Warnings: i do NOT condone his actions at all in the movies obvi this is fiction and should be treated as such, the reader has some form of stockholm syndrome for sure, the reader is naked but there’s no sexual acts but there’s kind of an undertone, talks about suicide (as an option but not as a serious consideration), kidnapping, uh..al
Author’s Note: *slowly walks into the room* hey…. He is currently everything to me im sorry if you just followed me after stranger things season 4. This is unfortunately. The norm. (ethan hawke as a MURDERERRRR. Why must I write my best and favorite works for murderers. Why can’t I be normal)
Summary: You’ve been kidnapped by the grabber but you were not in his demographic and you have been there for two weeks which for him…is a very long time
I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator
(not my gif)
The air was stale. It had been stale for what felt like forever. Sometimes, when the door in front of you opened, you would get a rush of cool air. It would circulate. He always left the door open while he was standing there, talking to you. You imagined it was because he needed an out in case you started to get testy.
You never did.
He was getting frustrated.
You began to look forward to the circulation of air. The movement through the room, the breathing in of the cool outside air. You could tell what the day was going to look like through the window but you could never taste the rain or feel the sun.
You were sitting below the phone. The chord had been ripped off. You thought maybe, someone before you had tried to hang themselves with it. It’s what you might’ve thought about, had you been desperate. But for some reason, you weren't desperate yet.
You hadn’t expected to be a victim of the grabber. He had only been picking up teen boys. You, a young adult girl, never thought you would’ve been next. But here you were, sitting on the dirty mattress, staring at the door, willing it to move.
Rush.
Like he had heard you thinking, the door clicked. You perked up, putting your palms flat underneath you. You were hungry and you were tired. He walked inside, unfortunately empty handed. He was wearing a mask that covered his mouth today but not his eyes. That was different.
“Good morning,” you whispered. Your throat was dry so your voice cracked. He seemed sympathetic to that, head tilting a bit, eyes softening.
“Did you just wake up?” he questioned quietly, slightly disappointed. He would hate to have missed your sleep. You looked so peaceful when you were dozing, lips slightly parted and face serene. Like nothing wrong could ever happen to you.
Nevertheless, you shook your head.
“I thought it was morning by the light,” you said. You moved your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. You tried to make yourself small so he really had to stare at you to grasp any kind of reaction you had.
“It isn’t.”
“Must be an odd weather day then,” you said, shrugging.
You had been here for two weeks yesterday. The longest he had ever kept any single person in the basement alive. He wasn’t sure why he had kept you. You had surely never come up to visit him when he left the door open and he usually got frustrated when it took too long. The papers had printed your face, your name, your family's worries. But still, you stayed. You made no attempt to leave.
It wasn't’ because you had no will to live.
Maybe, some sick twisted part of you just liked it. Liked having someone make decisions for you. Bring you food, watch over you while you slept. You felt disgusted every time you thought about it but you were delirious from the lack of light and the shock had worn off a week ago.
You were here now.
The two of you stood in silence for a moment, observing each other. You cleared your throat, rubbing your nose with your sleeve.
“Are you here to kill me?”
“No,” he said, voice gravely but certain. The thought truly hadn’t even crossed his mind when he opened the door. He didn’t really have a reason. He walked down the stairs as he would’ve if he was visiting a friend staying in the basement of his house. It was only when the door opened that he realized he had to have a reason.
You shifted awkwardly.
“Can I ask you for something?” you questioned. He raised an eyebrow. You hadn’t actually asked him for anything. You hadn’t demanded to be let go or asked for food or water.
“Yes.”
“Can I have a change of clothes? Any clothes will do.”
You had started to feel like mold was growing in your sleeves, even though you knew that was unrealistic. The sweat and grime of your capture had worn off on your jeans. You could feel the weight of the entire two weeks by the way your shirt rested on your shoulders.
While he thought of an answer, you admired his face. You usually only saw the bottom half, if anything. You normally didn’t see his hairline at all. You supposed, in another world, you may have found him attractive.
