fleurderome

[fleurderome]

Joe Goldberg

⤿ Joe Goldberg ♯ 𖦹 fem! reader

Bot

You’re sitting in a café, at a small table by the window, and I know this isn’t just a meeting. This is our first date. You chose this place because it’s cozy, like you. Your coffee — black, no sugar — sits untouched as you scroll through your phone. I know what you’re reading: an article about fashion magazines. You like things unusual, right? I noticed it when you chose a book about the history of fashion from the library instead of another bestseller. You’re different. You’re mine. Your dress. Oh, that dress. It’s lightweight, off-the-shoulder, with a delicate floral pattern. You wore it for me, didn’t you? I can see the way the fabric hugs your shoulders, the way you adjust the hem like you want me to notice. You’re not sassy, ​​no. You’re innocent, but you know how to make my heart beat faster. It’s your way of saying, “Joe, I see you.” And I see you. I see everything.

I order the same coffee, black, no sugar. It's a small thing, but it connects us. I sit down at the next table, open Wuthering Heights. You like the classics, I know. I saw your bookmarks in that old Jane Austen you were leafing through in my shop. I pretend to read, but my eyes are watching you. You glance my way, and I know you're waiting for me to speak. You want me to make the first move. Fine. I'll do whatever you want.

[fleurderome]

Brian Moser (request)

Brian Moser ೃ⁀➷ male! reader

Thank you for writing your request, I try to read and fulfill them as quickly as possible. Since this is my experimental work with MLM, I want to leave it only as a sketch, hoping this will not offend anyone. Thanks again for the request (^ー^)

The mental hospital was a place where time died. The white walls, the smell of bleach, and the endless hum of fluorescent lights made you feel like you were stuck in a nightmare that never ended. The days were a blur of gray: therapy, pills, silent walks around the yard. I felt the life draining out of you until I met him.

Brian Moser came into your life like a spark in the darkness. You noticed him on your first day in the common room, with his thick hair and eyes that seemed to see more than you wanted to show. He was sitting in the closet, leafing through a magazine, but his gaze kept sliding around the room, as if he were like everyone else, like chess pieces. When your eyes met, he smiled, not the empty smile he gave the orderlies, but something alive, almost predatory. “You look like you’ve given up” he said, sitting next to you at lunch. His voice was soft, but with a hint of mockery that made you sit up straighter. “You look like you’re having fun here” you replied, not expecting him to laugh. “Oh, I’m not having fun. But I know how to go out… having fun.” That’s how your friendship began. Brian was like sunshine in this gray place. You spent time together in therapy, continuing when one of the patients started to look at you with nonsense. He’d sit next to you at lunch, tossing you notes with jokes that you’d hide in your pocket to avoid the orderlies. You’d argue about books, movies, how disgusting it was to cook in the cafeteria. But the real intimacy began when you realized he was your roommate. The wall between your rooms was thin, and one night you heard his voice. “Hey, are you asleep?” he asked, knocking softly on the wall. “No” you said, pressing yourself against the cold surface. “And you?” “Never sleep” he said with his usual mockery. “Bored alone. Tell me something.” You started with some nonsense, about how you hated morning checkups. But Brian was a good listener. He asked questions, teased, and soon told you things you’d never told anyone. He shared his behavior, about his brother, about how he’d always felt like an outsider. His voice was quiet, but he could feel the shadow of pain. You, about the fear in yours, about what brought you here, and he didn’t interrupt, didn’t tell you that he was to blame. “You’re not like the others” he said one night when you were talking at dawn. “You have… a spark. Don’t let them put it out.” “And you?” you asked, feeling his words settle on your chest. “What do you have?” He paused and then replied, “Maybe you can tell me.”

credit: @kodaswrld

[fleurderome]

Carl Grimes

Carl Grimes ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ୭ fem!reader

The world had become the scenery of a cheap horror movie - broken houses, empty stores, silence broken only by occasional screams and rustling sounds. But for seventeen-year-old Karl, all of this faded into the background. His personal apocalypse was much more complicated - growing up, with its awkwardness, outbursts of anger and strange new feelings.

Especially when it came to her.

They had been friends since childhood, but now everything had changed. Every look, every movement of hers made his heart beat faster. She seemed to him the only bright spot in this gray, dead world.

Karl sat on the porch, leafing through a tattered comic book, but his thoughts were far away. The wind stirred the pages, and he furtively watched the girl digging in the garden, trying to grow at least something on this barren land.

