#VERSE

[enokvirkow]

Ariadne @rebelichor and Enok Glintstone Sorcery and Dragon Incantation

Time I properly write his verse page for that one up. I love this damn DLC. The aesthetics are on spot.

[soldier-lodbrok]

Elden Ring Roran from this sketch

@holyguardian' s Aerith and he rode my mind while drawing this along with this song.

[pnghoon]

a superhero's sweet reward

SIM JAEYUN [제이크] ── 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓

୨୧ pairing : !nonidol spidey!ikeu x fem gf!reader ꒰wc : 1.2k꒱

୨୧ genre + content warnings : fluff, humor, skinship, est. relationship, mentions of injuries, kissing, jake's a little goofster, not proofread

୨୧ synopsis : in which spidey!ikeu appears in your room late at night all bruised and hurt, and you help clean him up.

writer's note ─ yall..i'm gonna be completely honest with you..I did not expect all thatt on one of my first ever fics. like I was completely mind blown coming back from work and seeing that it got like 130+ notes. JAW DROPPED. anyways because of all the love on my hoon short story I wanted to spoil yall and give you a spider-verse jaeyun story ;)) this was heavily inspired by spidey-boy by @luvvsim !! I absolutely loveee there work. (like sm.) if you enjoyed reading this, please be sure to like & reblog !! ♡

the night in new york city hummed with its usual buzz, but inside your room, there was a sense of peacefulness. despite living in the city that never sleeps, you felt content. lying on your bed, earbuds snugly fit into your ears, lost in the beats of your favorite song—it was the perfect end to your busy nights. little did you know, the real excitement was about to swoop in through your window.

suddenly, as if on cue, a shadow dashed across the room. startled, you pulled out an earbud just as a familiar figure swung in through the window, landing into your comfortable sanctuary with a soft thud. there he was—jake sim: new york's very own spiderman and the graceful title of your boyfriend. you watched as he stood there in all his superhero glory, steadying himself on his feet after a slightly harsh landing.

“hey, cutie. miss me?” he spoke out, wincing a little as he removed his mask, revealing a boyish grin and tousled blonde hair. his face bore a few new bruises, and his suit had seen better days.

“jake, the door is literally unlocked,” you called out, sitting up on your bed as you discarded your earbuds.

“where's the fun in that?” came the muffled reply from your boyfriend as he steadied himself, his suit sporting a few new rips and his face a canvas of small cuts and bruises.

you frowned, scanning the variety of bruises and cuts that painted his face and toned body, gently guiding him to sit on the edge of your bed. “you're hurt.”

“it's just a scratch,” he reassured, trying to sound nonchalant but wincing again as he moved. “besides, i get to see my favorite nurse now.”

you rolled your eyes, fetching the first aid kit from your bathroom cabinet. “very funny, spiderman. now sit still.”

jake obeyed, squirming slightly as he took a seat on your bed and shrugged off his suit. you took in the sight of his bruises and cuts, a mixture of concern filling you. he was always so brave and generous. but right now, he was just your jake, and you were going to make sure he was okay.

“hold still,” you instructed, gently dabbing at a cut on his cheek with antiseptic. he flinched a bit, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

“ow! are you trying to finish me off, babe?” he joked, his lips quirking up in a grin as he put on an exaggerated show for you.

you rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “oh, hush. maybe if you'd stop getting into trouble, i wouldn't have to play nurse.”

“but..who would keep you company during your lonely nights?” he retorted rather innocently, though his playful grin spoke otherwise.

you smiled, shaking your head. “you know, most boyfriends just text or call. you on the other hand have to swing in through windows.”

he shrugged. “what can i say? i like to make an entrance.”

as you continued to clean and bandage his wounds, a comfortable silence enveloped your new york apartment. the soft hum of the wind, the muffled sound of your music still playing from your phone. it painted an almost soothing picture. well, besides the bruised up and hurt superhero on your bed. you continued to assist his cuts, watching his face contort into a sour look before he quickly recovered.

“so, what exactly did you do today that got you looking like you went ten rounds with a bulldozer?” you question, your brow raising in curiosity.

jake smiled at your light-hearted joke, clearing his throat before speaking again. “just another day in the life, y’know? i saved a kitten from a tree, stopped a bank robbery, and had a very intense conversation with a pigeon. fascinating stuff.”

you snorted, grabbing the box of bandages from your nightstand. “sounds like a regular tuesday.”