You supposed, maybe you did in this world too.
He walked up to you and you made no move to shrink more. He sat on the side of the bed and thought.
Max wasn’t home. He had gone ‘bowling’, which Al was almost certain was code for buying more drugs. When he went off he usually left for an hour or two. Regardless, he was very loud when he came home. The dog barked, the door slammed shut, Max called into the house about some absurd story he had been making up the entire way home.
The Grabber wasn’t sure if it was curiosity of you or of his limits but he made his decision then.
“Follow me.”
He stood up again and you were almost certain you had just screwed yourself. Any kind of relationship you felt you had with this man would end in your untimely death.
Warily, you stood. Your feet felt wobbly as you followed him to the door. He didn’t pause when he walked through it but you did. You looked to him for guidance, for reassurance. He turned back once he had walked a few steps up.
He nodded, gesturing for you to follow.
“I promise nothing bad will happen to you.”
Your feet creaked on the steps. You looked around the house. Your mind told you to find things to attack him maybe, to call someone for help, to signal for attention. But you followed him without acting on any of those impulses. You thought of those scary movies where the person always messed it up for themselves.
What if they just did what they were told?
He led you through a hallway and to a bathroom. There were no windows. It was small, the toilet cramped between the shower and the sink. It was, however, homely. It was something you would find at a friend's house. Foregin but not unwelcome.
“You can’t bathe alone,” he said, the threat back in his voice. Your breath hitched a bit as he put his hand on your back. “Surely you know that.”
“Of course.”
You weren’t sure what that included but you didn’t argue. He started the water and you realized you weren’t showering at all, like you had dumbly figured. You were taking a bath.
You watched his movements. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt today. You could scratch him, people would notice. He knew this. You knew this.
Testing the waters of trust.
You moved slowly as you sat on the edge of the bathtub, placing your hand under the water. He put his hand underneath yours and your remnants of the running stream trickled onto his. It was an oddly intimate moment where you both just sat there, feeling at the water got warmer and then stopping when it was perfect.
He stood up and you cleared your throat, unsure of what exactly he wanted you to do.
“What are you doing?” you asked, as he moved to the door.
“Getting you clothes silly.”
He left the room, leaving the door wide open. You looked back to the water and stuck your hand in it, relishing in the feeling of it under your fingers. You could already feel the crust leaving your skin.
Al stood beside the door for a moment, watching in the mirror to see what you would do. You didn’t even stare at the door for a second longer than you should’ve. You just looked back to the bath.
You trusted him, if not somewhat. He wasn’t sure what that made him feel but he grabbed you clothes regardless. He placed some on the counter. The water was rising slowly.
“Do you have a name I can call you?” you asked, looking up at him.
“It’s not important.”
“But I’ve just been calling you Grabber in my mind. It doesn’t seem like a very realistic name,” you admitted. Extending an olive branch. “You know my name. I told you when you asked.”
You had. You hadn’t lied to him at all in fact, from what he could tell.
“Let’s play a game,” he said. “While we wait.”
“Sure.”
“I ask you a question and you have to answer truthfully. You can ask me a question and I’ll answer truthfully,” he suggested. There were some things about you he was dying to know. A promise of a transaction just might get it out of you.
“How will you know if I’m lying?”
“I’ll know.” The tone of his voice reminded you once again that this man had kidnapped you.
“Alright. You start then.”
He sat across from you, resting on the covered toilet seat. You were close, knees almost touching in the cramped space.
“What is your mothers name?”
“Y/M/N,” you said, easily. “That’s a silly question.”
“Say I’m testing the waters.” He knew the answer. It was in the papers.
“My turn.” You breathed deeply. “What’s your name?” He knew that was going to be it yet he hadn’t prepared for it. He could lie but he had promised honesty. You were giving him honesty after all.
“Al.”
“Al,” you said, testing the name on your lips.
“Do you trust me?”
You paused, pursing your lips. You trusted him not to leave you there to die. You trusted that he would be back. You trusted that he would bring you food before you starved.
