#penthouse season 2

[solarstellarstar]

"Was it a lie when you asked me out? And when you said you liked me?"

#rp musings #// watched penthouse season 2 again and UGHHH EUNBYEOL MY BBY #// i love her :(

[wlwcatalogue]

Chinese GL Webseries & Shorts for the Wuxia-Uninclined

Have you ever wanted to venture into the world of Chinese GL webseries and short films, only to find yourself at a loss about where to begin, or intimidated by the unfamiliar tropes and terms of the wuxia genre?

Well, worry no more! Here's a selection of non-wuxia webseries and short films curated by yours truly. Now you too can enjoy the lavish costumes and location shoots of these Chinese productions, so rarely seen in F/F works outside of feature films and the occasional TV series~

By the way, these are all translated and subbed by the inimitable Douqi (@douqi7s), whose immense contribution to the English-language baihe fandom is surely in breach of anti-monopoly laws. Offer up your thanks at her Tumblr and Twitter!

At-a-glance list

Webseries:

Ye-Mu Season 2 (1 hr 20m total, 2023) - standalone

The Vampires (41m total, 2022)

Ye-Mu Season 1 (27m total, 2022) - standalone

The Lost World (1hr 5m total, 2023)

Short films - order corresponding to the pictures above:

A Tale of Yearning (5 mins, 2022)

"She Brought Colour Into My World" (2.5 mins, 2023)

"I'm Her Weapon" (3 mins, 2022)

Miss Shen and the Woman Warlord (6 mins, 2023)

Women's Script (5 mins, 2023)

The Caged Canary (5 mins, 2023)

The Beauty of the Law (6 mins, 2023)

Flowers Bloom; Flowers Wither (9 mins, 2022)

Commentary under the cut!

FYI, I've opted to link directly to the subtitled versions since they're probably more difficult to find than regular anime, TV series, movies etc. If a link is broken, please refer to Douqi's blog directly.

Important note for the uninitiated:

It’s a bit difficult to talk about canonicity in relation to live-action works made in the PRC, as things which would normally be used as evidence of canonicity all fall under the censorship regulations— explicit references to romantic relationships or queerness, declarations of love, kissing etc. are all off the table. So while these may not look canon in the most traditional sense, they are intended to be read as such and should certainly not be dismissed as queerbaiting or yuribait. Also, the creators can get very imaginative, so this is less of a problem than you may think – see the entries on Ye-Mu Season 2 and The Lost World in particular!

1. Ye-Mu Season 2 / 叶穆 2 (32 episodes / 1hr 20m total, 2023, dir. Zhang Zhiwei) - MyDramaList

(Note: Despite the name, Ye-Mu Season 2 is completely unrelated to the first season; the only thing the two share is the cast, crew, and focus on Penthouse-style melodrama.)

Determined to take revenge for her mother's death, Xu Baiqing (Sheng Wei) marries a wealthy and much older businessman in the hope of finding evidence to put him behind bars. But first she must assuage the suspicions of his cheerily hostile second daughter, moody youngest son, and estranged eldest daughter (Ye-Mu Zhixia, played by Wang Laoji), the latter of whom Xu Baiqing dated in university and who is currently seething at the sight of her former girlfriend marrying her father...

If you want to get a sense of the potential breadth of Chinese GL webseries, this is a pretty good place to start. It does a decent job of matching the tone and presentation of a melodrama you might catch on TV (and in fact looks higher-budget than some I can think of), while committing to something that can’t be done on TV yet— namely, featuring an F/F exes-to-stepmother storyline and delivering on the drama inherent in such a premise. Of particular note is how the framing and behaviour of Ye-Mu Zhixia is very much consistent with that of a male romantic lead; thanks to some clever writing, it’s basically impossible to deny the nature of her relationship with the main character. They don’t even lean on the plausible deniability afforded by the label of “friendship”— in fact, in an early scene she is incensed when the protagonist refers to her as “[her] only friend”. There are a few caveats – the main character ends up in a lot of scrapes that her ex-girlfriend has to save her from, the reveals are often rather unsurprising, and the story shifts more to a mystery focus around halfway – but it’s still worth checking out if a Korean-style melodrama with an F/F take on a romantic storyline sounds appealing.

 (CW: violence, murder, attempted sexual assault)

Note: See The Lost World (below), from the same creative team, for an even more impressive example of Chinese GL pushing the limits of censorship.

Links: MEGA / Internet Archive (compilation)

2. The Vampires / 吸血鬼鬼盲盒 (7 episodes / 41m total, 2022, dir. Zhang Zhiwei) - MyDramaList

(Note: Spoilers for the first 15 minutes or so, because otherwise the summary would be “They end up locked inside with the monsters on board”, which wouldn’t tell you much more than the title already does)

Every night, Tianyue (Ye Miao/夜喵) has been having dreams about the mysterious cruise ship docked at the pier. Convinced that there is treasure hidden inside, she and her exorcist-cultivator girlfriend Xiao Ling (Wei Miao/微渺) sneak on board only to find that they are trapped there until the sun comes up. Things don’t seem too bad at first: although they run into two vampires – the cute, cheeky Xingming (Yang Fuyu) and her elegant mistress Su Tanya (Sheng Wei) – they are able to call a truce, on the condition that the humans help search the ship for the latter’s beloved (Fu Cha, played by Wang Laoji). But when Fu Cha wakes up without her memories, it is clear that something is terribly wrong, and that the ship and its inhabitants harbour more secrets than expected.

For a webseries, The Vampires takes a while to get started— it’s a bit difficult to tell what kind of story or indeed what kind of tone it’s going for just based on the somewhat campy and comedic first section. But after that wobbly beginning, it manages to pull itself together to tell a compelling – and sometimes genuinely tense – tale about a motley band of humans and vampires, and the truths they have to face together. While the ending is no happily-ever-after, I found it satisfying and hopeful, and surprisingly affecting. Also, a bunch of the characters have real polyam energy, and this is reflected in the narrative beyond mere flirting!

(CW: abusive parents)

Links - MEGA / Internet Archive (compilation) / YouTube (compilation)

3. Ye-Mu Season 1 / 叶穆 (12 episodes / 27m total, 2022, dir. Zhang Zhiwei) - MyDramaList

(Note: Ye-Mu Seasons 1 and 2 are standalone stories; each season is entirely self-contained and the second season is not a continuation of the first.)

The head of the Ye-Mu family has died, leaving the next generation to squabble over the inheritance. It's a web of secrets, lies, and hidden resentments, as the characters dig out old grievances and fresh accusations in a desperate attempt to one-up each other. They're tangled up together to an almost incestuous degree, and indeed, the F/F subtext here is the ambiguous relationship between eldest daughter Ye-Mu Nanzhu (Sheng Wei) and second daughter Ye-Mu Nanmo (Wang Laoji) (rest assured that they are at least not biologically related).

Those who prefer darker stories and don't mind the pseudo-incest or other content warnings will find a melodrama which makes good use of its short runtime to deliver on twists, turns, and an explosive - if tragic - conclusion. That being said, the story is about the family drama in general, so do note that while the relationship between Nanzhu and Nanmo is narratively important, it is not fleshed out in great detail and certainly not the focus of the series.

(CW: suicide, ableist trope (spoiler – disabled character turns out to have been faking it), ableist language)

Links - MEGA / Internet Archive (compilation)

4. The Lost World / 夏夜知道风的甜 (1hr 5m total, 2023, dir. Zhang Zhiwei) - MyDramaList

(Note: Spoilers for the purpose of flagging triggering content, as it’s particularly easy to trip into for this show. Also, some vague spoilers for later episodes in order to highlight in order to highlight the themes etc.)

This webseries feels like two shows smushed into one: apart from the very beginning, the first half is a gritty, bullying-focused take on university life, while the second is a true-blue romantic comedy (aside from one blip – see the note below for details). But even if you’re wary of the bullying, I would still recommend watching the back half – which is basically standalone – as it’s a very funny and heartfelt story about two childhood friends finally getting their act together. Without further ado, here’s two blurbs!

From episode 1 onwards: After saving a classmate from the class bully, popular college student Xia Huaichu (Yang Fuyu) is subjected to a lengthy harassment campaign by the latter. She is suddenly faced with having to protect her reputation in the face of false allegations and fake nudes– despite the fact that all she wants to do is focus on reconciling with another classmate, a high school best friend whom she had previously lost touch with (Mu Qingfeng, played by Wang Laoji). From episode 14 onwards: Childhood friends Xia Huaichu (Yang Fuyu) and Mu Qingfeng (Wang Laoji) are caught in a weird gay purgatory where each has feelings for the other, and suspects that the other has feelings for them too. But both are exceedingly stubborn and want the other one to take the initiative in confessing, leading to ridiculous displays of I-don’t-care-isms and lots and lots of UST. (Does anybody use that term anymore??)

As you may have guessed, I’m not too keen on the first part of this show, nor the decidedly unnecessary attempted rape segment, though that’s partly on me for not checking the content warnings beforehand. And yet I’m very glad to have stuck with it, because the second half is not only hilarious, but also a masterclass in censorship-dodging that needs to be seen to be believed. Not just in terms of the suggestive scenes, of which there are many, either— the story is literally about two women starting a relationship and having to reckon with parental disapproval, homophobia, and other obstacles which platonic friends wouldn’t have to deal with. I honestly don’t know how this ever got approved, and can only applaud. Bravo.

Note: For those who want to avoid the triggering content, I’d recommend starting at episode 14, but make sure to skip episodes 19 and 20 as there is a foiled rape attempt.

(CW for entire series: bullying (incl. violence, fake nudes), sexual harassment, attempted sexual assault, fatphobic language, homophobia

CW for episodes 14-24: attempted sexual assault in episodes 19-20, homophobia)

Links - MEGA / Dropbox

SHORT FILMS

Quick note: Click on the English titles for the subtitled versions, and the Chinese titles (which are really just the video titles) for the originals. And yes, although the majority of these are shampoo commercials, they really do hold up as short films in their own right. Give them a try, you might be surprised!

A Tale of Yearning / 一见误终生，不见终生误 (5 mins, 2022, dir. Liu Yun Rui/流云蕊) – A bittersweet story about a literature-minded young woman (Sheng Wei) and a Chinese opera performer (Ai Ye) who bond over their love of fiction, only to be torn apart by harsh reality. Tragic ending, but I liked the more literary turn of the dialogue. Shampoo ad. (CW: homophobia)

“She Brought Colour Into My World” / “她走后，我的世界又失去了颜色” (2.5 mins, 2023, dir. Zou Hui Qu Le/走回去了) – A very restrained short film (actually, more like a music video) set during the late Qing era, wherein a sheltered young woman (Xiao Yu Za/小宇咂) falls for her female neighbour, recently returned from studying abroad (Sheng Wei). Lovely use of music and visuals to create a dreamlike atmosphere. Tragic ending. Not a shampoo ad.

“I’m Her Weapon” / 我是你手里的一把刀 (3 mins, 2022, dir. Liu Yun Rui/流云蕊) – A moody, interior piece about an assassin (Ai Ye) who yearns for some sign of affection from her handler (Sheng Wei), only to be left devastated by her new assignment. Surprisingly not a shampoo ad.

Miss Shen and the Woman Warlord / 我们是孤独行走的钟，但也要做敲响希望的钟 (6 mins, 2023, dir. Liu Yun Rui/流云蕊) – I’d like to describe this as being inspired by the story of Mai Jia’s novel The Message and the aesthetics of Kawashima Yoshiko (1990), but most Tumblr users would probably find those references deeply unhelpful. Basically, a female spy (Sheng Wei) disguises herself as a male soldier and infiltrates the mansion of a Republican warlord. There, she meets the warlord’s daughter (Ai Ye), who quickly realises that there is more to the promising young officer than meets the eye. Shampoo ad.

Women’s Script / 纵使“科考”无女子，无碍红袖书香，星辰有光 (5 mins, 2023, dir. Liu Yun Rui/流云蕊) – While sailing down a river, a girl (Zhi Chun He/至春禾) catches sight of a woman writing poetry on the riverbank (Sheng Wei), and is fascinated by both her beauty and her flaunting of the rules against women’s literacy. Shampoo ad. (CW: domestic violence)

The Caged Canary / 如果这是一场骗局，那我也只愿意输给你 (5 mins, 2023, dir. Liu Yun Rui/流云蕊) – The protagonist (Ai Ye) is sent by her parents to beguile a wealthy young man into marriage, but ends up developing feelings for his modern-woman sister (Sheng Wei) instead. Shampoo ad. (CW: attempted sexual assault)

Flowers Bloom; Flowers Wither / 她们一个被铁链禁锢，一个被男装束缚，直到救赎彼此 (9 mins, 2022, dir. Qian Li Min/千里明) – Takes the romance between a cross-dressing noblewoman (Du Ruo/杜若) and her supposedly-mad stepmother (Rou Lian Cheng/肉脸橙) to tell a story about the restrictions placed on women in historical times, and how resistance, even when futile, can still have meaning. Tragic ending, obviously. Not a shampoo ad. (CW: domestic violence, misogyny, accidental misgendering, gender dysphoria)

#sapphic #lesbian #gay #wlw #baihe #chinese gl #yuri #gl series #wlw series #short films #wlw recommendations #ye mu #wicked wealthy women #the vampires 2022 #the lost world 2023 #xia ye zhi dao feng zhi tian #zhang zhiwei #liu yun rui #wang laoji #wang xuexi #sheng wei #yang fuyu #ai ye #list

[nayziiz]

Team Dynamics | LN4

Summary: To celebrate the launch of their 2024 car for the upcoming F1 season, McLaren hosts a masquerade gala event that sees two souls connect and lead to a whirlwind romance. Unfortunately, the pair realise soon after that they are to work together quite closely after they agreed it would only be a one-night thing.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, one night stand, unprotected sex

Pairing: Gemma (I don't like writing with Y/N or reader) x Lando Norris

Series Masterlist

PART 2

Lando's decisive hand grabs Gemma's, and with an unspoken understanding, he leads her towards the exit. The vibrant energy of the party fades into the distance as they collect their coats, preparing to venture into the cool night air. Stepping outside, they scan the surroundings for the approaching Uber, a temporary refuge from the lively chaos they've left behind.

