truths off the universe came out of his lips, the sensation of having been born for it raised his ego to Olympus.

For you, however, it was as if you had been paid to swallow hot lava so you took another sip of your icy drink, you knew you wasn't tiny compared to anyone, but to talk about your work the way the neurosurgeon does and with the intention in which he pronounced each word of honor, it caused your belly to roll over. You only hoped that Stephen would not believe himself the Hand of God or say something out of place on camera that could later cause his own declive; Although knowing him, he would find his way out to be free of problems in the end.

"I don't give much importance to titles," he chuckled lightly, feigning a humility that on rare occasions he denoted in certain spaces, something that made her correspond with a lopsided smile.

"It's not what you told your assistant yesterday when he called you 'Steve' and not 'doctor,'" you remarked, knowing that he would ignore your title if it represented a risk to his own.

He looked around to check who was listening to the conversation, slightly uncomfortable with the idea of causing a misconception of his usually prefabricated charming and talented persona, adverse to the generally apathic and arrogant self he usually ought to be on his quotidian agenda.

No one was paying them the attention he believed they deserved, although now it was a fortune to their insignificant argument.

"Well, 'Steve' is for family, my assistant is my employee", he lied, he dismissed the topic lowly, whoever heard him would see it was somewhat normal, a simple correction. But you didn't.

You saw that gleam in his eyes, you didn't know what it was or how to call it, yet there it was somehow making you shiver, too detatched to be simple wording, too straight to mean further relevance. He was displeased, you always noticed, at your inconvenient comments related to whatever he did or say — and he did like it too.

Perhaps that's why he was so fond of you and as much as you were an obnoxious partner to work with at times, you were never unwanted for him. Women kneel voluntarily just to have a touch of, at the very least, the hem of his leather belt, batting bambi eyelashes and leaving purposeful red lipstick stains in the collar of his shirts; When somebody says "yes" so many times, one can easily be draw to the person that dares to say no.

"Got it!", you crossed your legs in the small sofa, humming lowly and by the time Stephen's ears peered this sound, you were already on your machiavelic deed, "Steve's ready for the interview and so am I, where's 'hair and make-up' by the way? He kinda needs it".

And everyone laughed. A harmless laugh that Stephen had to mimic while he glared at you with disapproving eyes. Very few things really made him angry: traffic, calls from operators to change phone lines, incompetent people assisting him in the operating room, or being assigned patients with less serious problems than the ones that led him to the interview he was about to give, but his name was the top of the list.

It fragmented his ego, name badges and business cards elegantly decorated with off-white backgrounds, spent thousands of dollars so that his name always appeared in full never misspelled capital letters, now reduced by you to a bland nickname for any average white American man who eats hot dogs at every sunday baseball game in which his son stays on the bench, he was not the avarage man and he knew it — or at least had an idea of it.

He could never dispise you, how to dispise you? He just wished that for once you could see how great of a man he could actually be if you gave him that chance, but any advance you had dismissed with fervour. And now here he was, laughing with you, pretending he liked your jokes and wasn't pissed just to attract you, to appear as a likeable man and maybe, others saw that too.

They probably believed you made the eccentric and artificial Doctor Strange a more humane being in the end, that your friendship gave him the piece of humble cake he needed, a mere mistake. You had the vision of a therapist and, like a detective, could sense all the cowebs of his tricks, the amateur process of a conquest poorly planned.

The interview went on anyhow, some laughs and comments about procedures that seemed to falsely fascinate the interviewer who batted her eyelashes as if she was mopping the air, Stephen using terms and long words he made sure no one would understand to impress the viewers and you, spreading awareness of regular check-ups. Everything was marching good until the interviewer saw something between you two, something she knew would definitely sell the story further.

"It must have been very easy for you to work together," unsuspected for you where the conversation was going, your smile still looked genuine for the crimson mischievous grin who was in front of you "how long have you been working together?" to you it seemed a normal, common co-workers question.

"I guess... Since always?" You shrugged, trying to evoke in your mind since when did you considered working with him a logical idea, and you looked for Stephen's eyes subconsciously.

"I can't really remember" he scratched the back of his head, smoothing out his hair to not ruin his perfect hairstyle and what it appeared to be a sheepish smile slowly formed on his lips, "we met many years ago, though she looks like no day has passed" he complimented you, and you silently nodded in thankfulness.

He gave you a plain smile, he was used to you not complimenting him back, so it didn't felt awkward, he always expected it, thinking of himself of a poor hopeless romantic every time, like a puppy waiting for his owner to pull the leash, it almost seemed to be as if you were hiding something.

The perfect excuse for a reporter hungry for gossip.

"You look like you're very close indeed", she casually threw, "what is your relationship like outside of work?", by this point, you should have started to guess this wasn't going to be concerning to work anymore.