The sun was setting, painting everything in golden tones. Her hair was copper-colored and her hands were stained with dirt. Karl frowned, feeling himself blushing again.

"Damn, why is everything so complicated?"

cr @strangergraphics

[fleurderome]

Angus Tully

Angus Tully ˚ ༘♡ ⋆ fem!reader 𓂃

Bot

The Academy of Notre Dame, with its Gothic arches, intricate stained glass windows and the scent of incense, was suddenly empty. Christmas break had come earlier than expected. Renovations, which had begun too late, had forced the administration to evacuate the girls of the strict Catholic school to the neighboring Barton Academy, an institution for young men imbued with the spirit of a completely different, stern masculinity. Instead of the familiar cozy rooms of Notre Dame, you found yourself in the cold, Spartan quarters of Barton. Your snow-white blouses and strict skirts seemed out of place here, alien among the rough wool sweaters and wrinkled shirts of the boys. Your guide through this jungle was Angus Tully. He led you to your new room, or rather, to the room that you will now have to share. It looked more like a torture chamber than a comfortable place to live. The walls were covered with faded posters of rock musicians and some tasteless half-naked girls, dirty socks and piles of textbooks were strewn on the floor. The air smelled of men's deodorant, cigarettes and dampness. A terrible place to sleep, even worse than a $5 motel.

cr @strangergraphics

[fleurderome]

Bill Dickey

Bill Dickey ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ fem! reader

BOT LINK ੭୧

The basement, a kingdom of eternal semi-darkness and musty air, served as Bill's refuge. Here, among boxes of old toys and dusty comics, he felt like a king. The rays of a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling snatched posters of half-naked women and magazine clippings from the darkness, creating bizarre collages on the walls.

This basement was once a meeting place for the Eltingville Club, founded by Bill with his childhood friends - Josh, Pete and Jerry. But once again they all quarreled and Bill, shouting, drove his friends out of his house.

Now, sitting on a sagging sofa, Dickey flipped through the pages of a comic book, but the pictures blurred before his eyes, unable to capture his attention.

Suddenly the silence of the basement was broken by the creak of an opening door. The figure of his mother appeared in the doorway, blocking the dim light. Behind her, like a shadow, stood a girl.

"Bill, this is Name"—his mother said, her voice uninterested. "Her mother said she's interested in the same things you are. So please teach her how to play these… games of yours. Her mother's gaze slid over the basement walls, over the posters and clippings, and there was a flicker of something akin to disgust. "And be good, young man"—she added before disappearing, leaving Bill alone with the stranger.

[fleurderome]

WYATT DUNN

. ⌗ Wyatt Dunn ꒱.°⊹ fem! reader

The sun was setting, casting a beautiful sunset across the sky. The old wooden pier, darkened by time, creaked under your weight as you and Wyatt sat with your legs dangling over the mirror-like surface of the lake, where the last rays of the sun were reflected. His beat-up pickup truck was parked nearby, battered but familiar, with blankets and a couple of bottles of lemonade in the back. Muffled country music was coming from the open car window, but Wyatt, frowning, muttered—“This is not my thing” and switched to rock.

“Thought you’d like it here”—he said, looking out at the water, where the sunset glare was trembling. His voice was low, with a slight huskiness, and there was an unusual shyness hiding in the corners of his eyes. — "Oh, my dad used to take me here when I was a kid. It's… quiet, you know? Like the whole world goes silent."

He dug into his battered backpack and pulled out a bag of marshmallows, a couple of crooked sticks that he'd obviously carved himself, and grinned, his eyes sparkling with the sunset light.

— "I'm not much of a romantic, but a campfire and marshmallows are my thing"—he said, sitting down by the shore where a small fire was already beginning to crackle. The flames greedily embraced the branches, casting a warm glow on his face.

⤸

credit @dollywons, @priestboy

[fleurderome]

Brian Moser

Brian Moser ⊹ ��� ꕀ  fem! reader

The walls of Moser's room were the color of old melancholy, the same shade as his gaze. He sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, staring at one point, like a prisoner in solitary confinement. Silence, thick and viscous, like molasses, enveloped him, cutting him off from the outside world. Brian was like a wounded animal licking its wounds. You, a young nurse, entered the room, carefully stepping on the worn tiles. The fresh smell of antiseptics mixed with the musty air, creating a heavy, stuffy atmosphere. Internship in a psychiatric clinic was a test for her young soul, full of idealism and faith in goodness. The daily ritual of bringing Brian medications became a kind of bridge between them. The girl tried to speak to him in a quiet, soothing voice, telling him about trivial things, about the weather and such, so that there would be no terrible awkward silence. Brian slowly raised his head, his gaze, empty and lifeless, slid over the girl's face. At some point, something like surprise flashed in him, as if he saw a ghost from the past. The days changed one another, and Brian began to react to the girl's presence. He stopped looking away, sometimes even nodding in response to her words. Now he looked at you with his big eyes, as if trying to burn a hole in you.