The car arrives, and they slide into the backseat, the leather cool against their skin. The quiet atmosphere inside the vehicle contrasts with the echoes of music and laughter lingering from the event. A sense of anticipation hangs in the air as the driver smoothly navigates the city streets.

In the dimly lit confines of the car, Gemma feels the echo of her own heartbeat, a rhythmic reminder of the intensity of the night. This intimate encounter with Lando has stirred something within her, and she grapples with a mix of excitement and longing. This connection is a rarity for her, only the second time she has found herself entangled in such intimacy.

The silence between them is heavy with unspoken desires as they navigate the city's labyrinth of streets. Gemma steals glances at Lando, her curiosity and yearning evident in her eyes. Sensing the unspoken tension, Lando's fingers find their way onto her lap, a silent invitation for a connection that transcends words. His fingers curl and intertwine with hers, forging a tactile link that speaks volumes in the quiet confines of the car.

As the city lights streak by, Gemma and Lando share a moment of quiet connection, fingers entwined, hearts entangled in the echoes of the night. The anticipation lingers, and in the soft glow of the passing streetlights, a subtle understanding forms between them—an acknowledgment that this shared journey extends beyond the physical confines of the car, weaving a thread of intimacy that binds them in the enchantment of the night.

The Uber glides to a smooth stop outside Lando's apartment building after a ten-minute drive through the city. Lando, maintaining the air of confidence that has marked their connection throughout the night, guides Gemma inside with a subtle yet possessive touch. His palm rests on the small of her back, a gesture both protective and suggestive, as they make their way towards the entrance.

The lobby of the apartment building welcomes them with a hushed ambiance, a stark contrast to the lively scenes they left behind. The elevator doors open, and they step inside, the anticipation mounting. Lando's hand, still resting on the small of Gemma's back, subtly guides her closer as the doors close, enclosing them in the privacy of the elevator. The anticipation builds, and as Lando confidently presses the button for the penthouse, a signal of the exclusive destination that awaits them.

With a quiet hum, the elevator ascends, and Lando's fingers trace gentle circles on Gemma's back, an unspoken reassurance in the intimate space. The elevator's soft chime signals their arrival, and as the doors slide open to the penthouse foyer, Gemma takes in the luxurious surroundings. The foyer, a prelude to the opulence within, leads towards the penthouse doors. Lando, emblematic of his wealth, produces a set of keys to unlock the entrance to his London home.

“Penthouse? I thought you said apartment?” Gemma comments.

“Didn’t want to scare you away.” Lando mumbles, his hand trailing up and down her spine and finally resting on her butt.

“Do you have butlers too?” Gemma teases.

“Not usually.” Lando shrugs. “My housekeeper has the night off, actually.”

I’m way in over my head here, Gemma thinks. As Gemma steps into Lando's opulent London penthouse, the stark contrast between their worlds becomes even more apparent. Lando's affluence is undeniable, evident in every meticulously tailored detail of his attire, from the sleek suit to the polished shoes and the glint of carefully chosen jewellery. It's a world that seems a million miles away from Gemma's own, represented by the thrifted dress she carefully selected from a humble charity shop and the shoes that carry the sentimental weight of her college graduation.

“I hope you’re not appalled by that.” Lando comments when he sees her eyes wander.

“No. Not appalled. I didn’t know what I was expecting, honestly.” Gemma admits.

Gemma is met with an interior that echoes the minimalism of a high-end design magazine. The furniture is sleek and contemporary, with a distinct lack of personal touches. It's a stark contrast to the warmth and lived-in feel of Gemma's own modest belongings.

Gemma, momentarily taken aback by the minimalist aesthetic, begins to shed the layers that shield her from the night's chill. She gracefully removes her coat, a humble garment from her recent thrift store find, and hands it to Lando. In the act of hanging up their outerwear, there's a subtle exchange of worlds—a fleeting moment where their differences, both in material wealth and personal style, hang in the air. Yet, in the midst of this juxtaposition, there's a palpable connection, an unspoken acknowledgment that their individual worlds are converging in the quiet expanse of Lando's penthouse.

“My Monaco apartment is much more homier.” Lando comments. “I don’t spend a lot of time here, except for when I'm here during the winter break.”

Gemma's fingertips delicately graze the headrest of the charcoal grey couch as she explores the refined simplicity of Lando's penthouse. Her eyes trace the lines of the furniture, taking in the sleek design and the absence of personal artifacts that typically define one's living space. Lando observes her with a curious gaze, trying to decipher the thoughts flickering across her face as she studies her surroundings.

In the quiet interlude, Lando reflects on the encounter that brought them together. From the moment Gemma approached him with her lighthearted joke in the corridor, he sensed a refreshing genuineness about her. She wasn't swayed by the trappings of his wealth or status. Her lack of recognition, combined with her genuine curiosity and absence of probing questions, conveyed a down-to-earth authenticity that set her apart.

As Gemma explores the penthouse, Lando appreciates the fact that she sees him not as a symbol of affluence, but as a person. The initial anonymity provided a rare glimpse into a connection untainted by preconceptions. It becomes evident that Gemma is not here to exploit or be enamored by the opulence surrounding her. Instead, she treats Lando as a fellow human being, not as some mythical figure elevated above the rest of the world.

Lando's curiosity about Gemma's perspective deepens, and a subtle smile plays on his lips as he watches her navigate the space. In her unassuming presence, he discovers a sense of connection that transcends societal divides—a connection grounded in the shared experience of this night, the quiet exploration of a penthouse, and the unfolding of a unique bond between two souls who met amidst the serendipity of a bustling event. 

“It’s quite grey.” She states, her candid observation about the predominantly grey surroundings elicits a chuckle from Lando.

“That it is.” Lando agrees.

“Could do with some colour.” She continues. “Papaya, maybe.”

“Thanks. I’ll run that past my interior decorator.” Lando nods.

“I just hope it’s not the same interior decorator who styled it like this, because, wow!” She adds, gesticulating her displeasure for the colour palette and furniture. Lando laughs at her as she stumbles over the rug and lands comfortably on the couch. “Not a very pretty couch but very comfortable.”

“That’s good, then, no?” Lando jokes as he makes his way to sit next to her.

“I suppose so. Kind of depends on what you do with the couch.” She teases, winking at Lando.

Their eyes lock, and a brief pause hangs in the air, charged with unspoken tension. In the next instant, Lando seizes the moment, grabbing Gemma by the hips and effortlessly pulling her onto his lap. She straddles him, and their proximity intensifies the connection between them.

“What? Kind of like this?” Lando asks her, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Mmh. It’s a good start.” She nods.

Lando kisses her again, but gentler this time. Her hands rest lazily on his waist before they slowly start moving up and start unbuttoning his shirt. His hands slowly move down to her hips as he pulls her closer. She can feel his bulge pressing against her through his dress pants and it instantly arouses her. His hands move down her thighs and up the inside of her dress. He pulls her dress over her head, breaking their kiss for a brief moment. Her underwear matches her burgundy dress and suits her complexion. She gasps at the coldness that hits her skin as she shuffles the shirt from his shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful.” Lando tells her when he gets a good look at her body and meets her eyes again.

“All girls are beautiful when they’re pretty much naked.” Gemma mumbles, suddenly growing shy. He kisses her again and pulls away.

“Oh, don’t get shy now.” He assures her and plants several kisses down her neck as her hips grind against his.

His hand grips the hair in her nape and gently pulls her head back as he kisses her Adam’s apple and down her chest, over her collarbones and then to her covered breasts. A soft moan escaped her lips as she grinds harder against him.

“You really are beautiful.” He mumbles against her skin, sucking on the skin just above her left breast.

Her hands struggle to find a resting place and eventually land in his curly brown hair. When he’s done sucking on her skin, he helps her unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He lifts himself ever so slightly off the couch to pull down his pants to his ankles. She immediately spots his hardened cock still covered by his briefs. Gemma slides off the couch and takes off Lando’s shoes and socks and proceeds to pull his pants off completely. When she attempts to straddle him again, Lando lays her down on her back and returns the favour for her.

He takes his time to undo the straps of her heels. When he’s chucked them aside, he proceeds to kiss her ankle and then her calf and then her inner thigh. She wriggles under his touch and breathy kisses and pulls him up for a kiss on her lips.

Lando pulls away for a second as he watches her body shiver when his fingers trace her arms and shoulders.

“This is a one time thing.” She warns him.

“I’ll make it good then.” He counters. “Maybe you’ll be running back for more.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Gemma teases. “I don’t run.”

Lando stifles a laugh at her self-deprecating joke. He loves her humour and how easy she gets back at him, like it’s such a natural thing. He grabs her chin in between his fingers making her look at him.

“No strings?” Lando asks her, even though he really hoped he’d see her again.

“No strings.” She confirms.

“You tell me to stop at any point and I will.” Lando informs her. “Words. You’re so good with your words, so use them.”

“Yes, Lando.” She agrees and he smiles at her answer.

“So obedient.” He gushes.

“Don’t be a tease.” She warns him, her nails digging slightly into his biceps.

Lando caves at her words as he moves down and kisses her stomach below her bra and teases her pantyline before he curls his fingers around her lace panties and pulls them off.

“Such a pretty sight.” He whispers as he throws her panties aside.

He leans over her and unclips her bra, allowing it to fall off her shoulders. Gemma throws her bra to meet her dress and panties close to the coffee table. Lando’s fingers trail her thighs and move towards her hole as her legs spread wider. His fingers tease her folds, but he can feel her already clenching and wet.

“You’re so wet already.” He whispers before sliding a single finger into her. His words make her shiver.

After a few strokes, he inserts a second finger and Gemma instinctively starts thrusting her hips onto them. His fingers are completely covered by her wetness.

“You’re so tight.” He mumbles into the skin of her neck as she arches her back. She grips onto his curly hair as his pace increases, tempting a third finger. She moans into his neck as she seeks her climax thrusting harder onto his fingers. “What do you want, Gem?”

“You.” She breathes. “I want you.”

“What do you want me to do?” He asks as she moans yet again.

“I want you inside me, please.” She begs, her breathing fast and shallow as she nears her climax.

“Anything princess wants, princess gets.” He assures her as he removes his fingers from her and removes his briefs.

He runs his glistening fingers over his hardened shaft, lubricating it. Gemma peers up at him as he aligns himself between her legs.

“Please, Lan.” She begs again, her voice strained and clinging to her climax.

Her words send him into another dimension as he enters her. She instantly moans, but muffles it against his chest as he thrusts slowly. As he continues to thrust, her moans become louder and more difficult to contain. She grips onto his biceps as he brings her closer to her climax once again.

“There’s no one else here, you can be louder.” Lando tells her in between thrusts.

“Please, harder.” She pleads against his shoulder, her grip tightening on his arms.

Her pleas are heard loud and clear as he thrusts harder, louder groans escaping his lips. They continue with their moans and groans until Gemma combusts, her limbs shaking from her erratic orgasm.

“Where do you want me to cum?” He asks, not intentionally mischievous, but rather genuinely asking so it would be easy to clean.

“Inside me.” Gemma quickly answers, not realising the seriousness of Lando’s question.

Her dirty answer sends him right over the edge as he erupts within her. He stays in his position for a few moments as he catches his breath before sitting upright and pulling her into his lap. Gemma clenches her thighs together as his juices seep out of her. He reaches down and uses his fingers to push it back in, careful not to overstimulate her. She’s still sensitive and groans as she feels his finger wipe up his cum and slide back in. This continues for a few minutes before they’re able to catch their breaths and calm their heart rates.

“Your ex clearly did not appreciate you enough.” Lando mumbles as he kisses her shoulder.

After another few quiet minutes, Lando can feel Gemma’s body relax in his embrace. He sits her down on the couch as he gets up, his semi-hard cock on full show for her. She avoids looking at it as he pulls on his briefs and disappears down a hallway. She’s unsure of what to do and attempts to stand, but his juices are still seeping down her thigh and landing on the couch’s material. Lando returns to the living room with a washcloth and some clothes.

“Let me clean you up.” He tells her.

He kneels in between her legs and wipes up his cum with the washcloth before discarding the washcloth on the coffee table.