“I think in some way, yes, yes I do Al.” You pointed slowly at the mask over his mouth. “Why do you wear that?”
“I like it,” he said. “Are you going to get undressed for me?”
Your lips parted and you cleared your throat, looking down at the water. It was almost full already. It seemed to be going so slow a moment ago.
“Yes,” you said. “I did…ask for this after all,” you said, allowed to try and convince yourself. He turned off the water and you took a deep breath. You had a mixture of emotions as you started to discard your shirt. Embarrassment but also relief. You desperately wanted it off you. You cleared your throat with insecurity and put it gently on the counter. He was watching you. He made no attempt to hide it.
You shimmied off your pants and then were left in your undergarments. You watched him as he gazed at you. You suddenly felt a warmth in your stomach, a familiar pleasant feeling at the behest of his stare. You had his full attention.
You took off the last pieces of your clothes and without hesitation stepped into the bath. You sunk into it and let out an involuntary breath of relief. The warm water felt amazing on your aching bones. You almost forgot he was there.
He shifted and you looked back up at him. Previously you were at eye level with him while sitting but you were now far below him.
“Thank you,” you said and you meant it. He knew you meant it.
He nodded, adjusting his pants and feeling his mask particularly constricting. You started to get your hair wet but he grabbed your wrist.
You watched him as he started to gently get your hair wet, pouring water over your head. He was careful not to get it in your beautiful eyes.
“It’s my turn,” you said. “Why me?”
That had been the question he was asking himself as well. He wasn’t sure how to answer. He put some shampoo in his hands and gently put it in your hair.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
You suddenly became overwhelmed with the feeling to discard his mask and kiss him. Feeling immediately ashamed you looked back down at the water.
“Why haven’t you left?” he asked. The feeling of his fingers running through your scalp was distracting. They were thick and strong. He must work some sort of construction job maybe? Or moving boxes at least.
“I think…I think I like you,” you said honestly. “Are you a construction worker?” He scoffed at the quick change in momentum.
“No.” In fact, he was lightly laughing at it. The sound of his surprise made you laugh a bit too.
“Your fingers are strong is all,” you explained.
He nodded and started to rinse your hair out.
“Finish up and get dressed,” he said, desperately needing a moment to himself. Unless you clawed out the damn wall, you would be okay locked in there while he stood outside the room. You nodded at him and watched him leave. You sat there, practically drowning yourself in the warm water until it got cold. Then you took the towel and washed yourself off, putting on the clothes laid out for you.
Cardigan and slacks. Comfortable.
You knocked on the door. He opened it slowly and gestured for you to follow him. You ddi as you were told, walking back down the dreaded basement stairs. The door reopened and you were back. You walked past him onto your mattress.
“Thank you,” you said again because you didn’t think he really heard you the first time. Overwhelmed with unfamiliar feelings, he nodded. He turned to leave but stopped, turning around.
“What did you mean by like?”
“I meant like Al,” you said honestly. You snatched up your turn after his question.
“Will you…will you stay a bit? You don’t have to sit with me but just…sit.” He looked at you. Helpless, at his mercy. Listening to his orders and not kicking up a fuss.
After a moment he didn’t nod or shake his head, he just shut the door with the both of you inside. You had moved through a lot of trust in a short amount of time. He started to walk to sit against the wall and then detoured. He sat at the foot of the mattress while you sat against the wall. He turned to face you.
An excerpt from a new Billy Lenz fic, read on AO3 :P
“Did I tell you I talked to the creep?”
My eyes snap up to Karen; a scowl curls her lips as she flips through her physics textbook. “No,” I keep my tone casual. “When?”
She shrugs, “Wednesday, I think? Might’ve been Tuesday.”
“What did he say?” I asked, pretending to write in my notebook.
She grimaced, “Don’t make me repeat it.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
Not surprising, I thought swallowing thickly.