To be honest, you were excited too, as much as you wanted to be skeptical and keep yourself grounded or tell the doctor beside you not to get too comfy at the idea of being a celebrity, you were going to be on T.V; Everyone would know you were part of the creation of a procedure capable of giving anyone the chance to retrieve their motor skills to a level where they could have a normal life again. It consumed you to a degree you didn't fathom until now.

"I think we have a good connection outside work, he's open to share ideas, he adapts to situations and also has a great talent", by the way he was smiling back at you, you could say he was enjoying the praise rain, not often between the two of you on your end specifically, "one of the best on his field".

"If not, the best" he quickly interrupted, a light laugh erupting from his lips. "If you allow me saying," and Stephen would never miss a chance to publicly show you he was your number one fanatic, "she's fantastic to work with, she brings details and perspectives in a very unique way, as much as I would like to admit it, there are things I can't quite grasp without her" he laughed again, more loosely even, charming and attentive to his co-worker's reactions.

"Would you describe it as intimate, then?" It was intentional, the innuendo on her words was clear, and it was just rising.

"Sorry, what?", you scratched your ear gently, your brows narrowed significantly and you hoped you had mistaken the clear double intention behind her words.

"Yes! Your relationship" she promptly casted the mood to put a name to what you had — wrong names.

» "At first glance, one could say you are very close to each other. You compliment yourselves fine" her gaze was serious, she wasn't teasing to spite, she was doing it to sell a love story.

And it didn't place into your mind of how good could it be to have a column on one of those shallow magazines, where they share tips to style their old skinny jeans better or lose weight with five easy steps, on how two professionally accomplished doctors saved the world with their brains and their love.

"Well, if we look like we are close to each other, it's because we are" Stephen, not so oblivious to the route of the conversation, couldn't let himself waste time "I mean, we spend most of our days together" he shrugged, acting as natural as possible.

"Because of work" you ended quickly.

Due to the way the interviewer arched a brow, you could notice she wasn't happy with the way words were being phrased, and she had to dig in more dominantly.

"Sure, but, you know—" she licked her lips.

"Know what?" you didn't exactly spat back, that wasn't how the usual confrontation went with you.

You were always on the rational side of things, the one that decides if it's worth it to continue an argument or not, between blacks and whites you always tried to be the gray.

"Two young attractive people spending so many hours together, and you seem to hold a lot of chemistry" your smile slowly faded into a thin line, that was the moment Stephen knew something was wrong, "how would you describe your relationship?"

Despite his usual playful self, he decided to step on and set the boundaries you always spoke about, because he would never do something to displease you, specially not if you saw so directly what his intentions could be, he had to be smart and play crosswords with his speech.

He gave you a side eye to check on you, you shared a brief glance and that was all he needed to attempt to better things up for you without loosing style.

"We're more of a partnership than anything," he admitted this time with more sincerity as he noticed your displeased reaction, he would never do you mad in a way that could make himself look bad in front of anyone, " I do, and say with the utmost respect, that I consider her an equal in what our fields concern" he really tried to make it better.

"That means you've never blurred those professional lines before?" it was the quizzical brow, the stupid smirk, everything seemed to be set up to make your brains bolt.

You sighed deeply, your right hand rubbing your forehead with your eyes closed, you scratched one of your brows with your thumb and before you could open your mouth, he was answering again.

"If we put it like that", you gave him a side eye, "we have", and now you were fully looking at him with wide eyes trying to decipher what was he up to.

"Let me clarify this to you ma'am" you held your finger up, "Doctor Stephen Strange and I are not involved in any kind of paraprofessional relationship nor will be", you anxiously replied to his words before he screwed up the interview completely.

Now he gave you a dirty look. Your words were respectful, it was your tone though, the disgusted facial expression you did that made him want to ask everyone in the room to leave and spank you.

"Except we're very good friends" he clarified as well, the journalist looked at you both with curiosity, "we studied together, we work together, she knows all my ex-girlfriends, we are friends. If what you want to know is if we ever had sex the answer is no".

You felt your face heat up, embarrassment filling your lungs as you held your breath. You would have loved to say it in a more subtle way, however with Stephen there wasn't any subtlety. You nodded and licked your now dry lips, his tone had been almost severe, determinant enough to put the interviewer and the cameraman uncomfortable to not do more spicy question again.

Your sixth sense warned you of his eyes on you, burning holes in your skin hoping to see through you the same way you did he. And the next times he searched for your eyes between questions as the interview went on, he would look at you tenderly, enamoured even, to purposefully set the seed of doubt on people if the no-sex part was cut from the final material. He wouldn't leave it at that, you wouldn't be the one that got away.

For as long as he had to wait.

author's note: after some months into hiatus, i've decided to put this blog in good use and post some drafts I had. This is planned to be a short series so, if it's well recieved, I'll keep updating parts.

#dark content #dark!fic #doctor strange #stephen strange #dark!doctor strange x reader #dark doctor strange x reader #dark!doctor strange #yandere!doctor strange x reader #yandere!doctor strange #yandere doctor strange #dark doctor strange #fay writes

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