“exactly,” he agreed, leaning in as you dabbed at a cut on his forehead, the white cotton ball tinting a shade of red. “that pigeon was surprisingly chatty.”

you shook your head, trying to suppress a laugh as you focused on cleaning his wounds. jake's eyes followed your every move, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“y’know,” he started off. “i think that pigeon had some good advice. he told me i should kiss my girlfriend more often.”

his comment only earned a snicker from you, the cotton ball moving to clean off a particularly nasty cut on his face, watching him wince at the sudden contact.

“ow, ow! careful, doc, i’m delicate!”

“delicate, my foot,” you teased, giving him a mock glare. “you swing from skyscrapers and fight bad guys, but a little antiseptic is too much for ya?”

he laughed, the sound a comforting balm against the night’s weariness. “hey, i have my limits, okay?”

“do you now?” you retorted, your smile growing at his light-hearted banter. another comfortable silence fell once more before you broke it with another question.

“and what other brilliant advice did this know it all pigeon give you, other than kissing his girlfriend more often?”

jake grinned as you brought the topic back up, clearing his throat like he was about to make the most moving declaration. “he said i should cherish every moment, because you never know when your next battle with a supervillain might be.”

“wise pigeon,” you commented, reaching for a bandage. “you're lucky i’m such a good nurse.”

“luckiest guy in the world,” he agreed, his eyes twinkling. “and not just because of your nursing skills.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, sim,” you retorted, though you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “but it might earn you a kiss once i’m done.”

jake’s face lit up. “in that case, i think i might have another cut you missed."

you look at jake dumbfounded, pausing your movements entirely as you slowly brought your gaze back towards his face, your expression etched with concern. your worriment soon dissipated into thin air as you watched him point to his lips, leaning closer to you.

“right here.”

you rolled your eyes but reluctantly leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. he sighed contentedly with a smile, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer as he relished in the feeling of your plush lips on his very own.

“much better,” he murmured against your lips, pulling away with a lopsided grin.

finishing up the last of his cuts, you leaned back to admire your handiwork. “there. good as new.”

jake flexed his arm, yawning softly before giving you an approving nod. “you’re the best, you know that?”

“of course i do, someone’s gotta keep you in one piece, right?” you said with a grin, playfully nudging him. “now, are you staying for a while, or do you have to rush off and save more damsels in distress?”

he pretended to ponder your question for a moment before suddenly pulling you into his arms. “i think i’ve done enough saving for one night. besides, this damsel is my favorite.”

you rolled your eyes again but couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across your face. “smooth, spidey. real smooth.”

jake’s laughter was contagious, and soon enough you both found yourselves lying on the bed, tangled up in each other arms. the city outside your window buzzed with its usual chaos, but in that moment, all that mattered was the comfort of each other’s company.

“stay with me tonight?” you asked softly, resting your head on his chest.

jake kissed the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “always.” he murmured, and you knew he meant it.

(why am I giggling and smiling so hard rn...)

𝓢igning off... @penghoon

── 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 [OPEN 🗯] @onlyhees @amouriu @greentulip @enhluv1 @samiikeu @hoonwhile @dearrwoni

[latenightdaydreams]

König x First Meeting (fem)

MDNI🔞

I'm sorry for not posting as often as I usually do! There has been a lot of things going on in my personal life, but I promise to be back on my normal schedule soon! ILY all and thank you so much for everyone's patience and grace🩷 I hope you all have a great day/night!!

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, fluff, sexual thoughts

1.4k word count.

📻

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Over the last three years, you’ve always just been a soft voice on the other side of König’s radio. What was first professional talk only quickly turned into deep conversations and flirting. Every mission he can rely on you to always be there. You’ve been able to help him out of terrible situations, causing the bond to grow stronger. It helps that your voice is so feminine and soothing to him.

Even though you both have never met face to face, he’s developed deep feelings for you. Other than your first name, he knows nothing about you. Are you married? Do you like men? That doesn’t really matter; men like König aren’t built for relationships, so he’s never sought you out. Why ruin something good?

König has just returned from a successful mission, his team put together a small party at the local bar for him. He sat at the bar with Horangi as everyone else spread out across the bar. In the middle of the story Horangi was telling him, he hears your voice. His eyes widen as he looks around trying to find you. Then you speak again.

The light coming in from the windows behind you formed a halo of golden rays around your body, framing your stunning shape. It’s as if König was looking at an angel, a dream come true. He places a hand on Horangi’s shoulder as to excuse himself as his feet guide him to you.

“Y/n? Is that really you?” König asks as his eyes travel all over your body as he stops a few feet from you.