The Moaner had been the cause of much frustration and unease in the sorority over the past several weeks. He’d call at random, sometimes calling multiple times a day, just to spew vulgar threats and lewd comments at whoever answered. Though I’ve never spoken to him directly, I had overheard calls between him and the others. And though I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t get his voice out of my head. Something about his spit slick promises to “split one of the whores open on his fat cock” made my insides twist with disgusting perversion.
I raised a hand, weakly swatting him away. He grabbed my wrist in a bone-crushing grip, but he loosened instantly, holding it for a moment, playing with my fingers. I began to drift off again, but my eyes flashed open at the disgustingly hot and concerningly over-salivated feeling of Billy sucking my fingers into his mouth.
“Gah!” I wrench my hand back, “Eww Billy!”
He devolved into hysterical giggling as I sat up, flinging the spit from my hand. I glared at him, but he only seemed to find it more amusing.
“Pretty…” Billy’s giggles quieted as he climbed onto the edge of the bed, staring at me intensely.
Billy Lenz with a girly VS Angel glitter and pink girlfriend Puh-leaseee ughh imagine him in silky pink sheets, imagine him stealing some of her Bare Vanilla body spray because she smells so damn good and he wants to smell like a sugar cookie too! He'd creep into her room just to stand at her dresser and gawk at all her bras and panties, maybe stuff a few pair in his pockets to take back to the attic. Ughhh he'd think she's so so pretty, he'd call the sorority house and yell at whoever answers to "Put her on! Put the pretty girl on let-let me...let me talk her - pretty pink pig." When she does get on the phone he's ecstatic, wasting no time in letting her know just how good she looks today, how pretty her tits bounce, and just what exactly he'd like to do to her.
Oh i'm going to be real annoying about this one gang I love opposite aesthetics/vibes
Question for Billy Lenz fans, ive noticed most Billy x reader fics are typically headcanons or one-shots. Does anyone else want longer, multi-chapter fics? Just smth ive been ruminating on
Billy , I think , doesn't like thunderstorms . They're loud and made the attic colder than normal as the window isn't as tight as the others downstairs so little droplets of rain get it , dampening his clothes , making him shiver . This would make him silently yet swiftly sneak into the main house , nervous mumbles escaping his lips as he finds his favorite girls room , going inside before completely just breaking down , his body flopping into the bed completely as he wails at the noise of the thunder , holding onto his favorite girl for dear life .
all she can do is hold him n stroke his hair until he calms down . In which he does the same to her , shaky hands twirling her hair strands , his tongue between his teeth as manic little giggles leave his mouth , happy to be with his girl <33
Hey there, so tbh my mental health hasn't been great and it's especially bad this week, but I saw this comment on a Pinterest post that said smth like "you have to force yourself to create, it doesn't have to be good or a big project, but just consistent and self-indulgent"...so that's the energy for this post lmao
Slashers included: Art the clown, Billy Lenz, Billy Loomis & Stu Macher (together), Brahms Heelshire, Dale Kobble, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers
TW: Depression, briefest mention of s*icidial tendencies (nothing graphic, no SH) gender-neutral reader (mention of reader wearing makeup in Dale's section)
Art the Clown
Lmao
It’s not that he doesn’t care
But he’s not going to help
He’ll try to cheer you up when he first notices your mood has shifted and you appear more down and sullen, but that just results in him blowing clown horns in your ears and scaring you
When that doesn’t help (shocker) he decides to just…leave and hope you’ll be back to normal whenever he comes back
Billy Lenz
Billy will notice right away that something is up, your routine changes from peaceful evenings sitting with your friends to isolating in your room and going to bed early
He notices your lack of appetite and how much messier your room has gotten, but he doesn’t realize its depression, he probably doesn’t think much of it besides observation
But one evening when he creeps down from the attic to see you, he expects to find you sleeping but you’re just laying in bed staring at the ceiling and crying silently
“Don’t-Don’t cry, why are you crying? Shh it’s alright baby it’s alright” Billy coos instantly coming over to you, poking and prodding your motionless form
You wipe away your tears and quickly apologize, Billy isn’t really sure what to do, he isn’t familiar with comfort…but he remembers when Agnes cried she liked to be sang to
So, Billy decides to climb into bed behind you, wrapping himself around you and squeezing he begins to sing softly, “Little baby bumpkin daddy went a-hunting…”
Billy & Stu
Intolerable honestly. Worst people to be depressed around I’m so deadass
They will not leave you alone for more than 5 minutes. You skipped school and they’re at your house before school even lets out
They tell their parents they're sleeping over at each other’s place but in reality, they’ve made themselves a cozy camp in your bedroom and spend the whole weekend there
Billy insists that this is the perfect opportunity for a horror movie marathon. “Come on, it’ll cheer you up!”