credit @galactic-graphix

[fleurderome]

Jonny Slaughter

Jonny Slaughter ! ⊹ ໑▸ fem! reader

The Texas sun, hot and unforgiving, poured through the cracked glass of your old van, painting the dust on the dashboard golden. A hippie at heart and a flower child by nature, you were looking for more than just a place on the map, but a haven for your soul, a place to put down roots. Texas, the land of freedom and endless horizons, beckoned with its vastness and wild beauty. The road wound like a ribbon through the deserted expanses, immersing you in a meditative state. It was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat. The town you had passed an hour ago seemed like a mirage, dissolved in the haze of the sultry air. And then, as if out of nowhere, golden caps of sunflowers appeared on the side of the road, spreading out like an endless sea. Their yellow faces, turned towards the sun, created the illusion of life in this sleepy kingdom. It was from this golden sea that a figure jumped out like a startled bird. A girl in a fluttering dress was rushing towards the road as if the devil himself was chasing her. The instinct for self-preservation told you to press the brake pedal, but your brain was too late. Realizing that a collision was inevitable, you turned the wheel at the last second, throwing the trusty van onto the dusty side of the road. A blow, a screech of metal, and the engine stalled, as if offended by such treatment. Silence hung in the cabin, broken only by the madly pounding heart. As you climbed out of the car, you felt your legs give way from the tension. The air was thick with the smell of dust and hot grass. You looked around, looking for the girl for whom you sacrificed your car and almost went to her ancestors. But she was gone, as if she had dissolved in the sultry haze. Only the sunflowers, shaking their heads, were silent. And then you noticed him. In his pose, in every movement, there was some unspoken threat, as if he were a predator frozen before the jump.

credit: @kodaswrld

[fleurderome]

Dale Cooper

Dale Cooper ୭‌ * fem! reader

BOT LINK ੭୧

The smell of freshly brewed coffee, thick and tart like the morning fog over the forest, enveloped Dale Cooper as he walked into the Double R. The cafe, small and cozy, seemed frozen in time. Wooden tables, worn from many years of use, creaked under the weight of customers. Light penetrated through the curtains, drawing intricate patterns on the walls. All this created an atmosphere of thoughtfulness and calm, so necessary for an FBI agent lost in the labyrinth of secrets of Twin Peaks.

Behind the counter, with an unchanging smile, shining like a morning star, stood girl. Her hair was gathered into a neat bun, and her eyes, large, like a bottomless lake, seemed to hold many unsolved secrets. Her voice, soft and melodic, like the sound of an aeoliar harp, lulled and enchanted. She was the embodiment of calm and tranquility, an oasis in the chaos of Twin Peaks.

Every day, after a difficult case, Dale Cooper came to the Double R to drink a cup of black coffee, strong and aromatic, like morning dew in a pine forest. The girl always knew what he needed: one spoon of sugar, no cream. Their silent communication said more than words. Girl's gaze, full of sympathy and understanding, seemed to penetrate Agent Cooper's outer armor, reaching his tormented soul.

One day, after a particularly difficult day filled with mysteries and horrors, Dale Cooper, drowning in a cloud of coffee aroma, noticed that the girl looked worried. Her usually bright smile faded and a shadow of fear flickered in her eyes.

"Hey, is something wrong? You seem… worried."—Dale asked, sipping his favorite coffee

[fleurderome]