“König!” You respond in such a happy tone, your lips curving into the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. He is a massive man; in height and in muscle mass. While you can’t see his face, you can see his beautiful pale eyes.

“Y- you’re here. In the flesh.”

He is trying his best to be respectful, but finding it hard to take his eyes away from your body. To see you, the body, the face, to match your voice; he feels as if this just confirms that he’s in love with you. This is exactly what he was worried would happen if you two ever met.

“It’s nice to finally meet you face to face.” His eyes meet yours once more as he holds his hand out for you to shake.

The sweet familiar giggle leaves your lips as you brush past his hand and wrap your arms around him for a hug. “There’s no need to be so formal.” You tease, causing his cheeks to turn red underneath his mask.

König wraps his arms around you, returning the hug. You’re so much smaller than him that your head barely reaches his chest. He leans down slightly and takes a deep breath. You smell like a breezy spring day. Everything about you screams home to him, he came picture himself coming home every day and burying his head between your breasts and letting the stress of the day melt off.

When the hug ends, he can still feel his body tingle where you touched him. His icy blue eyes are stuck on you, trying to study every little part of you that he can. He notices your eyes travel over his body as well, giving him an ego boost.

“Congratulations on your work.” You say grabbing his gloved hand.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Süße.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he squeezes your hand slightly. There are so many words fighting to be said, but he doesn’t know where to begin. “Would you like to sit together and chat?”

“I would.”

Horangi turns in his seat to see König walking hand in hand with you. He raises his eyebrow and shrugs, getting up to join the crowd of people to give you both some time alone. You sit, sliding into one side of the booth and König ops to sit beside you verses across from you. He can’t take his eyes off of you or stop touching you. Three years of only knowing your voice. Three years of joking, flirting, and life saving advice.

“You’re a lot taller than I thought you’d be.” You say softly as you gaze down at his hand caressing your upper thigh through the fabric of your jeans. The sexual tension between the both of you is insane.

König chuckles at your comment while nodding his head. “I am. I’m a big man, kleine Taube.” Your thighs are so deliciously thick, he can only imagine what they would feel like underneath the fabric of your pants. His eyes drop to your cleavage before traveling back up to your eyes. “It’s crazy to finally put a face to the voice.”

“Hopefully a cute face.” You smirk and chuckle.

“A beautiful face. You’re so beautiful and small.” His face heats up at his words as his mind begins to wander about what it would be like to have you completely to himself.

“Well, thank you König. I can’t see your face but I imagine it’s just as attractive as your voice.”

He leans back in the booth and laughs, shaking his head in disagreement. “I have scars, Taube. Graying hair.” His eyes travel from your eyes to your soft pillowy kissable lips then back up.

“Maybe I’m into that.” You smirk.

It’s just like speaking to you have the radio, you’re just as flirty and confident in person and that’s very attractive to König. His hand on your thigh squeezes twice before he shifts his body to face you more. The hand moves from your thigh so he can remove his gloves, showing off his pale large hands. His fingers dance across your small palm before linking fingers with you. You place your free hand on his arms, caressing his muscular bicep. His pants grow tight on him as he feels his cock begin to harden.

Before anything else can be said, Horangi brings over two shots for the both of you. He has a sly smirk on his face as he passes one to you and then to König. “Celebration shot!” Horangi gleefully shouts.

You reach for yours and then look at König and wait for him to grab his. He does and watches you closely waiting to see what you will do. When you bring the small glass up to your lips and drink the harsh liquor with no reaction his cock twitches. What he wouldn’t give to see your lips wrap around him instead.

König looks at you and lifts up his mask, exposing his lips to you. You can see a scar coming from his cheek down past his lip to his chin. He takes the shot quickly, but before he can drop his mask you lean up and kiss him. Your lips fall on his cheek, but the corners of your lips touch and it drives him mad.

He looks down at you for a moment, not reacting while he attempts to gather his thoughts so he doesn’t just bend you over this table and fuck you in front of the whole bar. One of his hands comes up and caresses the side of your face as he leans in to kiss you again. His lips are soft and delicate at first. Slowly his lips move against yours in a more possessive and passionate heat.

Your lips feel just as soft as clouds, you smell and taste so sweet. His hand slips down your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. The kiss intensifies as he feels your lip’s part. He wastes no time; the tip of his tongue runs across your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth.

A small hum rumbles from his chest as he moves his hand up and down your back, moving to your side to explore your curves. You feel so perfect in his hands. You taste so good on his tongue. There is no one else. You are the one.