So, while he goes out to pick up movies and pizza, you’re stuck with Stu
Now Billy, I think, is experienced with depression but he deals with it by…y’know murking people he doesn’t like. Stu is familiar with Billy’s depression – not so much yours. So, while you’re alone with Stu, you actually have to explain how you’re feeling. Thankfully though, Stu is incredibly patient and understanding. He doesn’t rush your explanation or force you to talk about things that are hard, he just listens and nods. When you finish, he just shrugs and says, “It’s okay to feel that way, it’s not like it’s worse than Billy…plus you have us, so you don’t have to worry about anything, not for right now.”
And that takes such weight off your chest, knowing that you’re accepted and supported. When Billy returns with movies and food, you manage to sit up and eat a little, eventually falling asleep in their combined embrace.
Brahms Heelshire
At first, he was angry with you
Why weren’t you following the routine? You didn’t wake him up or make him breakfast, you weren’t spending any time with him, you were just locked in your room sleeping!
He sneaks into your room (why you thought a locked door would stop him he has no idea) and proceeds to whine incessantly in your ear and hit you with a pillow until you get up
When you do sit up, he notices how red and puffy your eyes are, how exhausted you look, and what a mess your hair is
You’ll have to explain your depression to him, and how right now you were having a really bad time and needed to rest. You laid back down and turned away from him solemnly
After that, Brahms makes it his mission to get you back to normal and help anyway he can. He goes to the kitchen and makes you peanut butter & jelly, leaving it on your nightstand for you.
Eventually when you’re conscious he’ll whine about taking a walk through the garden, which you reluctantly agree to, and by the end of the walk your mind is more at ease and you’re smiling at him again, albeit softly
Dale Kobble
Very worried, high key a busybody and desperate to take care of you
He’ll let you bedrot but he’s keeping you company, playing music, talking, or reading to you
Babies the hell out of you honestly, he adores being a caretaker, and when you're so helpless and sad to the point that all you can do is let him take care of you – it really gets him going
You’re just like one of his dolls, he’ll sit you up and brush and style your hair, he’ll even do your skincare routine for you in bed. He’ll do your makeup and dress you too
“Little angel, letting Dale take care of you, I take such good care of you angel,” he’ll say placing a kiss to your forehead
Lowkey I see him as a baker…he’s not going to cook you any crazy meal while you’re incapacitated but he’ll bake you a cherry pie for sure
Pies, cookies, breads, he’s a baker and you can’t convince me otherwise
Jason Voorhees
Oh he’s got you for sure
He clocks the difference in you immediately, from your general attitude to your physical demeanor
He doesn’t understand depression necessarily, but he understands that something is wrong, and you’re upset and that’s enough for him
He’ll try and get you out of bed and outside, he’s gathered up some pillows and blankets from old cabins and made you a little place to lay out on the shore of the lake
If you aren’t up for talking, he doesn’t mind, he’ll just sit with you, a gentle hand on your leg to keep you grounded
He’ll make you simple foods like soup or toast so that you actually eat something
10/10 caretaker, lovely boy
Michael Myers
Haha…yikes
Well…he’s not the best at taking care of you but he’s also not actually the worst
He’s had exposure to depression and suicidal tendencies in people from his time at Smith’s Grove so he’s more apt at spotting the signs of a depressive episode in you
While he himself isn’t a fan of medication, he would make sure you take yours. He’s seen what’s happened when people stop taking their antidepressants and doesn’t want that to happen to you
Besides that, though, you aren’t getting much care from Michael. He’ll let you rot in bed, the most he’ll bring you to eat is some candy
Might also disappear until you feel better, but trust that he’s watching because even though he doesn’t know how exactly to help you, he will make sure you’re safe
This is just...fluff. Taking care of Billy and helping him relax. Enjoy.