“Do you want your underwear?” Lando asks her and she’s finally able to look him in the eyes.

“You can keep the panties.” She tells him with a crooked smile.

She’s the one, she must be, he thinks as he smiles at her. He pulls one of his t-shirts over her head. He then slips on a pair of sweatpants onto her hips. This can’t just be a one night thing, his thoughts trail. They’ve sobered themselves up enough to both realise that a one-night-stand may not be the endgame for them.

“Do you need anything? Water maybe?” Lando asks as he stays kneeling between her legs.

“I’m alright, thank you.” She assures him with her fingers caressing his cheek.

“Then we should maybe get some sleep.” Lando urges her as he gets up and extends a hand for her to grab.

Gemma, caught in the moment and sensing a shift in the atmosphere, gently takes Lando's hand. With a silent understanding, he leads her down the hallway to his room. The air is charged with a mixture of anticipation and a newfound intimacy as they enter the space that holds a different kind of quiet.

Once inside, they find solace in each other's arms. The ambiance is soft, the only illumination coming from the gentle glow of ambient lights. They settle into a comfortable embrace, the warmth of shared connection enveloping them. The earlier intensity mellows into a tranquil intimacy as they exchange soft words and tender gestures.

Cuddling together, they allow the calmness of the moment to wash over them, creating a cocoon of shared comfort. The world outside the room fades away, and in the quietude, they find a reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the night. As the rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths synchronise, Gemma and Lando gradually succumb to the tranquillity of the night, drifting into a peaceful slumber wrapped in each other's embrace.

#lando norris #formula 1 #lando norris smut #lando norris fanfic #ln4 #mclaren #mclaren f1 #mclaren racing #lando norris fic #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; vox

requested by ; mezzanottespazzatura (13/02/24)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; vox

outline ; “Would it be possible to get some relationship hcs for Vox? Smut is optional, I just need more content with this man and I can't wait for season 2 hhhhhhhhh-”

note ; this may be a smidge shaky as i’ve never written for him before but this was fun to write either way so i hope you all enjoy it ^^

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

though his busy schedule keeps him from being as physically attentive as he might prefer to be with you, vox does his best to make it up to you as best he can — granted this usually just means him attempting to buy your favour and forgiveness through lavish gifts and dates, but its the thought that counts… right?

this habit of his means that, over the course of your relationship with vox, you manage to acquire quite the extensive collection of lavish gifts — including, but not limited to: a wardrobe of clothes from hell’s top designers and brands that’s so large that it takes up several rooms in your shared penthouse (including all of the shoes and accessories to match each outfit), all of the latest voxtech devices and services at arm’s reach no matter where you may go, whole rooms dedicated to your interests (no matter how niche) including items that you thought were impossible to get ahold of in hell, the best skin and hair care items that money can buy (and that are suited to your exact preferences and needs), a veritable army of robots dedicated to tending to your every whim and need (kitty also gets lent to you by val on occasion but vox prefers that you use the bots he had made specifically for you), and so on…

unless he’s in a very intense argument with one of the other vees or locked into a meeting with other overlords or potential investors that requires his full attention, vox always has an eye on you — watching you through your television, your phone, the security cameras in your home, and every single device you walk past throughout your day

he claims it’s for you your own safety — after all, he’s been very public about your relationship and there are plenty of sinners that would gladly kill or kidnap you just to mess with his head and try and take over his territory — but really it’s because he’s a deeply insecure man that is both terrified of losing you to someone better than him, and extremely quick to anger if he sees anyone getting too close, too friendly, with you for his liking

in other words: your boyfriend is jealous as hell and, try as he might to hide it behind his usual facade of complete control and perfection, it’s extremely obvious to you and everyone else who has known him for more than ten minutes

as mentioned before, vox makes no attempt to hide your relationship from the public and very loudly and proudly claims you as his partner wherever and whenever he can — this partially to maintain his public persona of the likeable and respectable business mogul (hence why a lot of your dates involve frequenting spots where reporters tend to hang out so that he can show off just how much of a doting gentleman he is) but it’s also his own way of marking his territory and letting any potential suitors of yours know that you’re already very happily taken and that they have no chance of taking you from him

when it comes to pet names, he tends to default to either just calling you your name (or a shortened version thereof) or something more traditional like ‘honey’, ‘darling’, or ‘sweetie’ if he’s feeling particularly sentimental — likewise he prefers to be called his name or something similarly traditional by you in public (but the moment the two of you are alone he does tend to soften up quite a bit and will respond to anything you want to call him, so long as it’s said with the intention of being affectionate)

after a long day of work, or attending to val’s tantrums whenever they occur and knock his schedule out of wack, vox loves nothing more than being able to come home and rant to you about it all — cussing out everyone who has ever wronged him, no matter how small the offence, whilst you nod along encouragingly and rub his shoulders and urge him to sit down for a moment before he paces a hole into the carpet is, oddly enough, kinda therapeutic for him and it becomes something of a routine for you two

he thrives on praise and affirmation and loves it when you wrap your arms around him, play with the hem of his jacket, and tell him how amazing he is at everything he does in life: the perfect boyfriend, the best entertainer in all of hell, one of the most powerful overlords in the pride ring (bonus points here if you shit talk alastor and emphasise how much better at everything vox is), a man worthy of being praised and feared, and the list goes on — he’ll reward you in kind once you’re finished, of course, but he’s more than happy to push back his next meeting by a half hour or so if it means getting to bask in your adoration and praise for a little while

he texts you periodically throughout the day — usually when there’s a lull in his work, when he’s bored during a meeting, or if someone has just done something so exceptionally stupid that he needs to tell someone and you’re the only one that will understand — and for as much as he goes on about being super busy all of the time, he always responds to your texts within a minute or so of them being sent

you’re the person whose input and opinions he trusts the most out of anyone else in the pride ring: you’re the person who he bounces his latest ideas off when he’s just at the planning stage and something isn’t quite clicking, you’re the one he rants to about his frustrations with alastor and the other vees because he knows that you’ll always listen to him and help him calm down before he causes another blackout, you’re the first person he shows a new upgrade or outfit to because he always wants to look and feel his best for you, etc., etc.

you’re one of the few people that gets to see vox both at his best as a talented and capable overlord, and at his very worst when he’s on the brink of tears and one wrong word away from plunging the entirety of pentagram city into a blackout — you’re there to stand proudly beside him as the loving and supportive spouse to his confident and inventive businessman, and you’re also there to console and reassure him as he frets about alastor’s return and what that means for the empire he’s built in his absence

he’s not the most physically affectionate person in the world, but he can appreciate the basics: having you curled up on his lap when he’s working at his desk (or resting his head on your lap when you’re at home and you’re listening to him talk about something or another), kissing you before he leaves for work (or having you peck his screen whenever you visit him at the office), and resting a clawed hand on the small of your back or on your waist as you’re walking around or just standing side by side

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #fluff #fluff hcs #hazbin hotel fluff #vox fluff #vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

[hanayumi]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝

— bonten!sano manjirou x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo 🔞

part 2 of brittle to the bone || prev.

if mikey is harsh, imposing, unyielding, then haruchiyo is just that with playful charisma superimposed over cruelty.

wc. ~9k

tags/warnings noncon, predator/prey dynamics, yandere undertones, knifeplay, mild bloodplay, forced infidelity, self-harm, degradation, overstim, mind break, mentions of gunplay, minor character death(s)

notes he’s very mean

snapshot;

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

∗

Be good.

‘Be good’ — by which Mikey meant, you suppose, no speaking to others in the compound, no leaving the house, no stepping inside anywhere but the bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen… all the places that you’ve been wandering in-between for years without ever going outside. Is there anything else?

Well, you can’t bother yourself to remember. It’s not like you can do anything in here that’ll piss him off anyway. The time you’ve had to spend alone has started to blur into an impalpable being — an amalgamation, of sorts — warping and slowing your perception of reality to a tenth of a millisecond whenever Mikey isn’t around to monopolise your attention.

…I’ll reward you like a good little bitch when I get back. Can you do that for me?

Don’t leave the penthouse. Don’t enter rooms you don’t know. Don’t speak to anyone other than Haruchiyo. It should be pretty simple. Yeah, you can definitely do that for him. You can be good. You can. You’ll show him.

(As long as Haruchiyo doesn’t kill you before you get a chance to.)

You close your eyes, an image of the man with roseate hair floating into your memory. His lilting voice, the rattling of his pills, the way he kissed your hand after introducing himself and the way he smirked when Mikey made his announcement. A prickling chill runs down your spine like cold water. 

You clench a bundle of the sheets into your face, burrowing into the lingering scent of Mikey, and decide that you hate the way Haruchiyo speaks. In a slow, condescending drawl, smirk bared, revealing the carious fangs of a seasoned predator, the narrowed slits of his eyes scrutinising (for what, you have no idea) as if he thinks of your life as even more insignificant and disposable as the dirt between his shoes. 

There’s another thing, too. Something that fills your little heart with enormous anxiety and forces you on simmering coals within his presence, even now when you’re all safe and sound in this room with its four white walls and thick, locked door.

You can read that grin like an open book.

He thinks that your relationship with his boss has an expiry date. That it’s only a matter of time before you’re disposed of, too. That, without question, you were only there as a form of stress relief, your sole purpose being to tend to his boss’ every need. An emotional outlet, of sorts.

(You hate it because you know he’s right.)

But you don’t tell him that, don’t want to offer him the satisfaction — instead you scamper from his gaze, always slipping out of a room just as he enters it, going as far as to strategically plan out your daily activities to ensure that you wouldn’t be catching any glint nor shadow of that vibrant pink.

And for the most part, it’s working. And even if it didn’t, he has a funny way of looking at everything and anything as if it were leagues beneath him, so much so that you find it easy to simply duck your head and deem yourself unworthy of staying in his presence any longer than you already have. It’s weird, how simple it is to evade him — how predictable, easy, like child’s play. When he has just about given you as much attention as one would to a stray twig obstructing a sidewalk.

So, just like every other nagging worry, you stuff Bonten’s-Number-Two-Sanzu-Haruchiyo away in a cabinet for safe-keeping.

Time without Mikey also means that you’ll at least get a bit more time to yourself (albeit a large portion of it would be spent calculating how to avoid the man he left in his place). 

You’re using it wisely, you think — alternating between counting the grooves in the ceiling to toying with the strands of velvet rug in the middle of the too-spacious bedroom, to daydreaming until sprawling scenery of the outside-world blooms behind your eyelids… okay. So you haven’t been able to get anything truly productive done. So what? The word ‘productive’ feels alien in your mind — almost as if there’s something fundamentally cursed about its three syllables, as if it belonged in a realm unattainable to someone like you. You haven’t had to worry about being pro-duc-tive in years. It was always Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.

At some point, you think dismally, I’ll have to get up. But now is not the time. So you count, and count, until you feel your consciousness slipping away, and your eyelids droop, and you sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sleep that blunts the ache of isolation and the burning of your bruises, tip-toeing featherlight over your skin like a reminder of the person who left them. 

(Mikey doesn’t leave sticky notes on the fridge telling you to remember to brush your teeth and comb your hair. Everything he gives you comes from himself: his flesh and bone, his pain, his heart, his bruises.)

When time meanders forward, and inevitably touches upon evening, and you stir from sleep feeling an unbearable feeling of emptiness in your stomach (almost as if a large cavity was drilled into your abdomen), you shake the drowsiness away starting to feel an oncoming panic that Haruchiyo somewhere somehow found a way to sneak something into your breakfa— oh. That’s right.

You didn’t even have breakfast.

Your gut howls in agony. Reluctantly, you unwrap the self-made cocoon of blankets, preparing the mental artillery required to slip out the bedroom. 

Haruchiyo seems to be missing from the kitchen, which is a good thing, a pleasant thing — though you aren’t stupid to assume that he is shirking his duties as your ‘guardian’. Living in a sprawling penthouse with just two people, minus the seclusion, leaves you enjoying an overwhelming sense of privacy most of the time. But now? Now it feels like there’s bear traps under every tile in the floor, shuriken blades concealing themselves behind every groove in the ceiling (there were about 200 that you counted before dozing off).

It takes a few furtive glances down the corridor and you (fruitlessly) keep a knife within arm’s reach (‘I don’t know why I’m doing this it’s not like I’m even capable of wielding a knife’), but you get to work quickly, preparing a decent meal the only way you know how. The purple blemishes lining the expanse of your neck and thighs still throb in protest when you move, although now it’s become a dull, persistent, guileless ache. You’re all alone, since it appears that your housekeeper is nowhere to be found — got scared away, maybe?

Come to think of it, staff don’t stay for very long around the Bonten building (either that or the numbers are endless; every day you see a new face), and you were always too busy to pay attention to anything but the hulking man demanding your attention.

Even so, something about that particular woman made the word ‘bold’ pop up in your mind in thick, underlined letters.