König pulls back from the kiss; his eyes look down into yours. All he wants to do is ravish your body and get to know every inch of you, but he knows he should take you out first. You’re more than just a hookup, he can build a future with you. He thinks for a moment, letting his eyes trail down your body once more before speaking. “Would you like to go on a date?”

“I would love to.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“I’m free all day, Süße. You can take as much of it as you want.” You could take the air from his lungs and he’d die a happy man.

“I want it all.”

König smirks at your response. His hand lingers on your upper thigh once more, letting his fingers rest on your inner thigh. “You can have it all. Anything for my Taube.”

[corrupte3d-mindz]

In Your Shadow

Stalker! Jonathan Crane x F! Reader

Summary: He's a bit deranged, but he loves you in his own sick and twisted way.

Wordcount: 7.8k

Warnings:

extremely perverted! Jonathan, extremely possessive! Jonathan, sexual harassment, sexual assault, harassment, heavy stalking, stealing personal belongings, threatening, manipulating, gaslighting, belittling, degrading, kidnapping for a second, cumming in panties, jerking off, forced kissing, whining, whimpering, begging, all around subby things from Jonathan.

Jonathan’s apartment is a study in organized chaos. Papers and books are strewn across every available surface, creating a labyrinthine maze that only he understands.

The flickering light from the computer screen casts a ghostly pallor over the room, accentuating the shadows that dance along the walls. Jonathan sits at his desk, a place of both work and obsession. His hair is a disheveled mess, beads of sweat dotting his forehead and trickling down the nape of his neck. His suit, once pristinely pressed, is now rumpled; the top button of his shirt undone, and his tie hanging loosely, as if discarded mid-thought.

His fingers glide over the mouse, the soft clicks echoing in the otherwise silent room. Each photo that appears on the screen brings a new wave of emotion, a blend of longing and possessiveness that tightens his chest and quickens his breath. He leans forward, eyes narrowing as he studies each image with meticulous care. These aren't just pictures to him—they are glimpses into her life where he has painstakingly inserted himself into, moments he has captured either through his own lens or extracted from the depths of the internet. Jonathan exhales softly, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile as he reaches the more revealing photos; not really. These are the ones he treasures most, the ones that reveal her in states of vulnerability and intimacy. Whether he found them online or took them himself, each image is a testament to his unyielding obsession.

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face, only for it to fall back into disarray moments later. His eyes, a piercing blueish green, scan over the images with a clinical yet possessive gaze. He imagines her in those moments, unaware of his presence, blissfully ignorant of the shadow that watches over her. His breathing grows heavier, more labored, as his mind conjures scenes of their intertwined fates. Jonathan’s glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, the silver frames glinting under the dim lamp light; He clicked his mouse one more time, the sound echoing in the silence. He knew what came next. He had been through these photos countless times, scrutinizing each one with the devotion of a scholar studying sacred texts. They were his Bible, each image a verse he had memorized.

There it was, his favorite photo of her. It was a candid shot taken at a coffee shop where she worked. The image was slightly blurred, capturing the movement of her hands as she passed a cup to a customer, her smile bright and genuine. Jonathan stared at the photo, his heart aching with a twisted blend of love and possessiveness. He remembered the day he took it, how he had positioned himself discreetly at the back, pretending to read a newspaper while his camera did the real work. God, her smile, he thought, his breath hitching slightly. That smile was the beacon that guided him through the darkness of his existence. He would do anything and everything for her, just to see her smile. His mind wandered back to the first time he saw her. She was a new barista at the small coffee shop he frequented near the Arkham Asylum. He had noticed her immediately—her grace, her kindness, the way she interacted with customers. It was as if a light had entered his life, one that he desperately needed.

His fingers traced the outline of her face on the screen, a reverent, almost worshipful gesture. The apartment around him was forgotten; the only reality that mattered was her image on the screen. He could almost hear her laughter, the way it would ring out softly over the hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee cups. He imagined what it would be like to be the cause of that laughter, to be the one who brought joy to her life. His obsession had started innocently enough—small, frequent visits to the coffee shop, watching her from a distance. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned to months; his fascination grew. He began to take photos, each click of the camera shutter a way to capture a piece of her to keep with him always. He knew it was wrong, knew it crossed boundaries, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if she had cast a spell on him, one he had no desire to break.