Billy's skin is very oily and congested. I don't think he has a lot of active acne, but he certainly has clogged pores and texture that bothers him.
He'd probably pick at his skin a lot either because he's anxious and as a tick or because the texture bothers him
He likes your skin though, it's smooth and glowy
He watches you do your skincare routine, interested in the variety of products: creams, oils, serums, moisturizers. It all fascinated him.
"Is this why piggy has such nice skin. She has nice skin; your face is so smooth and pretty."
You smile and nod, "Yeah, I'm diligent about it. Do you want to wash your face? You can use my products, I don't care."
He loves it but also hates it
He enjoys the gentleness and softness of the cleanser
Does not like rinsing his face off. He sputters and chokes on the water and will probably get cleanser in his eyes
Get him those little felt cleanser pads, and he'll be happy though
Washcloths, sponges, or anything like that he'll be too rough with
You prescribe him a whole skincare routine once he lets you touch his face and inspect his skin
"You're definitely dehydrated - I have hyaluronic acid, but I can get you your own. And some niacinamide for your pores...and a repairing moisturizer and good exfoliant."
Whatever you say gorgeous, Billy doesn't know what you're talking about, but he likes you petting his face
You teach him different facial massages, and he really enjoys those, he's never touched himself so gently and carefully. He's usually rough and violent with his body so this change of pace is new and welcomed.
Skincare is a huge de-stressor for Billy.
After a rage episode followed by several hours of dissociation, Billy is physically and mentally exhausted. He's detached from his unrelentingly tense body and stays cramped up in the darkest corner of the attic for several hours.
Below him, he hears your sweet laughter and muffled voice as you head to your room. Unconsciously, Billy shuffles around so he can peek through the floorboards into your bedroom.
As he watches you, moving casually through your space, doing this and that until you settle into a chair with a book, a pang of need moves through him
His throat is tight and his eyes sting as he watches, desperate for your company
Moving quietly, he leaves the attic. Seeing no one around, he hurries to your door, scratching at the wood, giving gentle raps with his fingertips. When the door opens, you beam at him, "Billy!" you exclaim pulling him inside.
You immediately clock his haggard appearance and glazed eyes and sit him on the bed.
He's mostly silent, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak. He mostly just sits there and breathes erratically, making little whimpers or groans. You frown in worry, resting a hand on his, when an idea pops into your head
"Stay here, I'll be right back," you whisper. You go to the bathroom and collect everything you need.
When you return, you set the various skincare products as well as a bowl of water on your nightstand. You grab a hairbrush, hair tie and headband from your vanity before coming back over to Billy.
"Can I touch you?" you ask to which he nods. You smile and begin to brush his hair, tying it back into a little ponytail and pulling his bangs back with the headband. "Okay, lay down so your head is at the edge of the bed," you explain pulling over a chair. You position yourself to be just above Billy's face, who stares up at you with curiosity.
"I'm going to take care of you, just close your eyes and relax," you reassure him. He closes his eyes after a moment, trusting you. You gently lay your hands against his collarbone, the material of his sweater soft and delicate under your hands. Pressing down with a subtle firmness you take a deep breath in, and as you release, you lighten the pressure on his chest. He unconsciously mimics your breathing as you repeat this process a few more times.
From the array of products, you grab a water bottle and a glass of cleansing oil. Pouring a small amount onto your hands, you emulsify the liquid before sweeping the product onto Billy's face with featherlight touch. He flinches at first but slowly eases into it with your gentle coaxing. "Shh, it's alright, it's just me," you whisper to him.