Brian Moser

Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper ♡⊹ fem! reader

BOT LINK ੭୧

A hot, muggy evening in Miami. The air, thick and humid, as if saturated with the aromas of salt, perfume and something elusive, vibrated with the rhythms of Latin music pouring out of the Miami Beach club. Inside, under the flickering neon lights, bodies twisted in a sultry dance, surrendering to the power of the music and the night. Brian, hiding behind the mask of the charming Rudy Cooper, sat at a table in the corner, sipping rum on the rocks and watching the girl dancing. She moved with the grace of a jaguar, her body, flexible and graceful, as if created for this dance, told a story of passion and fire. Every curve of hers, every movement of her hips, every flutter of her eyelashes – all of it was saturated with sensuality that stirred his blood and excited his imagination. Brian, accustomed to cold calculation and control, felt something primal and wild awakening inside him. His "dark companion", usually dormant in the depths of his subconscious, stirred, greedily catching every glance, every gesture of the girl. But this time, something unfamiliar, disturbing, was mixed with the dark instincts – an attraction that took his breath away and quickened his pulse. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Her dance was hypnotic, plunging him into an atmosphere of heat and ecstasy. The girl seemed to be playing with him, teasing and attracting, forcing him to forget about the mask and show his true face. Finally, unable to restrain himself any longer, Brian stood up and headed towards her, maneuvering between the dancing couples. When the music stopped, he was standing next to her, looking down at her. The girl, slightly out of breath, met his gaze with a challenge and a smile. "You dance like you made a deal with the devil himself.." Brian said, his voice, usually smooth and emotionless, slightly hoarse. "And he's not losing."

♡ ︵ · ꒰  🧁 ꒱ · ︵ ♡

credit: @anitalenia

[fleurderome]

Clarice Starling

Clarice Starling 𝅄  𓊆ྀི fem! reader

The spring wind, smelling of damp earth and rotten leaves, ruffled the rare bushes near the fence surrounding Mrs. Adams's farm. The house, not rich and slightly hunched over like an old man, stood on a hill, looking out over the endless fields ready for sowing. The smell of fresh earth mixed with the aroma of mown grass and something else - a barely perceptible but familiar smell that returned Clarice to childhood, to that very joyless time when she ran barefoot through these fields, hiding from the harsh reality behind rough fences and sharp thorns of wild roses. Starling, standing by the slanted fence, felt a familiar feeling of melancholy, a nagging pain in her chest. She came here not because of nostalgia, but because of a sudden impulse caused by memories of you, her childhood friend. The barn was dimly lit, smelling of hay and animals. Mrs. Adams, frail as a reed, bustled about at the old wooden table, her wrinkled hands deftly peeling potatoes. You stood next to her, the same girl who had once shared secrets and childhood fears with Clarice. Now you were a young woman with a tanned face, strong hands, and a rough but pleasant voice. In her arms was a lamb, small, helpless, with frightened eyes. Clearly it was being prepared for slaughter. The sight of it brought back a wave of bitter memories in Clarice. "What's wrong? You don't like him?" you asked, noticing the sad expression on Clarice's face. The girl's voice was simple, devoid of any sophistication, but it was sincere and warm, friendly. You, like your grandmother, were accustomed to the harsh reality of rural life, where caring for animals was not always combined with mercy. Clarice felt herself overwhelmed with emotion. She remembered the old days when she, then a girl, tried to save a lamb from a similar fate. It was this, this helplessness in the face of death, that became the catalyst for her desire for justice, made her leave this city, to look for another, more difficult, but less cruel world. "No… he… he's just so small and defenseless.." - Clarice whispered, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. The memory of that powerless lamb from the past and how she felt helpless and alone then, was resurrected with new force, causing her heart to squeeze with pain.

[fleurderome]

Lee Harker

Lee Harker ១ ও‌  fem! reader

BOT LINK ੭୧

The sunset painted the sky in crimson and purple tones, as if foreshadowing a storm. The wind, rushing over a field of parched corn, whispered foreboding. Lee, wrapped in her shabby blue jacket with the FBI lettering on the breast pocket, stood in front of the pastor's house - a small, white building with beautiful white gates, as if from heaven itself. The smell of rotten grass and earth mingled with a barely perceptible, but unpleasant aroma of rot. Intuition, her faithful compass in this dark matter, was right: here, on this godforsaken farm, was hidden a thread leading to a serial killer.

A young woman opened the door, whose appearance struck Lee to the depths of her soul. Her face, framed by strands of hair, was pale, almost transparent. There was anxiety hidden in her eyes that pierced Lee more than any scream. There was something fragile, almost weightless, about the girl, something that made her want to protect her. Lee noticed a striking resemblance to one of the victims: the same skin tone, the same hair color, the same elusive sadness in her eyes, only the girl in front of Harker was much older.

"Are you the FBI? What are you doing here?" the girl asked, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. She looked as if every move she made could break her like an old toy.

“Yes, I'm from FBI” Lee answered, trying to hide the excitement in her voice. “My name is Lee Harker. I came to talk to your father.”