He leaned back in his leather chair, a sigh escaping his lips as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. It had been another grueling day at Arkham Asylum dealing with the disturbed minds that mirrored his own in many ways. The monotony of his daily routine was a necessary facade, a mask that concealed the darkness within. But now, as the evening crept in, he was on the verge of something far more exhilarating. His piercing blueish eyes flickered with anticipation as he glanced at his work bag under his desk. Thinking about how he had been waiting for that moment, meticulously planning, and now he finally had a tangible piece of her. Jonathan Crane, master of fear, had been reduced to a lovesick stalker, but he didn't care. His obsession with her was all-consuming, a fire that burned brighter with each passing day. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, but it actually was just a couple of hours before; it went a little like this.

Once he had discovered her routine, learning that she did her laundry at the same laundromat every week. She trusted the place enough to leave her clothes unattended while she went to work. It was a small window of opportunity, but Jonathan was nothing if not patient. He had bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to act. Today was the day. Her clothes had finished drying just before she had taken her lunch to come retrieve them. Jonathan had slipped into the laundromat, on his way to his apartment, blending in with the other patrons. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached the dryer, his hands trembling slightly. He was always calm in the face of fear, but this was different. This was personal. He reached into the dryer, sifting through the warm, freshly cleaned clothes until his fingers brushed against something delicate. He pulled out a pair of black panties, adorned with lace trim. They were hers, a piece of her most intimate apparel. The thrill of possession surged through him, a dark, twisted satisfaction that made his pulse quicken. Jonathan slipped the panties into his coat pocket, acting nonchalant as he left the laundromat. Once he was out he moved them to his work bag. The walk back to his apartment was a blur, his mind racing with thoughts of her. She was so close, yet so unattainable. But now he had a piece of her, something tangible to hold onto. Fuck, he couldn’t even believe it; he couldn’t believe that he managed to do that.

He leaned over while in his chair, his slender fingers curling around the strap of his work bag, pulling it into his lap with a sense of purpose. However, in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered, envisioning her, the object of his relentless fixation, as the weight on his lap, a subconscious desire momentarily surfacing before he regained control. With a sharp exhale, he unzipped one of the pockets of his bag, his movements precise and deliberate. His fingers emerged, clutching a pair of black panties with delicate lace trim, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated demeanor he often exuded. He held them up, the fabric soft against his skin, his mind drifting into a realm of thoughts, some gentle and longing, others tinged with a more primal desire.

Jonathan's thoughts were a whirlwind, a mix of conflicting emotions and desires. He imagined her scent lingering on the fabric, the softness of her skin, the curve of her body. His breath hitched, the image vivid in his mind, yet unattainable in reality. As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, his gaze lingered on the panties, a symbol of his unspoken obsession. He felt a pang of guilt, a twinge of shame at the intensity of his desires. Yet, he couldn't deny the exhilaration, the rush that came with the forbidden. His fingers traced the lace trim, a ghost of a touch, his mind filled with fantasies that bordered on obsession

He carefully placed the black panties with lace trim on the desk, his fingers tracing the delicate fabric as if it were a precious treasure. Setting his bag back down on the floor, his eyes lingered on them for a moment, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. Turning his attention to the computer, closing the folder he had opened and moving his mouse to a different folder; he opened it, it was filled with photos of her in more intimate settings. They were snapshots of her daily routine, mundane yet intimate moments captured without her knowledge. He clicked through them slowly, savoring each image of her getting undressed, her naked form, and even pictures from her shower.

As he gazed at her photos, a soft sigh escaped his lips. "My beautiful baby," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. To him, she was perfection, a vision of purity and innocence that he felt compelled to protect and possess.

His piercing blueish eyes fixated on the object before him, the black panties with a delicate lace trim, a relic of his relentless obsession. As he reached out to touch them, his fingers trembled with a mixture of desire and restraint, a testament to the tumultuous emotions raging within him.

"Fuck... if only you knew what you do to me..." His voice, a low whisper, barely audible in the quietude of the room, carried the weight of his longing. Each syllable dripped with fervor, a confession uttered to the silent darkness, a futile attempt to convey the depth of his obsession.

His hand hovered over the panties, trembling with anticipation, as if drawn by an invisible force. With a hesitant touch, he traced the delicate lace, his fingertips grazing the fabric with a reverence reserved for sacred relics. The mere sight of them ignited a fire within him, stroking the flames of desire that threatened to consume him whole. The room seemed to close in around him as he struggled to contain the rising tide of arousal coursing through his veins. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each inhalation laden with the heady scent of lust and longing. With a shaky exhale, he leaned closer, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating allure of the panties before him.