He tenses when you remove the product with a cool, damp cotton round. You pump a quarter sized drop of a cream cleanser onto your fingers and begin to massage the product into his face and neck. He relaxes into your gentle touch, his breathing evening and becoming more controlled as you work. "It's going to be a little cold," you warn him before removing the cleanser with another damp cotton round. He doesn't flinch or tense this time.
You continue the facial with delicacy and ease; letting Billy know what you're putting on him and massaging it in with equal parts gentleness and firmness. A small smile graces his lips as you work. Putting the mask on him, you take note of the time, and for the next ten minutes you massage the tension out of his neck and shoulders. Using firm pressure, you roll your fingers up and down the knots in his traps, and glide and scratch your nails along his scalp. He hums contentedly when you tug with gentle care on his hair.
"I'm going to take the mask off you," you whisper. You finish the facial with a gentle toner, some serums, a moisturizer and undereye cream. You swipe a hydrating mask along his lips with a finishing flourish.
"How do you feel?" you ask, sitting Billy up. His skin is glowing and he blinks slowly, looking over at you. "Feels...good," he says in a tone indicative of deep relaxation. You giggle, pushing him back down to lay on the pillows. "How about you take a nap, and I go get us dinner?" you ask, pulling the headband off him, a few curls already falling back into place. He nods sleepily and lays contently amongst your pillows and blankets; amongst you.
As he drifts off you press a gentle kiss to his temple, before pulling a blanket around him and turning the lights off.
icl if i was in that sorority and billy lenz was calling, i'd be scrambling the pick up the phone. he would NOT be an issue if i were there because i'd be entertaining his freaky ass 🙏
- I hc that bc he was so close with his sister, he feels very comfortable and safe with femininity
- not the kind of guy to feel emasculated or insecure around pink
- he knows how to be gentle with her things, he knows the value of things like makeup, skincare, etc. Unlike other boyfriends who simply didn't care
- if she's the type to spend all day doing her hair, waking up to do an oil treatment and hair mask, and style it all day, he notices
- if you ask, he is more than willing to help. He will learn how to do your hair no matter what style youre doing; rollers, braids, twists - anything to help his beautiful girl
- he sees the work and dedication she puts into herself and he showers her with compliments
- he also spoils her
- "Do you want to get your nails done? Here," and hands over $200 in cash.
- "When was the last time you went to Sephora? Take my card and get the new blush you want."
- he loves her cutesy little outfits, accented with pink bows and soft lace
- they're a juxtaposition to each other
- he looks so odd and out of place in her baby pink sheets, a Lana Del Rey poster on her wall
- but he's watching her, across the room at her vanity. She's focused on her reflection, tapping one of the various products littered before her onto her supple cheeks. She looks radiant in the morning sunlight, and Mark's heart twists a little.
- all of the chaos, all of the pain, all of the suffering has gone out of him. His usually rigid, on-edge posture is sedated and tranquil. The scent of her shampoo and perfume invade his senses like a monk in an old temple, inhaling the smell of the incense to focus his mind.
- he watches her, a small smile on his face
- She was so refreshing, a light in his life where there was so much darkness and pain.
She mists her face as her final step and inspects her makeup in the mirror. She's looking for non-existent flaws, convinced there must be something off.
"Does my blush look weird?" She turns to him.
Mark sits up straighter and gestures for her to come closer. Her satin robe swishes with the gentle movement, she smiles softly as she approaches. He holds her hand gently, savoring the softness of her skin. There's a swell in his chest when he sees the dainty gold chain linked around her wrist.
A gift he had gotten her shortly after they started seeing each other.
His eyes roamed up towards her face, slowly, not rushing to take her in.
When he did eventually look into her eyes he felt as though his veins were on fire. She looks perfect. How could she ever doubt she was anything but gorgeous?
"Your blush looks even. Your makeup is beautiful, you did very well," he praises.
She grins and he dies. She kisses him sweetly, her plump, glossy lips taking him by surprise. Though he's quick to find her waist, guiding her gently onto his lap and holding her close.
gamechangershow
izzy806
dailybridgerton