She’s been around for a few weeks now, looking to be about the same age as you (maybe a little older?), and always wore her black hair pinned back neatly, revealing youthful and bright eyes. She isn’t permitted to stay long — no longer than when she finishes up cleaning and cooking food that’ll last the next few days — and neither of you know each other’s names. Though she did offer you the most sympathetic of smiles when the smell of good food left you poking your head into the kitchen. You think of it sometimes, when you’re lying in bed sleepless.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this on my own, you frown, wiping sweat from your brow. Not that you haven’t cooked before, you have — you just can’t remember when. Your fingers curl feebly around the vegetable peeler, strips of potato skin falling onto the cutting board like ribbons. How long has it been, since you’ve put so much care into something other than Mikey? Again, you’re reminded of how much of your time that he eats up on the regular, like a blackhole both in his presence and absence; like a mechanical heart that your empty cavity of a ribcage can’t pump blood without. The thought alone should petrify you.

Don’t think about that.

There you go again, fretting over things that can’t be fretted about. You stubbornly follow the woman’s phantom movements from what little you gleaned from watching her from afar, guiding your hands over a boiling stove. The sizzles generating at the bottom of the metal pot reminds you of firecrackers. If your memory serves you well, there should be extra seasoning in the top cabinet. And you have to remember to work fast, too, just in case Haruchiyo decides to stick his head out in curiosity.

One by one, along with those forbidden thoughts, the various base ingredients are banished into the pot. Minutes later, you taste the thick broth with a spoon and damn, you realise, this actually tastes kind of good. This actually feels kind of good.

Yeah… yeah no, maybe you’re starting to get the hang of it. Maybe it’ll actually turn out okay after all — the next two days, your isolation, this makeshift stew. Not as good as the woman’s, but you reckon she’d give you a pass for trying. It’s only been a few days tops, but you cave and sigh; you kinda miss her presence. It gave you something to mull over amidst constant chao—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your blood freezes.

At the doorway, Haruchiyo looks dishevelled, pissed, a single olive eye twitching. Your legs caramelise into a thick hardness, rooting you to the ground. The pot continues to sizzle above the flame. Since when did he…

“C-cooking?” you begin warily, glancing for the nearest exit, trying to keep an impervious look on your face even though every second that slips by a silent fear creeps up on you like a chokehold. You flinch as he stalks closer with the air of a forensic inspector, looking over the mess that is the kitchen, the wildly strewn pots and pans and utensils — all because you panicked and couldn’t find the ones you were looking for.

(Around the counter? No—that will take too much time. What if you shoved your way past him? No, god no—are you stupid? He’d catch you immediately—)

“You’re dumber than I thought,” he snarls, his mouth donning that prized scowl, leaning forward before you can react and jabbing a finger at the cutting board. “You don’t even know how to handle a fucking knife?”

“Wha—huh?”

You blink; the pellets of onion, potato and carrot lie limply on the scuffed wood. Misshapen little pieces, some thick and some way too thin. Your hands lie frozen in time, one grasping at a chunk of orange and the other gradually growing slick around the knife.

He clicks his tongue in disdain.

“At this rate, you’re going to kill yourself before I do.” Haruchiyo and the long tendons of his fingers pry the weighted blade out of the comfort of your hands. Insistently, in a way that tells you he’s mad—oh god he’s mad— but strikingly, without a touch of malice. Is he mad? Is he sober? He won’t turn it—the knife—on you—right? Your breath hitches.

“Mikey would maim me to a pulp if you succeeded in that little stunt,” he arches a brow, as if using Mikey’s name in such a manner left a bitter taste in his mouth. For some reason, blood rushes to your ears as you watch the man in an unbuttoned suit hunch over the cutting board. You give him space to examine the ingredients, biting your tongue in shame. “If you wanted food you could’ve just said so.”

You could’ve just said so.

Something doesn’t feel quite right about his words, but you’re too relieved to dwell on it. You are graced with a sliver of respite, a moment’s peace; at least you know Haruchiyo has no intentions of killing you. He can’t. Probably.

The silky-smooth incisions he makes on the vegetables and meat send a tremor down your spine, each chop bouncing around in your eardrums. He’s helping you and yet, you almost feel bad for wanting to run. You don’t want to know where he learnt to wield a blade like a razorlike extension of his fingers.

“You know a lot,” you whisper, biting your lip afterwards, minutes in when the aimless hovering becomes too much to bear. What the hell are you doing, trying to make small talk? 

“I know enough,” he shoots back, long lashes fluttering like large silver fans as he turns around to squint at you. He likes to look at you as if you were some ancient vase excavated from the earth, you realise. Or like a fossil. As if you originated from a completely different time from him.

Nothing much of a conversation passes between the two of you after that; you awkwardly go through the motions, trying your best to stay away. He mutters some weird cantation under his breath as he sections off the potatoes from the carrots, moves them over to a plate as he readies the meat.

It’s almost faelike, how systematic of a man he is. How quick he is to catch on, requiring minimal instructions from you, despite seeming like a person of inferior culinary calibre.

When he’s done, Haruchiyo pats his hands on his thighs, breathing a sigh. His gaze mulls over the piping stew still bubbling with the newly-added ingredients, before plucking itself away and landing on the door to the study just a distance from the kitchen (his hiding place; his deep cavernous den). Just before he saunters to the room, twisting a hand on the door knob, he says, “I don’t cook, so don’t expect me to.” 

(You didn’t.)

It was a brief encounter.

In the early dusk, long after your meal, you hear him crawl out of the study like an emerging creature of the night, and when you’re halfway through turning over a page in a novel (a dusty old one that you found hiding inside the drawers of the bedside table) you hear the sound of cutlery scraping against ceramic, echoing from where the kitchen must be.

It’s strange, the gladness that washes over you — you hadn’t really expected him to react, let alone try your cooking. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure that he ate in the first place. (He said he doesn’t cook, but he knows the ‘correct’ way to use a knife? Odd.) You frown, none of the words on the page construing a decipherable meaning to you.

Maybe, just maybe, sharing the same space with Haruchiyo won’t be so bad after all (now that you know he eats and sleeps like a human being, is normal-functioning in most aspects of his physical body).

With this thought in mind, you carry on business as usual in your small corner of the house, lightly pondering which part of Japan Mikey has found himself embroiled in.

At nightfall, your ears unwillingly pick up loud thuds down the hallway, and you triple-check that the door is locked before climbing into the soft covers, stifling a shiver. Regardless of whether he’s been oddly tame or not, it’ll take a while to get used to this — the strange, unexplainable things that go bump in the night. 

The bed… feels emptier. Desolate. Something feels odd, like the calm before the storm. It’s just your imagination. You close your eyes, falling asleep imagining Mikey’s arm around your hip. Ironically, you can’t seem to sleep well without him.

∗

What is this?

He’s felt like this before, of that he’s certain. A longass time ago. Judging from the huge blip in his memory when Haruchiyo tries to recall, it must’ve been eons since then. Eons and eons and then some, back when inactive volcanoes still spat real, smouldering lava — he’s sure it’s been that long.

It’s curious, and it amazes him more than it disgusts him. He should be disgusted, the logical part of his brain adds; he should have just minded his business and carried on as usual. He should have let you cut yourself in that dangerous manner (what’s a tiny cut going to do, add another notch to the scar-ridden pole?) — let you experience what it’s like to live life with an impish brain. 

He wasn’t intending to interrupt. Ten, fifteen minutes must’ve ticked by, with him standing there in silence (you are quite the careless one). He couldn’t push down the onslaught of annoyance at the way you bent over backwards to reach the top shelf — are you trying to make his job difficult on purpose? Haruchiyo is a lawless beast, sure, but even beasts have their master’s orders to abide by, along with a special place in hell for those who don’t obey orders. Maybe that was your goal — maybe you wanted him gone. Maybe deep down you’re a spy sent to eliminate Bonten from the inside.

That is how he almost relished in pure excitement, at the promise of bloodshed regardless of how minor.

And yet, and yet, when he saw the flat silver falling just millimeters short of slicing into your soft digits, something compelled him to step in. (To help? Or to finish the job? No, he knows why. It was to chase this surreal, abstract feeling.)

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

He wonders how you had the time to teach yourself how to cook. Or if you’d already known before you were brought here (in any case you didn’t look very experienced). If the flavourful explosion in his mouth attests to his boss’ favourite dish. Comfort food, his brain supplies. What is that? He never understood the little nuances that people sprinkled in their vocabulary, though the terms lingered in his head like pesky flies. (If it’s shit, it’s just shit, right?)

He’d been so used to the staleness served at dilapidated bars that he’d forgotten almost completely what it means to have a proper meal. If it wasn’t stale or nasty it was too fancy for him to stuff down his throat — he has always been a picky eater, wanted things to be just right, but somehow the smell alone was enough to entice him out of the study.

And when he took the first bite, something strange happened. A feeling akin to warmth flooded his veins. (It’s amazing, isn’t it? It was like poison. His head started spinning and his mind morphed into a jumbled maze of thoughts; so deeply entrenched in its twists and turns he was, left palm slowly running across hedged walls, groping for an exit. Or trying to find whatever treasure, salvation, lied in the middle.) It never ever struck Haruchiyo that you might’ve snuck something extra into the food to incite this wild reaction in him. No— you’re too innocent for that. Kind. Warm. Trusting. Soft…

Not once did you knock on the door. Not that he expected you to. Not that he wanted you to. (You’re stupid but not that stupid.)

He must’ve been in there for hours, oscillating between the fabric of time and space, consciousness and unconsciousness blurring into one. 

Flashes — funny things, like trusting someone, like cutting his fingers by accident as a kid, sitting outside the doctor’s office (“What are they going to do to me?” a young boy with flaxen hair whispered. “They will put you in stitches. It will not hurt. Just a few pricks, nothing more,” someone whispered back… who?) — materialise before his consciousness often. Uninvited. Unwarranted.

When he is awake they come to him like blessings, like offerings to a long-forgotten deity. When he is asleep they take on the sparkle and sheen of a fairytale — so blurry and blinding that he could never hope to brush his fingertips across such an ethereal feeling in his mortal life.

Because a common thread was that these recollections (or fairytales, or glimpses into the ether, or as he personally likes to call them, fever dreams) never lasted long.

The feeling always, always chose to leave last — that silent poking and prodding going on without his consent, shady dealings happening at the edges of his conscience that scream at him to mourn for a past innocence, something that he has no chance of ever recovering. Memory, in this way, comes like slippery eels in the palm of his hand: if he’s lucky, he’ll catch one. If he isn’t, oh well.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, plastering his spine to the back of chair in hopes of relieving the pain throbbing behind his eyelids. Defeat tastes acrid, bitter, on Haruchiyo’s tongue; it’s no use fighting the waves of agony strobing like a heat wave.

His arm adeptly loses feeling and the metal spoon crashes down onto the plate. It’s empty now, and his stomach is somewhat filled. Yet this shitty-ass migraine chooses to latch onto his brain like a leech. God. Can’t you just—I don’t know—let me off? This one, goddamn time, Haruchiyo curses. He’s pissed. He’s sure he left an extra stockpile of that good stuff somewhere…

Old habits die hard, but it’s difficult to dwell on it when all he can feel is gratefulness for his own foresight. Mikey finds ways to avoid him a lot when he doesn’t feel like entertaining his highs, kinda like throwing a bone to stave off a dog’s abundant energy. But for the most part, he lets Haruchiyo do his own thing — lets him chew on the proverbial bone to his heart’s desire. Thus, once again, Haruchiyo finds himself with a fistful of pills. (It’s the only way he knows to curb the pain.)

He’d really meant to pounce on you by now, he thinks, as he swallows another. Gulp. He meant to already sink his claws into your neck, the same way Mikey does. Gulp.

But he can’t. Right now he can’t even stand straight his head hurts so bad. As if something from within him wanted to turn his body inside out, displaying his innards.

And, fuck, when the itch resurfaces again like an old friend, there’s little he can do to stop it. (When has he ever been the type to argue with instinct, after all? If anything… he is a slave to it. It’s understandable. Mikey’ll forgive him. He’s too used to running free, veins pulsing at the first whiff of prey. It doesn’t do anyone good to cage a wild animal.)

Haruchiyo and his dimmed gemstone eyes, clouded over with a drug-filled haze — a comfortable, fitted collar around his neck and the leash held firmly within his grasp. A slave. A weapon to his own instinct. Nature proclaims that it’s law for predators to hunt prey. How many girls has he killed? How many that look like you and how many just to satisfy this instinct of purging prey.

Haruchiyo has lost count at this point. Everything blurs and twists into one: pill-shaped candy, the boy with pale hair, the warmth of the food that felt like a paperweight on his tongue… you clutching the tip of your finger, thick blood gushing out. (The ‘what-if’ that would’ve happened if he hadn’t interfered.)

Deeper and deeper, he starts to feel dizzy, as if he were plummeting down a rabbit hole. He stumbles from the kitchen and into the living room, heads towards the noise that made his ears prick up like a predator groping for blood. Thirst. He’s unbearably thirsty.

It’s not you— is that you? He goes rigid; blinks away hysteria. It’s you.

All he can think of is you— all he can think is, Mikey will forgive him.

∗

At an abandoned dock two cities away a figure sits patiently, embroiled in a decrepit darkness. Moonlight creeps across his hunched back like vines over a wall. Dark bangs fall messily across his face with some strands still matted in a sticky substance. Sweat, or blood. Mikey scrunches up his nose. If you were here, he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning himself up.