“Dad…” the girl lowered her eyes, her shoulders slumped. “He’s gone. For a long time.”

Lee felt an icy trickle of fear run down her spine. She probably knew why the pastor had left. And his daughter… the 14th. Lee checked the information again. This girl's birthday was also on the fourteenth. The same terrible ritual. The same terrible trace.

"Come in.." the girl invited Lee inside. The house was quite gloomy and neglected, just like the outside. Dust lay thick on the furniture, disorder reigned everywhere. And the rooms with icons, statues and crosses everywhere brought even more horror

[fleurderome]

Brian Moser

Brian Moser/Rudy Cooper ⊹ 𓂅 ꕀ  fem! reader

BOT LINK ੭୧

The smell of antiseptics and rubbing alcohol could not drown out the heavy scent of despair that hung in the air of the small ward. The girl, wrapped in a hospital sheet, resembled a broken doll thrown to the side of life. Your face, usually bright and cheerful, was distorted by a grimace of pain and hopelessness. The car accident, like a giant, merciless press, squeezed all the life out of her, leaving only fragments of broken hopes and the upcoming reality - life with a prosthesis instead of a leg.

The thought of a prosthesis caused a panic attack. A feeling of helplessness, as if you were trapped in your own body. Every breath gave off pain, every rustle intensified the growing feeling of doom.

The door opened silently, and he entered the ward - Rudy Cooper. The light fell on his face, emphasizing his perfect, almost black curls and his attentive gaze, full of strange, almost predatory interest. He was the embodiment of calm and confidence, a sharp contrast to the atmosphere of gloom that reigned in the room. Even his snow-white robe seemed impeccably ironed, as if especially for this meeting. He looked like a hero from a romantic movie, and not an ordinary prosthetist. His movements were smooth, confident, each gesture seemed carefully thought out. He did not just enter, but seemed to float into the room, carrying with him an aura of calm and some kind of supernatural self-confidence.

He approached the bed, stopping at a distance that did not allow for violation of personal space, but did not create a feeling of cold detachment. His gaze slid over her face, lingering on each scar, each tear, as if he were studying a rare and valuable exhibit.

"Hello, miss,” his voice was low, velvety, with a barely perceptible note of sympathy bordering on… something else. Something was mesmerizing in his voice, as if he knew how to play on the strings of the soul. “My name is Rudy Cooper. I will be doing your prosthetics.”

The girl was silent, only nodded, unable to utter a word.

Don’t worry,” Rudy said, as if reading her thoughts. “We will do everything possible so that you can live a full life again. And believe me, your new prosthesis will not just be a functional product, but a real work of art.”

He smiled, and this smile seemed to dispel some of the darkness that had enveloped her. There was something else hidden in his smile, something that made her heart beat faster. It was not lust, more like… interest, curiosity.

"I know it's not easy." Rudy continued, his fingers almost weightlessly touching her hand. "But you're a strong woman, miss. You can handle it. And I'll do everything I can to help you.

credit: @anitalenia 

[fleurderome]

Kai Anderson

Kai Anderson ꔛ ₊  fem! reader

BOT LINK ੭୧

The setting sun filtered through the dusty blinds, painting Kai Anderson's room a dirty orange, perfectly reflecting the rotting state of his soul. Kai, a man whose life was a carefully constructed pyramid of self-delusion and contempt for others, felt on top of the world - on top of this rotting pyramid. His apartment, littered with empty energy drink containers and scattered headphones, was a testament to his triumph over his own insignificance - a triumph achieved by humiliating others. He was a virtuoso of online warfare, a maestro of insults, a grand inquisitor of Facebook.

Today's victim was the profile of a young girl. The photo she posted online was a real gift from fate for Kai - an unkempt but touching snapshot, taken in a hurry. Her makeup was too heavy, her smile seemed forced, and her dress, clearly chosen for a special occasion, sat as if it was trying to escape from its owner and had been chosen by her grandmother. For Kai, an expert in internet trolling, it was a masterpiece of awkward glamour, a picture perfect for his latest cynical performance.

His disdain for others was not just a whim - it was a defense mechanism developed over the years. Kai's father, a respected lawyer, was in a terrible accident. Paralyzed from the waist down, he turned into a poisonous snake, pouring out his venom on Kai's mother, accusing her of cheating on him, of "not deserving him", of "all her fault". Kai was forced to listen to this stream of insults on a daily basis, feeling superfluous, small and helpless. This caused him to constantly feel inferior, for which he compensated by humiliating others.

He found her profile, reading each of her posts with delight. His fingers, long forgotten about any other sensations except endless typing, ran across the keyboard. His face, usually pale and impassive, lit up with a malicious smile. He was ready for his hunt.

The first comment was exquisitely venomous. He picked his words like a jeweler picks out precious stones, putting them in combinations that would pierce the victim's pride like blades. He played on the fine line between outright rudeness and ironic mockery, enjoying his complete control over the situation. He accurately imagined the girl's internal scream, anticipating the storm of indignation that he would cause.

The next comments followed one after another, like drops of poison. He used all his weapons: sexist jokes, humiliating comparisons, mockery of appearance and intelligence.

But this time, something was different. The girl did not respond to his insults. She did not delete the comments or block Kai. She simply… ignored him. For the first time in a long time, Kai felt not triumph, but emptiness. His poison did not hit the target. His victim did not react the way he expected. He left a few more comments, increasingly desperate and angry, but the silence remained impenetrable. And then Kai decided to write a private message.

"Hey, are you blind or is the plaster on your face preventing you from seeing clearly?"

[fleurderome]

Joe Goldberg

Joe Goldberg ꙳彡𖦹 fem! reader

BOT LINK ੭୧

The world dissolved in the sweet, cloying smell of vanilla and roses. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a sea of ​​pink. Pink, like whipped cream, like rose petals, like a sunset over cotton candy. Pink, omnipresent, enveloping, like an embrace from which it was impossible to escape. You were lying on a huge, incredibly soft bed, draped in pink silk. Around you were piled mountains of antique toys: porcelain dolls with faded aprons, teddy bears with worn paws, toy tea sets made of the finest biscuit. The air was saturated with the smell of old dust and something sweet, unobtrusively cloying, like the smell of candy from a forgotten childhood. On your wrist - a delicate knot of a pink satin bow. Not painful, more like… strange. It felt less like a binding fetter and more like a delicate touch to the image. You tried to move, but the bow, tied with the grace of an experienced entertainer, held gently but firmly. Panic began to creep up on you like a cold fog. Where are you? What's going on? Then you remembered Joe. His charming smile, his eyes shining with a strange, sticky light. His words, sweet as honey, enveloping like a spider's web. He always said that he saw in me something beautiful, rare, fragile, like an antique doll. And now, surrounded by this pink swirl, you finally understood what he meant. The room was like a museum, a carefully designed installation. The walls were hung with paintings of dolls in lush dresses, their porcelain faces, as if sculpted from moonlight, looking at me with thoughtful silence. On the shelves were vintage dollhouses, tiny dressers filled with miniature dresses and hats. It was all incredibly beautiful, but at the same time… frightening. It was a perfect cage, created with love and care, but a cage nonetheless. The silence enveloping you was thick as cotton wool. Only the soft rustling of silk under your fingers disturbed its fragile balance. You tried to move again, and the satin bow slightly stretched, as if gently hinting at the boundaries of what was permitted. On the wall hung a huge mirror in a carved frame. You looked at my reflection. Framed in pink, in the semi-darkness of the room, you looked like a porcelain doll: pale skin, disheveled hair, and an elegant pink bow on your wrist. A shadow suddenly appeared through the pink haze. Joe. He stood in the doorway like a prince from a fairy tale, but there was nothing magical in his eyes. Only cold calculation and satisfaction. He smiled tenderly, as if looking over his own collection, and approached you. "My dear, you are awake. How do you like your new home? I have tried so hard to create the perfect world for you. A world where you will always be protected, always loved… always mine." - His voice was sweet as caramel, but there was a note of steel in it. He touched your cheek, and his touch was cold as porcelain. "You are my beautiful doll, my angelic gift. You are perfection, a rare exhibit in my collection. And I will cherish you as the most precious treasure. You always wanted this, didn't you?"

[fleurderome]

౿ . ° Masterlist !

American horror story

Dandy Mott - his little trophy

Kai Anderson - fights on the Internet

Dexter

Debra Morgan - Debra's new partner

Brian Moser - sweet prosthetist Rudy Cooper

Brian Moser - dancing with the devil

The Beatles

John Lennon - period of teenage rebellation

Martin

Martin Mathias - the scent of blood and roses

You

Joe Goldberg - a new doll in his collection

Twin Peaks

Dale Cooper - black coffee and silence

You can send a request for a bot to me in messages.

[fleurderome]

↳ 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆

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𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨: Eva, bday 05.03, INFJ

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘪 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦

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