But you aren’t. And the thought is enough to wind a bunch of thorns around his chest.

The cylindrical shape feels strange as heck against the insides of his mouth. He’s poked his tongue through the barrel a few times before, out of pure curiosity, like a cat toying with a ball of yarn trapped in its mitts. But the taste? Well, it’s just as he expected it to be — bland. Flavourless. Unappealing. Just as unappealing as life without you.

(The fuck? Takeomi called me all the way here just to deal with this?)

Then again, he did take a longer time than usual to exterminate the local pest populace. Mikey doesn’t know if this particular thorn in his side is exceptionally formidable, or if he is exceptionally off his game today. (Huh — no, that can’t be it. It’s not as if he saw hostile figures blurring into two then three then four like a cheap ninja trick, even as he struck them down unfazed; not as if, after the tenth one the blood got too heavy for him to focus, and everywhere he turned, intrusive images of your skin plagued his psyche like a disease… no, that can’t be it.)

(…Right? Right. No way.)

He’s miserable. He wants to go home. He wants to hold you and he wants to make you taste the barrel of the gun as he is now — make you run your tongue along its concave shape and ask if you can taste the gunmetal on your teeth and call you pathetic when you start trembling like you always do. Would you let him? (Of course you would. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.) You are obedient, Mikey likes that about you, and you’re always willing to go along with his whims — though, he frowns, it’s mostly because you’re scared. Probably.

Somewhere in the dark a rat squeaks, scuttles into a crack, leaving the timid cry resonating within jagged walls. It reminds him of yo— he throws his head back and gives a long, hard groan, one that spirals in the stillness. 

Okay that’s it. He clutches his head. I’m getting out of here.

“Oi. Come, Senju,” he calls monotonously, not waiting up before hopping down, setting his course deeper towards the direction of darkness. A barely audible pair of footsteps follow close behind. But Mikey’s thoughts are occupied; he thinks about the flat surface of the gun and what colour it’d make your skin turn, and he thinks about Haruchiyo sitting faithfully in the penthouse, doing his job. (He’s a little worried, and that’s an understatement.)

Mikey sighs, nose breathing in the musty, oppressive smell of the sea.

One more day and he’ll be back where he was with you; one more day and he’ll be home. But at the very least, he thinks, this little business venture has turned out to be the tiniest bit amusing. His first time exploring Japan in months and he’s already got himself a souvenir to take home.

∗

It’s… raining.

A fine, feathery, bountiful rain that’s only noticeable from ripples of water cascading soundlessly on the full-length window, and floating umbrellas shielding commuters from the downpour hundreds and hundreds of floors below.

From your bird’s-eye view, they all but resemble dewdrops of microscopic colour, so far away that you can barely tell they’re alive. You press your palm flat against the glass, feeling the heat of your own skin absorb the cool surface, feeling the tiny vibration brought forth by the morning raindrops on the other side.

How long has it been? Since you’ve been on that other side?

A backdrop of grey paints the city. A familiar view, but one that you’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s quiet. Way too quiet, at that.

Where is Haruchiyo?

The chill spreads to the tip of your toes when they meet the marbled flooring. You slip off the couch, contemplating the merit in searching for a man you would otherwise do triple somersaults to avoid. Is this a good idea? You chew on your lip. It’s not. But where is he?

You’ve been feeling uneasy for the whole morning. Earlier there’d been a crash (multiple) coming from the hallway, and besides making you drop your book it also brought with it a nauseating wave of anxiety. Not that you expected Haruchiyo to be quiet at all times, goodness no (last night was a test of your patience), but there was a certain instinct imbued into you that made the hairs on your forearms stand on end whenever things were a hint out of the ordinary.

A certain intuition that came part and parcel with living with dangerous, scheming people.

Why is he grunting like that?

(That was a grunt, right? No… no, it definitely was.)

There was the sound of something sharp, like metal, grating against the floor — what was that? You scurry over to press your ear to the door, listening hard for anomalies, trying to conjure up hypotheses in your brain that don’t equal to Haruchiyo throwing a messy fit or getting ready to jump you or — well, kill you.

A clunk. Several thumps. A knife, maybe? Or he could be moving furniture, or, or—he could be practicing with his rumoured katana (you’ve never seen it but heard people talk about it in hushed whispers) — there’s no way to know for sure. All these unidentified sounds send seismic fear rippling through you.

With Mikey there was no need to question anything, because it was only a matter of time until you found out. But now that you’re alone — alone and defenceless and the most vulnerable you’ve ever been since you were fresh out the womb — it strikes a waning courage in your steps as you venture into the unknown, sweaty palms encircling the cool metal door knob, trying your hardest to stifle the click it makes when it unlocks.

Slowly, you tiptoe over to the source of the sound. Because it couldn’t hurt to just take a peek. Right? Just to check in. Just to be safe. Just to make sure he isn’t putting funny stuff inside your cupboards.

And. Well. If you were being honest, being Mikey’s little pet must’ve changed you a lot.

Complacency that thickened your skin, artificial layers of cosmetics over baby-smooth doll fabric. The false sense of protection under Mikey’s invisible iron fist comes with its own, hefty price. It must have gotten to you somehow. It must have done something to build up that liquid courage in your veins, in its own twisted way, surely, because—because no sooner than when you poke your head through the doorway into the living room do you see it.

See them.

You stare at the pile of grisly red organs splattering the cold hard floor; stare at death itself.

And, on top of it, as if crowned the victor, no one but Haruchiyo hunches leisurely over the grisly mound of flesh. Cleaning the mess behind his fingertips with his tongue. Eyeing his handiwork. The glinting edge of the tiny scalpel in his hand still dripping with scarlet, sharp edge pointed towards god knows what’s left of that person ohgod—

Your gut drops to the floor in horror. That uniform. That’s her. That’s the woman. Shit—fuck. What was once a sweet young woman is now a mangled corpse by the hands of Haruchiyo. Something… something is terribly wrong. She doesn’t look like she’s been dead for minutes. No, her eyes are far too cold. Like gaping holes. There is blood from her mouth, no, there is blood everywhere —

Haruchiyo hums, his rosier-than-cotton-candy hair dip-dyed in scarlet. Drip, drip. “Looks like… ah, I’ve roused the attention of our reclusive little rabbit.”

It’s the same man who’d grasped your hand in a courteous gesture just the day before, who’d saved you from slicing your fingers, the same goddamn murderer who’s just got his hands on the only person in years to address you like a regular human being. Idiot. You’ve done it this time. You’re a fucking dumbass. He’s a murderer, murderer — he’s going to kill you.

You’re next.

“What’s wrong, little bunny?” His grin only widens at your stupor, your slow, petrified jaw hanging agape. “You look scared. Do I make you feel scared?”

Your legs won’t budge; you whimper.

Run. Runrunrun — your body is screaming at you, imploring you to hurry the fuck up and run for your goddamn life, but you don’t. Pleas fall on deaf ears. Your body is caught in a bear trap, forcing you to take in the gruesome scene before you. There is so, so much blood. More than you’ve ever seen in your life. And all of it, all of it, is hers. 

Just the other day she greeted you with her usual warm smile. Just the other day she was a living, breathing human, who ate and slept and radiated heat.

“Your face tells me you want to run,” he trills, eyes narrowing into slits. “Gonna run away?”

His tone is shrill as a sharpened blade, deranged, with every word mounting into maniacal glee. “Run with your little tail tucked between your cute thighs, back to your big, strong Mikey?”

Bloodshot and unfocused eyes zero in on your face and his body convulses like a zombie erecting from the dead, joints creaking like bars of scaffold. Slowly, assuredly, he rises to one knee, he points the scalpel at his own collarbone, and wait, wait, why is he— 

“Look here, little bunny,” he coos, a big wide smile twisting the scars on his mouth; his wrist twitches, yanks, the blade following suit, dipping obediently into his own flesh. His own skin. His own blood that leaks pure sparkling scarlet from a thin crevice. 

A scream tears through the room, one you can only feel is yours from the vibrations ringing in your hollow throat — he doesn’t wince. Sheer horror sends your body flying back, hands clasped tight in front of your face to shield you from the deep dark red. This is a nightmare. This can’t be real. Red is matted to pink strands of hair, red is glittering across his mouth like the snout of a beast, red is slowly advancing across the carpet. Wake up. You tremble, whimper. This is bad this is bad this is bad.

A cackle rips into the air, one with a chilling, blood-curdling echo bouncing off the walls, and no sooner than when he takes a step forward does the impenetrable cement in your veins crack. 

Fight or flight.

You turn and bolt, feeling the weight of your numb appendages carrying you as far as possible, away from that—that sickening blood, that red crawling ever so closely towards you like hot, molten lava—

You race, stumble, dive into Mikey’s room (Idiot! Mikey isn’t even here! The exit — you have to get to the exit!), managing to grab a spare key off the counter before fleeing like a bat out of hell towards the front door, salvation, the only way out.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”

But then your back’s hitting the wall as you scramble to flee, jolts of the impact swelling up your spine as you hurtle into a dodge when Haruchiyo lunges, bloodied fingertips snatching your wrist and pulling pulling yanking, until the keys crash to the ground with a deafening clatter, until you’ve been sucked into the floor with a scream clawing at your throat, until you’re submerged limb by limb into that deep deep red that you hate.

“NO no no no no, letmego, letmeg—”

“Shh, shh!”

The cool tip of the blade drags along your cheek, thinly scraping against the surface, slicing into half the wet tracks that tears have left on your face so that slivered carmine wells up through the broken skin. His body has no right being this warm, pressed up against you, your knees and arms already going slick with blood. It’s over. He’s caught you.

Your eyes stay screwed shut amidst the barrage of hot tears bursting behind your eyelids. He has you pinned down for good, you realise, a strained whimper fighting its way in the back of your throat. There is no escape. The pain is real. You can feel the slim thread of blood rolling down your cheek, mixing with the tears — only for him to lean closer, lapping up the traces of it with a satisfied chuckle.

His saliva leaves a slimy, wet sensation on your skin. It’s the worst feeling you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Please… I won’t tell anyone… I won’t tell Mikey— please, just let me go…”

“Ah ah ah.” The man — Sanzu Haruchiyo — hushes you again, a finger on your lip, his shuddering breath fanning erratically on your face, his voice fading into yet another hysterical chuckle. But it’s deep, breathy, and taunting, thrumming loudly in his chest, and sending a tremor through your very soul. “I think you’re forgetting a teensy, tiny fact, little bunny— Mikey’s not here.”

Your nose fills with iron when he is this close. Haruchiyo’s eyes — those bulging, green masses of insanity — shift and convulse as if you were faced with the mouth of an abyss. His grip on your wrists tightens to an agonising degree the more you plead and squirm, leaving you with no choice but to hold your breath, hoping desperately that someone will come to your rescue.

Where is Mikey? 

You’re going to die here. You’re going to die here… and there’s nothing you can do about it. Pushed up against this psycho killer, who’s just murdered a person innocent of all crime, an outsider who shouldn’t even have been here. Is this how you find closure? From someone other than Mikey? 

Manjiro… the thought is enough to shoot a terrible pain in your heart, something unwarranted like denial, like indescribable terror, like—like regret. 

I never told him I love him.

Twin dilated pupils absorb the sight of your writhing, suffering form, shuddering in their sockets from unmatched euphoria.

“Why don’t we play a little?”

∗

Truth be told, Haruchiyo doesn’t know what time of day it is, what day it is, and all he remembers is feeling fatigued with an indescribable, insatiable hunger. He thinks he’s never felt so dissatisfied in his entire life.

But this… this is nothing short of a feast, isn’t it?

“You…” he begins, seething through his ultra-wide grin. “You’re a huge slut!”

His hands, not knowing where to touch, land greedily on every inch of your traitorous skin. Groping, taking, as if the gates to heaven inexplicably opened; a creature of hell, he is — a pitch-black entity descending upon a fine-feathered angel. He can’t stop himself, not when you’re so helpless to fend him off.

“If I had known… that you would be going around getting wet at every man touching your little pussy like this…” He bites back a laugh, the scarred edges of his mouth contorting. 

You look confused — terrified, but mainly confused. And scared as to why he hasn’t ripped apart your insides yet and god you’re fucking delicious. Your nightdress has long been torn to shreds. Blood — not yours — is splattered everywhere on the marble flooring. Haruchiyo’s obscene groans come like second nature at this point. It’s good, it’s too good — your cries, your shivering, your scent, the way that he can taste how salty your tears are and hear the wetness gathering at his fingers. 

“You’re a damned whore, aren’t you?”

You look stunned, stupefied, as if your little brain can’t comprehend what Haruchiyo wants to do to you, as if the squelching noises coming from between your thighs are a mechanism separate to your conscious body — as if they don’t tell him all he needs to know. 

“S-stop,” you snivel, wrists straining in his grip, though he thinks it couldn’t possibly hurt from the way you can’t help your half-moans, so delicate and frantic, flitting about in his ears like a pair of small butterfly wings. “Stop, please, a-ah, don’t touch me there—”

“Here? Oh, but what if I want to?”

Frankly, this is the most fun that he’s had in ages — your kitten-like mewls and crystalline tears, soft hips twisting fruitlessly and the friction only serving to make his blood rush south, adrenaline sizzling in his veins even more so than when he was in the midst of mutilating that dumb placeholder, that fake…

“You feel so nice and soft inside, little bunny.”

Haruchiyo shoves his fingers past the lips of your cute slit, prodding and poking like it’s his first time touching a virgin. Warm, tender, and suckling on him like a fawn to its mother’s breast… the gentle clasp of your pussy against his fingers feels like nothing short of heaven. God almighty, no wonder Mikey couldn’t keep his hands off of you. His cock becomes erect, the tip becoming sensitive as it strains against precum-soaked fabric.

He watches you squirm, watches as your tits heave with every breath you take. For the first time Haruchiyo is close to you, closer than ever before, to the point where if he brandished the scalpel now there’s no telling whether he’ll lose control and gouge your pretty eyeballs out in a fit of blind lust. Just like he did to so many others before you — just like those other porcelain, fragile, counterfeit dolls. (Except there’s really nothing that comes so close to perfection as the real thing.)

“What do you think is stopping me from killing you, hm?” 

He poses this question in the midst of circling your shining pearl, bringing you closer and closer to climax, coaxing panicked moans out of you as if the realisation just hit you that maybe he will rip apart your insides after all. 

Then, when you whine out instead of replying, Haruchiyo pauses, pressing his weight against your soft body for good measure, keening at your smell. He sighs—

“It’s because torturing you fucking turns me on.”

You used to smell like roses — like Mikey. But the you in this moment smells like sex, sweat, and potent iron, blood from his fresh killing and blood from his own flesh and bone; he has never felt such uncontrollable desire in his life. This is it, he thinks, this is the treasure waiting for him at the end of the maze. 

His lips latch on and suckle on your exposed nipple, tongue circling and biting and lapping hard until it draws cries of pain. His face returns to your neck, a slimy tongue sticking out and coating you with saliva, feeling himself quiver with desire when your entire body convulses. His hard length grinds against your inner thigh like a mad dog, eager to insert itself into your warm and inviting hole. 

But not yet. Just a little more.

He releases your wrists. Sharp nails latch themselves onto your scalp, straining against the roots of your hair to tug you eye-to-eye with his gaze. People like to say that Haruchiyo gets a spine-chilling, deranged gleam in his eyes when he’s in the middle of torturing someone — what do you see this time?

A monster? The devil himself? Or something more divine? Otherworldly? Something like a god?

His teeth sink into his bottom lip; not bad, he credits his brain, eyeing the tremble of your lip and the way tears cascade down your cheeks and jaw and drip onto your breasts, he might just crave to make you worship him. More than anyone else. More than his King; make you become his own private devotee.

“Does Mikey also do this?” Haruchiyo’s gravelly voice whispers filthy vice in your ear. “Does he? Tell me.”

Your back hits the floor. He sticks another finger, two, then three, inside your cunt, wriggling and feeling for the one spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch. Your non-stop whining, your incoherency, your lack of capacity for full sentences, all of it is starting to unravel his control — spilling out like a spool of thread underwater, dispersing never to be reeled in again.

“Tell. Me.” 

“N-no!” you rasp, hips quaking. 

“Liar,” he smiles. You’re a liar. You’re a filthy liar. He saw you. “What does he do to your little clit, huh? Rub, rub. Oh, you feel so soft and slippery here.”

“Stop, please, a-ah! It’s too much, it’s too much…”

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” he is quick to comfort, fingers speeding up, abusing your tiny nub, as if his ears were blotting out your frantic cries and tearful struggle. So, so sensitive. He almost feels like you’ll break. “Cum all you want. Again and again. We’ve got all day.”

He attaches his lips like a parasite to your cheek, licking at the small cut, sucking every drop of blood that leaks out, all while his fingertips never cease their momentum. You resist and jerk away from his face, only for him to wrench your jaw tightly in place.

“No, I don’t want to cum, I don’t—” You struggle like a rabbit with its hind legs bound, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in a feeble effort to mute your cries of pleasure. “I-I’m gonna—”

You cum without warning; a spray of liquid pools at your entrance, your thighs spasming under him as if charged with electricity. He coos as if to cheer you on. Fuuuck. He’s not done. There’s no way. Droplets of your juices taste like dews on his tongue; so much he wants to do, but he only has two hands. 

As you reel, incapacitated with the afterglow of your orgasm, his palm lets go of your face to wrap around the flushed tip of his cock, giving a few sharp pumps, imagining what it feels like to be buried in your warmth. Well, he won’t have to imagine much longer.

“So pretty, you’d put every other girl to shame,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and another to your lips, silencing your whimpers. “I hated you, god, but turns out you’re good for at least one thing.”

“Let me… let me go…”

“Nah. But did it feel good?” He wants to break you. He wants to see you drowning in so much pleasure that you collapse and black out and crave nothing but his cock.

Your face scrunches up. You’re looking at him, he thinks. Though your expression looks weird, and you’ve stopped struggling.

“Mikey… Mikey’s gonna… he’s gonna be so mad,” you start to hiccup, tears dripping silently onto the marble, bottom lip trembling. Haruchiyo goes still, watching you cry at a loss for words.

He’s confused.

Mikey? Really? At a time like this? And he sees it again. That blatant softness that filters over your eyes — that ickiness. You’re so in love with his King that it’s pathetic.

It hadn’t been obvious before, but it is now. It’s thickening the skin between your heart and the outside world: it’s still there, the veins permeating the layer of visibility just barely, but the pulsing is faint.

And he sneers. Who do you think you are?

“You came because you’re a disloyal whore and you know it. Looks like you didn’t really love him after all, huh?”

At his words, you let out a hurt-filled gasp, as if they made their way into your heart and deposited lashes of agony there. Your mouth hangs open with tears still streaking down your face. The sight makes him want to coo at you.

“Look — you’re all messy and slick down here.”

Before you can tell him to stop, his fingernail scratches your abused clit, hard and fast as if trying to coax another orgasm out of you. Just one more. You can endure it, right? He’s watched Mikey do worse to you. He’s watched Mikey splay your legs open at his mercy and threaten to let every man in the room have their way with you.

Your body thrashes in retaliation but it’s no match for Haruchiyo’s strength, helpless to fight back as he pushes you further and further until you splutter and give a keening cry.

“What would Mikey think if he saw you like this?” he laughs, tuning out your pleas to slow down. “He’d fucking kill you.”

Another spray of your juices — another sharp scream of pleasure. By the third, fourth, your body starts trembling in overstimulation.

“I’m going to make you cum, again and again. Until you regret ever coming here. Make you regret trying to tempt my King.”

Haruchiyo mindlessly nibbles at your ear, before brutish hands reach down to force your legs wider. It’s about time, isn’t it? His cock throbs painfully at the wait.

“No, no, no… you can’t—”

He ignores you, rearranging his hips so they align with yours, gripping your abdomen like a vice as if trying to bruise. More, more, more. All his filthy fantasies start to spill out of the crevices in his brain. All he can do is watch the lavish black rush out in an endless downpour, and he, wrought with an incurable thirst, helps himself to your body, spellbound by the adrenaline you incite in him and the softness and warmth that you—

Ouch. He feels a prick.

From his shoulder, a tiny cut. A warm drop of blood beads at the broken skin. Ah. you’ve got your puny, trembling fingers on the handle of the scalpel.

How clever. A laugh bubbles from his throat.

“Oh, little bunny. Are you sure you want to do that?”

His hand removes itself from your body, snatching the blade out of your grip. You panic and try to retrieve it, but in your moment of desperation he chuckles and slides his cock in, stuffing you with inches of his length at one go, stretching you out like a cushy sleeve. 

You yelp, foal legs kicking at air. Haruchiyo takes the time to tuck the blade away. 

“Stupid, stupid,” he clicks his tongue as you wail in defeat, tiny paws padding at his chest like you want him to pin you down harder — like you crave for him to abuse your little hole until you can’t walk for the rest of the year. “You’re just a little stupid, aren’t you? Gone all mush-brained from me teasing you?”

He wastes no time in bottoming out, leaving the tip brushing against your womb, beating on the squishy walls again and again. His pace is manic, uncaring, straight from the get-go. Nothing can compare to you. Your tight, slick walls accommodate him so lasciviously, so perfectly, that he swears you know what you’re doing. 

“You know what? I’m not even mad. Not when you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.” His King has an eye for quality, he thinks, adjusting his grip so he can thrust deeper in you.

A mess of blood, cum, tears — a mess that he has made you, forced onto you like ink on a canvas, and he bled a bottomless black. You’re coming around slowly, letting the ink sink into your putty flesh and submitting yourself to the sensation, hips unknowingly rising to meet the timing of his thrusts. That’s more like it, he licks his lips. You’re cute. Obedient. He wouldn’t mind taking you home.

“Hey, hey. Here's—uh—an idea. Why don’t you become my own cocksleeve? I’ll tell Mikey that you—hah—fought real hard, but you just couldn’t resist putting a thick, hard cock inside you. I’ll tell him you couldn’t help it.” 

Haruchiyo chuckles mid-pant, having grown rather fond of you and your insides. He’s heaving like a beast, sweat gathering at his forehead, eyes squeezing shut to ride out this pure bliss. It’s a first for him. Has he been doing sex wrong his whole life?

“After my King disowns you… after he throws you out on the streets… I'll pick you up and give you a home. this little pussy… I’m going to make it my own.”

“Ah, ah— sto— ah…”

You’ve gone stupid for good, now. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, mindless babbling spilling from your lips (he can barely make out Mikey’s name in poor, broken syllables), your breasts bouncing and pussy twitching as it overflows with juices. All words are lost to you in this state. 

And yet you’re still hugging his thickness diligently, just like a custom-made cocksleeve. He really ought to reward you. Haruchiyo reaches down to stimulate your clit and shudders at the feeling of you clenching tighter.

That far-off look in your eyes, your thighs periodically convulsing with spurts of cum spraying out pathetically between your folds — it’s almost too good to be true. You’re spent, brainless, mouth agape and tongue lolling out with drool overflowing from the sides when Haruchiyo finishes in you. He can make out broken parts of your speech: feeble efforts of voicing his name.

Not Mikey’s. His.

“You’re mine to play with now,” he says, throwing his head back in laughter at your pitiful mewls. “What do you think? You don’t have any objections, do you?”

Without thinking, with a heightened lust that betrays all logical thought, he sheathes himself again, all the way to the brim with a heady groan. The cum still potent and thick inside your hole spills out and paints his cock in a hot mess of liquid.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes glazed over with so much pleasure that you look as if you were far, far above the clouds.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

#tw yandere #tw noncon #tw overstimulation #mikey x reader #tokyo revengers smut #yandere mikey #yandere tokyo revengers #sano manjiro x reader #haruchiyo x reader #yandere haruchiyo sanzu #🐝; sweet syrup #tw bloodplay #tw degradation #tw infidelity #tw mindbreak #chiyu; dark #tokyo rev x reader

[heliza24]

A few Armand thoughts that currently have me in a chokehold:

1. The building in Dubai only “groans” when Armand is around, and specifically when Armand is mad. Some of my favorite times I’ve noticed it include when Louis tells him to go take care of Daniel’s room in ep 1, after Daniel slaps Louis in episode 5, when Daniel tries to put Dr Fareed “on the record” in episode 6, and when he declares “this session is over” after Daniel starts pressing Louis about the rats in episode 7.

2. This, along with the fact that Armand is literally controlling the windows and balcony doors with his iPad, really adds to the feeling that he’s holding both Louis and Daniel hostage in a trap of his own design. When he mentions the interior designer that pitied Louis and his separation from the natural world and added the tree to compensate? That was definitely Armand’s idea, to make the captivity a little more bearable.

3. I’ve always wondered why I find the Beethoven Sonata 14 to be such effective scoring at the end of episode 7. There are a lot of contributing factors I think— it’s dramatic, it’s recognizable and therefore builds suspense, it’s used in the beginning and end of the episode as bookends. But it feels so *right*— even though I LOVE all of Daniel Hart’s original score. But here’s the thing. Armand controls the diegetic music being played in the penthouse. That’s established in ep 2 when he turns it on before Daniel and Louis have dinner. And when the sonata is first playing at the beginning of episode 7, Daniel and Louis are back in the dining room (being served by Armand/Rashid). So we can assume that the music is diegetic in that scene, and that Armand is controlling it. When it comes back in the moment of conflict and reveal at the end of the episode 7, the music is nondiagetic. It’s not playing literally in the room for the characters, but is part of the score. But we’ve already established that Armand is controlling it. It’s like his control has suddenly spread to the entire narrative that we’re witnessing. He’s in control of the whole show.

4. This is kind of a separate thought and more oriented towards season 2, but Armand is always styled— costume but also especially hair— to match whoever he’s romancing at the time.

I kind of assume the Dubai aesthetic is what he has chosen, and Louis is more matching him (see above points for my reasoning on that I guess).

But when Louis meets him in Paris, he’s perfectly positioned aesthetically to be attractive to Louis (especially coming off his experience with Lestat). He looks mature, capable of leading the coven. He’s suave, with his well fitted suits and slicked back hair.

In the 18th century flashbacks (god I can’t believe we are getting to go back to the 18th century, my favorite of all historical eras) he is matching Lestat like, down to the color palette.

But in San Francisco (and forgive the bad quality screen grab for these, I don’t think we have any high quality stills of this yet) his hair is light and curly, and he looks a fully 5-10 years younger than the Paris or Dubai scenes.

Because he’s matching a 20-something Daniel.

*proceeds to internally combust*

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #interview with the vampire amc #armand #my meta #devils minion

[frenchkisstheabyss]

7 Psychopaths: Lee Know

x Summary: You are X, a seasoned assassin, and your boss has just assigned you an unusual task. You have two weeks to gather six men for a top-secret mission that requires their unique brand of psychopathy. The trick is, you've got romantic history with all of them.

A detail that might make this a walk in the park or the fight of your life. Time to find out...

x Pairing: assassin!lee know x assassin!chubby!fem!reader

x Genre: angst/crime au/smut

x Word Count: 1.8k-ish

x Warnings: blood, violence, fighting, knives, guns, disposable mob goon deaths, unprotected sex, fingering, mirror sex, hair pulling, lino is a lil obsessed with you, the strongest of language

x A/N: This is #2 in a series of 6 stories featuring two members from TXT, two from ATEEZ, and two from Stray Kids. They all follow the same theme and can be read chronologically or you can jump around. I support the chaos.

Previous Psychopath: Yeonjun | Next Psychopath: Wooyoung

Downstairs in the lobby of the Hotel Artemis the Innkeeper sits behind the check-in desk face down in a pool of his own blood. If someone were to lift his head up, the mangled flesh swimming around might resemble crushed raspberries. Their daily serving of fruit courtesy of you. But no one will lift his head up. They’ll all mind their business because that’s what you do here. You step around his body and grab your fucking key before you end up just like him or worse. He’ll wake up eventually. Probably.

Stepping into the surprisingly well-kept elevator, you press the button for the top floor, adjusting the garter belt beneath your dress as the doors close on the empty lobby. This is no time to admire architecture but you can’t help yourself. The Romanesque style interior is breathtaking, much nicer than the deathtraps you’ve found yourself in trying to track down the Black Cat. Some might call it lucky that Minho’s petty streak led him to the penthouse suite of the Artemis, right down the street from where your hotel is.

Watching the numbers light up one after the other as the elevator ascends, you’re shocked when it comes to a stop at the 6th floor, 14 floors short of your destination. You step back, wedging yourself in a corner, and fish your headphones out of your purse. Your music’s on before the bell dings, doors sliding open to let half a dozen goons file in. Italian mob. Dressed in all black. Cocky. Faces still healing from their last brawl. Half of them smile at you, nodding, politely admiring the way your dress hugs your curves, gawking at your flawlessly applied makeup.

You smile back and they turn away, eliminating you as a threat. Stealthy glances around the elevator reveal the guns tucked into their waistbands. The Big One, twice your size in every way, has a set of brass knuckles on his callused hands. Gold plated. Fancy. “Excuse me, gentlemen” you sing, maneuvering through them with the grace of a proper lady. They part the sea for you, unknowingly clearing a path to the control panel. “Getting off already, beautiful?” “Mmm'' you sigh, a manicured nail hovering near the bright red EMERGENCY STOP button, “Not yet.” Your fist slams down on the button, bringing 6,000 pounds of metal to a screeching halt. 

Minho studies the 16th-century Turkish vase on display in the lavish, and utterly destroyed, penthouse of the Golden Child, a pretty boy whose mob boss daddy provides him with enough money to blow on all the cocaine, strippers, and obnoxiously expensive art he can get his hands on. “Don’t you touch it!” the Golden Child screams, spitting loose teeth and blood onto his bear skin rug. Minho pops open the glass display case that houses the vase and an assortment of other highly fragile artifacts. “Don’t touch what?” he asks, winding up the scarlet splattered golf club he used to lay ruin to the apartment and its inhabitant, “This?”

“I said no!” Minho chews at the inside of his lip, pretending to be unsure of his next move when he knows exactly what he’s about to do. The head of the club shatters the priceless vase into a thousand pieces, shards of ceramics and glass flying through the air as he dishes out swing after spiteful swing to those poor, innocent historical treasures. The Golden Child grabs onto the arm of his white leather couch, attempting to push himself up but broken ribs send him tumbling back down. “You’re out of your fucking mind!” he curses, “All because I spilled a drink on you? I said, ‘My bad!”

Winded, Minho tosses the golf club across the room, grinning to himself as he notices a leaking cut on his hand. “My bad?” he laughs, “My bad?” It disgusts him, the smugness of people who think they can run around doing anything they want to anyone they want. Poor manners, that is. His parents should’ve taught him better but that’s what Minho’s here for. Charging across the room, he grabs the Golden child by the collar of his soft cotton robe and hammers his head onto the floor. “My bad is not ‘Sorry!’”

Minho bashes his fist into the man’s jaw, the brute force of the blow knocking another molar loose, “Say sorry!” “Eat shit.” “What?” Minho snaps, positive his ears are deceiving him. The Golden Child smiles up at him, arrogant and entitled even in his battered state, “Eat shit. My dad keeps tabs on me 24/7. He’s probably sending some guys up here right now and when they get here? You're dead.” Grabbing the belt barely hanging onto the man’s robe, Minho twists it around his neck, depriving him of air.

“I guess I’ll see you on the other side then, huh?” Minho doesn’t blink, not even once, as the color drains from the Golden Child’s eyes, bone splintering, his windpipe crumbling just as easily as his precious vases. Saying sorry really couldn’t have been that hard. 

“There’s nowhere to run, little one” taunts the Big One, trying and failing not to trip over the corpses of his friends. Your chest hurts like hell. The others were easy, so shit with their aim that only one bullet in 20 clips had even managed to skim your thigh. But this one? He won’t go down. Squared up against him, the knife from your torn garter clenched in your fist, you know you can’t let him hit you again. Another blow to the chest and you’re done for. “Who’s running, big boy? Let’s get it.” Tapping the EMERGENCY STOP button again, the elevator whirls back into action.

The Big One charges at you, swinging wildly. You duck, rolling through the bodies and slicing open the back of his left leg. The bell dings on every floor like the start of a boxing match. The Big One punches one of the walls, denting the metal. So much for pristine architecture. As he reels from the hit, you jump on his back, jabbing the knife into his chest from behind. The bell dings for a final time on the 20th floor. Biting down on your arm, he flips you over his shoulder, slamming you down onto the floor, knocking the air out of you.

The doors creak open as he raises his foot to stomp a steel toe boot down on your chest. Bang! A bullet barrels through his skull. The titan stumbles, his brain quite literally scrambled. Bang! Bang! Two more shots and he’s slumped on the ground with his friends where he belongs. Reunited at last. “Who’s your new boyfriend?” Minho teases from the hallway, tossing the gun to the ground. “You’re welcome!” you groan, flipping him off. He hops onto the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. “Thank you,” he says, sweetly, grateful for your help and your presence.

Taking you into his arms, he props you up in the corner, checking you for injuries. “What is this?” You flinch when he brushes a tender spot on your head, “You tell me. You’re the one with the mob after you.” “No, I mean, what are you doing here?” “Oh, uh, boss sent me to get you” you stutter, the entire reason for your arrival in Rome having shifted to the back of your mind until now.

“We need you.”

“Where?”

“Berlin.”

“When?”

“Next week.”

“Okay, if…”

You whine when he caresses your thigh, checking the severity of the bullet wound. “If what?” “If you let me take care of you” he winks. “Take care of me? Why’d you say it like that?” Minho rips a long strip of material from the shirt of a nameless corpse and secures it around your thigh to stop the bleeding. He kisses your thigh, suckling softly at the tender flesh to distract you from the pain. Ding! First floor. The doors open to the lobby and he takes you by the hand, “Let me show you.” 

Taking care of you. When you say that in this line of business, it’s never a good thing but Minho had no intentions of cutting your life short. The only thing on his mind was carrying you back to your hotel, running you a nice bath, and dressing your wounds. “All better?” he asks, his breath tickling your neck as he plays with your clit. This was a part of the plan too, getting you in his lap, his naked body reunited with yours after months apart. From this position on the edge of the bed, you can see your reflection clearly. Your plush breast bounces in one of his hands while the fingers of the other spread your lips wide enough to fully expose your clit.

With your legs dangling across his, follow your cream as it trickles down the base of his cock. There’s nothing fast or rough about the way he lifts his hips to fill you. The slight curve of his cock makes you stutter each time he disappears into your pulsing warmth. “All---ah---b-b-better.” “B-b-better?” he mocks, his fingers working faster against your clit. You reach back to cup his face, scratching him the slightest bit as punishment for being a smartass. The pain only makes him want you more. His cock is as hard and smooth as polished marble, leaking precum into your needy pussy.

Minho watches you in the mirror, admiring your reflection, entranced by how the beauty of your face and the plumpness of your figure could make him put a bullet through the skull of a man who even dared to look at you wrong. “Take over for me” he whispers, guiding your hand between your legs, his fingers moving on top of yours to splash in the audible wetness of your pussy. You pick up a rhythm together, one that has your breath growing ragged and your stomach in a frenzy. With his hand now free, he brushes your hair out of your face, tilting your head to the side to kiss you.

His tongue ventures as far down your throat as it can go, devouring your moans. Bouncing you in his lap at a quicker pace, still careful not to hurt you, he caresses your body, greedy to claim you as his like you were meant to be from the start. The argument that broke you up. That stupid fucking argument. He doesn’t even remember what it was about anymore and he doesn’t care. Because you’re in his lap, your back arching against his chest, sloppily playing with your own aching bud, biting on his lip while you whimper his name. Your pulse races, your hand reaching back to grip his hair for stability.

“Mmhmm, pull my fucking hair and cum for me” he urges, “Cum for me angel.” Your tongue lashes at his, his words making you burst. “Minho! Aah, baby!” you cry, pulling his hair harder as your orgasm deepens. Minho rests his head on your shoulder. Watching you cum is like performance art. “I don’t care about anyone else. Just promise you’ll never leave me again.” Your glossy eyes meet his in the mirror, “I promise.” “You mean it?” “I mean it.”

And you do mean it. You have to. Because, with the hell that awaits you in Germany, sweet reunions like this might end up being your last.

#lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know angst #lee know smut #stray kids au #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x chubby reader #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #chubby reader #plus size reader

[rawritzrobin]

The Waynes: Chapter 7

Title: The Waynes

Pairing: Mobster!Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: None!

Summary: You get to know a little bit about the place where Jason calls home.

A/N: Hello! I am back. Life has been one thing after another, but the holiday season is here and things are finally slowing down. Some short domestic fluff for ya here. Don't worry, things pick up after this. (:

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added!): @msghostface @khaylin27 @thequeenofbigmacs @escapism-r-us @orighami @neobreakmyback @bubbles-incorrect-yb @hypnobanditprofessorhorse-blog @attllas @comic-cat83 @mommyneytiri @aerangi @thegreawizards @baebeepeach @slitheringss @xoxoyourdoll @portrait-ninja @sunflowertardis @anime-lover-forever-1127 @wrldwidemind @dopedreamobject @jayroytodd @vanessa-boo @ih4temy5elfs0b4d @solivagantlife @killerwendigo

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7: Penthouse

Charles nodded, and started to drive.

You looked at Jason confused. In your time together, Jason had never once mentioned his place. He talked about growing up in the manor, so you assumed he just lived there seeing how it had about 30 bedrooms. 

“You might want to avoid going home for a while. We don’t know if those men are still watching it.” Jason pulled you closer into him. You instinctively leaned your head into his chest. 

You hadn’t thought about that. For just a second you forgot about what almost happened a few hours ago.

“Charles can go grab some of your stuff tonight.” Jason said to you, and Charles at the same time. He then spoke directly to Charles. “C, do you know if my fridge is stocked at home?”

“Yes sir. Alfred paid a visit just a few days ago. You should have the standard items.”

“Thanks.” Jason said as he pulled out his phone. He typed a few things into his phone as you watched the city fly past you two outside the car. 

The drive took longer than you thought it would. It was starting to make sense why Jason usually stayed over at your place. It was much closer to The Cave than his place. You started to nod off a bit; the adrenaline finally wearing off. You closed your eyes for a few minutes.

“Baby? Jason said in a whisper.

You opened your eyes and blinked a couple of times. “Are we here?” You asked, your voice a little croaky. 

“Sorry to wake you. C is going to head to your place to pick up some stuff for you. Do you need anything specific?” Jason said as he opened the door to step out of the car. You could see you were in an underground parking of sorts.

“Just some clothes would be nice. And my laptop. Maybe the new book you got me last week? I haven’t finished it. It’s the blue book on my coffee table” You said as you got out. Jason closed the door behind you as Charles rolled down his window. You handed him the keys and he took them with a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He said, before waving goodbye and pulling out of the structure.

“I also gave C our usual order at Adam’s. The doorman downstairs will bring it up when he's back.” He said, leading you towards an elevator. The door opened as soon as Jason scanned a key card. You stepped in, and noticed there was only one button on the door. “Private elevator. No one can use it without my authorization.” He said as he noticed your demeanor. 

You would never get used to Jason’s lifestyle. 

The elevator moved quickly up, and in a few seconds the doors opened to reveal a large entryway. From the length of the ride, you two were pretty high up. The entryway was wall to wall black marble. The stairs leading to the second floor were also the same material. There were a bunch of hidden lights that ran through the walls, dimly lighting up the room. Jason bent over to take off his shoes, and slipped on a pair of loafers that were by the door. He gestures to another pair next to them.

“Sorry if it feels cold here. I haven’t been here in a long time. I’ll make sure Charles drops by the store tomorrow to get you a pair of slippers too. The marble can be cold.” Jason waited for you to put on the shoes before stepping further into the penthouse. You looked in awe around the room. You two made your way down a long hallway to reveal the living room. The first thing you noticed was the view. You were definitely very high up. You instantly gravitated towards the large corner window. You looked outside at Gotham. It was beautiful from this height, where you weren't able to see all the crime going on.

Your eyes twinkled like a kid in a candy shop. “I can’t believe you have this place and chose to hang out in my tiny box of an apartment.”

Jason chuckled as he watched you enjoy the view. He didn’t really like coming here by himself. It was a constant reminder of how alone he was up here.

After a few seconds, you turned around to see Jason was already sprawled on his couch. He had his arms up, and feet onto the table. The carpet in the middle of the modern black couch was crimson red. They matched the socks Jason was currently wearing. 

“The food might take a bit. Do you want to shower while we wait?”

You nodded, excited to see what the shower was like.

You followed Jason up the set of stairs in the living room. You were quick to notice, Jason didn’t seem to have many personal photos or decorations up around. They were mainly abstract art pieces that were purchased for the sake of needing something to fill the space. “When we are done with dinner, I can show you the library.” 

Your eyes widened in excitement. Of course he had his own library.

You walked down another hallway that led to a pair of double black doors. Jason pushed it open to reveal a beautiful corner bedroom. The large king sized bed filled up most of the space. The high ceilings made the room seem even bigger than it was. You laughed internally at the length of the curtains. You wondered where you would even buy curtains that long. The bedroom looked as unused as the rest of the place.

There were two doors on the left side of the room. You could guess one of them was the closet, and one was the bathroom. Jason opened the door on the right to reveal a needlessly large bathroom. He was right, it was definitely larger than your entire apartment. There was only one sink, but it stretched along the wall. A single black toilet sat next to the sink. To the side near the windows, was a large bathtub. It was certainly large enough to fit more than 2 people comfortably. In the back of the room was a large walk in shower with a giant rain shower on the ceiling. 

“Be right back.” Jason said.

You were too busy admiring the bathroom to even realize how long he was gone for. 

So this is what money can buy? You asked yourself.

Jason came back with a large black t-shirt and a pair of silk PJ bottoms. “These will be too big, but Charles should be back soon with a pair of your pajamas.” Jason said, handing you the clothes.

“What about you?” You asked, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

Jason tilted his head in confusion. You giggled. He was adorable.

“You’re not going to let me shower alone are you? The tub is big enough for both of us.”

Jason smirked, closed the door behind him, and started to remove his top. You licked your lips at the sight of his body. You yelped as he threw you over his shoulder and carried you into the large shower. 

***********

After spending longer than you should have in the shower, you both came out clean and relaxed. You felt like the entire day of stress was washed away. Jason went to grab the food from the front, while you made yourself comfortable on the large couch in the living room. The clothes that Jason lent you were super comfortable. The towels were so fluffy you just wanted to sleep in them. 

“You want to watch some TV?” Jason said, walking into the room with a huge bag of food. It smelled so good you were practically drooling.

“I can’t eat anymore.” You said rubbing your stomach. You powered down an entire bowl of ravioli and three breadsticks. Jason watched you lovingly as you laid back and sank into the couch. “Can I sleep here tonight? So comfy.” You said pulling one of the cushions into your face.

“If you want. Do you still want to see the library?” Jason teased.

At that mention, you jumped up. “Show me!” You said with glee.

Jason laughed at your excitement, and leaned forward towards you. He slid his arms under your body and easily lifted you up bridal style. You laughed out loud as he carried you down a large hallway. You were vibrating from excitement. It felt very much like a beauty and the beast moment, without the stockholm syndrome. 

You two passed many doors on the way there. You swore this place was bigger than it actually looked. You were sure Jason owned a majority of the building with his place alone. After what felt like a couple minutes, you finally reached a pair of double doors. Jason gently put you down, and you gravitated towards the door. With a light push, the doors opened, to reveal a library that was bigger than Jason’s bedroom. It was no beauty and the beast library, but it was still larger than most library’s you had been to. 

Instead of the black marble that lined the rest of the penthouse, the library was oak brown. There were intricate patterns etched into the top of the book shelves. Gold trim lined each shelf. The shelves were all filled to the brim. There were several long couches in the middle of the room, with a coffee table stationed in the middle. Towards the back was a large fireplace. With the click of a switch, the fireplace roared to life. A classic spiral staircase led to the top floor, which had even more books lined up against the walls. You stepped forward to admire all the books in the room. 

Jason leaned against the doorway, admiring your wonder. “The ones on the top are my favorites that I have already read. The ones on the bottom I still haven’t gotten to. Once I finish one, and it doesn’t make it to my favorites, I donate them to a library in the city.”

You looked up at the books on the top shelf. There were hundreds if not thousands of books on the shelves. You turn around to look at him. “Wow.” You said nearly breathless. 

You were interrupted by the sound of Jason’s phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and picked it up, while you stepped forward to pull a random book off the shelf. 

“Charles is here with your stuff. I’ll be right back.”

*******

After Charles dropped off your stuff, you and Jason stayed in the library for a while. You quickly went upstairs to see which books Jason called his favorite. You were delighted that you two seemed to have similar taste.

After looking through about 30 books, a yawn escaped your lips.

Jason chuckled. “Common. It’s been a long day. Let’s get you to bed.” He said, gently taking your hand and leading you out of the library. You turn off the switch to the fireplace, and leave the room.

You didn’t bother to change into your pajamas. Jason’s were plenty comfortable. You jumped into the soft and plush bed and quickly snuggled under the covers. Jason sent through a couple of text messages, before placing his phone face down on his dresser, and climbed in after you. You cuddled up against him, and laid your head on his chest. The bed was gigantic compared to yours. You often felt bad as you knew it was barely big enough for Jason’s long legs. But here, Jason felt right at home. You leaned up to place a soft kiss onto his lips. You looked down to meet his turquoise eyes.

“Night Jay.”

“Night doll.” 

You laid back down onto his chest, and listened to his heart beat. After a few minutes, you let sleep take over.

#jason todd x reader #gangster waynes #jason todd imagines #jason todd #mobster jason todd #gangster jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood #AU #Batfamily #batman #Jason Todd x y/n #Jason Todd Fanfiction #red hood x you #Jason Todd x You #Jason x reader #the waynes #mob AU

[xxhellonursexx]

Armand Sleepover Cutie #2: Assad Zaman (IWTV TV show, 2022)

The second of 4 in my little "Armand Sleepover Cuties" series. It's Assad Zaman from the 2022 "Interview with the Vampire" TV show, levitating with his pillow.

Assad's introduction as Armand on the Season One finale was a source of surprise for many fans, and was even a surprise to Assad himself, who was initially unaware that he was auditioning for the role. And so, he floated menacingly around the Dubai penthouse and into the hearts of millions.

He's ready to do some party tricks!

#iwtv #interview with the vampire #armand #the vampire armand #assad zaman #amc iwtv

[cbrownjc]

Armand question: who’s Armand’s endgame? (Daniel or…?) Does he even have one?

Hi Anon!

Your question actually goes into a theory I've been starting to have, so I'm going to throw that in at the end of this answer.

So, within the first three books in the series, at least, you can say Armand's larger goal usually is, at its core, finding a companion that'll help him connect to the world.

Armand actually wanted Lestat to be his companion when they encountered each other. Lestat turned Armand down, basically with a "you and I wouldn't work out together," which more or less pissed Armand off. (And it's been antagonistic between them ever since. But don't get it twisted - if Armand could have Lestat in that way, if Lestat was at all interested, Armand would jump at the chance.)

When we meet Armand again in Interview with the Vampire, it's Louis Armand gets eyes on for a companion. Which he ends up getting for a time (a long time). By the time Louis gave his first interview, he and Armand had split up though.

Armand encounters Daniel after that first interview happened and, after a time, Daniel becomes his companion and his connection to the modern world.

Armand is basically the story's main antagonist within the first two books, only starting to not be one by the third. And my guess is the show is going to have him in a similar role here, especially for S2, since it will for sure be covering the latter half of the IWTV book at the very least. Which is when Armand goes hard in his endgame to make Louis his companion.

As in the book, I think Armand has lied to both Lestat and Louis that the other is dead. All to keep Louis with him.

Where Daniel fits into this, I can only guess. But I don't think it's a coincidence that the show has Armand's book-canon endgame companion/lover in the story here. And that Daniel clearly has missing memories about Armand, as was confirmed in that final scene.

In Queen of the Damned, when Armand had Daniel by his side, his full obsession was with Daniel. He even saw Daniel as a gift to him from Louis.

As far as the show goes, I think Armand's goal has been to keep Louis by his side. I don't think he's BS-ing about Louis wanting to kill himself. But I'm also not sure that Daniel is even going to be allowed to publish this book now, at least to the wider world, that would have Vampires coming to try and kill Louis for it. Because there was clearly a set narrative that was supposed to be told to Daniel for that book. But Daniel is way better at his job than he was back in 1973, and he was able to crack through that set narrative.

My feeling is that Daniel is for sure not leaving that tower penthouse apartment. He's as much trapped in that gilded cage as Louis is now.

And this is where my theory/speculation comes in:

Armand, in the book, would keep humans as pets. And I think we're going to see his character doing that in Season 2. Daniel himself was pretty much a pet at the start of his entanglement with Armand in the QotD book, before Armand fell in love with him.

And I think show-Daniel was that very thing at one time too. Back when he was younger. A very beloved pet - "our boy" - but a pet nonetheless.

But, unlike Armand's other human pets in the book, Daniel was never killed by him. And Armand, due to his love for Daniel, eventually turned Daniel when he was dying.

In the show, Daniel was clearly not killed or turned. I think he was let go instead, with altered memories. Because I think Daniel was with Armand and Louis for longer and more than just that failed interview night in 1973.

I think for sure that Louis and Lestat are endgame on the show. But I do not think there is going to be any sort of extended love triangle between Lestat, Louis, and Armand. Louis chose Lestat over his beloved Claudia. If in full possession of himself and knowing Lestat is alive, Louis would choose Lestat over Armand every single time. Which is why Armand even has to manipulate to have Louis with him now.

So, I'm pretty sure, at the moment, that Daniel is Armand's true endgame. Even though I don't think Daniel nor Armand know that themselves yet. (Daniel because his memories have been altered, Armand because he's still locked in with Louis.) But that is the course I think they, and the show, are headed.

#Daniel Molloy #Armand #Louis de Pointe du Lac #Lestat de Lioncourt #Interview with the Vampire #Daniel Mallory #ask #ask and answered #amc iwtv #iwtv #meta #armand x daniel #daniel x armand #Loustat #ask and answer

[eraelias]

I need a fic where post season 2 heartbroken crowley slithers his way to Lucifer (2016)'s Lux penthouse to just cry and genuinely be a heartbroken snake man on lucifers luxury floor except lucifer is standing off to the side like wtf is this???? why are you HERE???? i am your BOSS why are you CRYING who is ANGEL?!

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #gos2 spoilers #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #crowley #anthony j crowley #lucifer 2016

[snuggerudsz]

WHEN EMMA FALLS IN LOVE 

A LUKE HUGHES AU

❝Emma Baudelaire is the only daughter and sole heiress of her family’s wealth. The young girl decides to leave Monaco and live on her own, trying to get away from all of the pressure and expectations her last name carries. She moves to New York City after being accepted to NYU, but what the monegasque girl doesn’t expect is to meet a hockey player on a night out and to have her life changed forever.❞

The story starts during the 23-24 season

MASTERLIST

headcanons

thoughts 1 2

their kisses

imagines

c'est garçon est un ville

the price of perfection

MEET THE GIRL 

❥ Emma Sabine Baudelaire  

Born January 16, 2004, in Monte Carlo, Monaco

Sophomore at NYU

Very intelligent, studies a lot, and really cares about doing well in school (very Capricorn coded)

She's around 5'6 (1.68 m)

Her first language is French

Very sweet but can ー and will ー cuss anyone out in 5 different languages

Went to school at the Institut Le Rosey, in Rolle, Switzerland

Emma has medium blonde hair, blue eyes, very subtle freckles framing her face, and a little scar on her forehead.

Complicated family life.

She has a corgi named Olivier (AKA Ollie)

Emma and Luke meet when she's forcefully dragged out of her penthouse to go to a new rooftop bar and she accidentally spills her drink all over Luke.

Luke calls her sunshine because of the sun necklace she was wearing when they met.

SOCIALS:

#nhl x y/n #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl fanfiction #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes #when emma falls in love au #emma baudelaire x luke hughes