His hand moved instinctively to his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle as he sought to free himself from the constraints of reality. The leather yielded under his touch, releasing him from its grasp with a soft click that echoed in the silence of the room. With trembling hands, he unbuttoned his pants, the fabric yielding to his touch with a reluctant sigh. As he slid the zipper down, the cool rush of air against his skin sent shivers down his spine, a stark reminder of the vulnerability that lay beneath his stoic facade. With each movement, he felt himself unraveling, the barriers he had erected against his desires crumbling in the face of overwhelming temptation. A sharp intake of breath escaped his lips as he freed himself from his pants, the weight of his arousal pressing against the fabric of his boxers.

Slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, Jonathan closed his eyes, lost in a world of pleasure. The intimate touch of his hand against his skin sent waves of ecstasy coursing through his body, mingling with the sharp sting of desire that burned within him. He couldn't help but let out a soft whimper, a sound that was both desperate and exhilarating in its intensity.

"H-ha..." His voice was barely a whisper, choked with emotion as he struggled to contain the overwhelming sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. In that moment, he felt more alive than he ever had before, his senses heightened to a fever pitch as he surrendered himself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. He hadn’t even started yet…

With a sense of urgency bordering on desperation, he freed himself from the confines of his clothing, exposing himself to the cool air of the room. His cock throbbed with anticipation, aching for the touch that would bring him release. With trembling hands, Jonathan wrapped his hands around his length, relishing in the sensation of his own touch. His thumb traced the length of his shaft, then the oh so sensitive slit of his that was dripping with pre-cum; this eliciting a low moan of pleasure that escaped his lips unbidden. Removing his glasses with practiced ease, Jonathan set them aside on his desk, allowing his vision to blur as he surrendered himself to the darkness that surrounded him, He closed his eyes, and occasionally opening them, but mainly he liked surrendering himself to the exquisite torment of his own desires. The only light being from his computer screen with her nude photos.

With a sense of urgency bordering on desperation, Jonathan brought his hand to his face, covering his mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle the sounds that threatened to escape. He knew he was loud when it came to this, his pleasure echoing off the walls of his apartment like a symphony of depravity. But when it came to her, the noise was deafening. With practiced ease, Jonathan's hand moved up and down his twitching shaft, each stroke driving him closer to the brink of ecstasy. He knew what he liked when he was in this position, his movements precise and calculated, fueled by a hunger that knew no bounds. And as he lost himself in the rhythm of his own pleasure, he felt a sense of liberation wash over him, freeing him from the constraints of his own guilt and shame.

"F-fuck... I love you so fuckin’ much, baby..." Jonathan murmured, it seemed quieter since he was covering his mouth, but nevertheless his voice was hoarse with desire. The words tumbled from his lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for the woman who haunted his every dream. In that moment, she was all he could think of, her image seared into his mind's eye with a clarity that bordered on obsession.

With a mixture of desire and apprehension, Jonathan reached out, his hand no longer covering his mouth; fuck he sounded so pathetic when he jerked off to her, his hand trembling slightly as it made contact with the fabric. He brought the panties to his face, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent that lingered upon them. His breath caught in his throat as he closed his eyes, lost in the intoxicating aroma. He moaned softly, the sound muffled by the fabric pressed against his mouth, a crude testament to the depths of his depravity. And in that moment, Jonathan knew only one thing: he would do whatever it took to make her his, forever and always.

His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on the black panties with delicate lace trim pressed against his mouth. The fabric muffled his moans, but the intensity of his desire was palpable. Each breath he took was filled with the intoxicating scent of the woman who occupied his every thought, driving him to the brink of madness. His hand moved with a practiced rhythm, stroking his throbbing cock with increasing fervor. The sensation of the lace against his lips sent shivers down his spine, heightening his arousal to an almost unbearable level. His movements, once slow and controlled, began to grow erratic and desperate. He could never last long when he thought of her, but his stamina was the last thing on his mind.

“A-ah~..ngh..fuckin’ hell,” Jonathan gasped, his voice a strained whisper against the fabric. His eyes fluttered shut, rolling back into his head as he felt the familiar build-up of release. His body trembled with anticipation, every muscle tense as he edged closer and closer to the brink.

With a sudden, fevered motion, Jonathan tore the panties from his face, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The cool air hit his flushed skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through his veins. He wrapped the delicate fabric around his twitching cock, his hips bucking wildly as he surrendered to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. His grip tightened, the lace digging into his flesh as he pumped faster, each stroke bringing him closer to the inevitable. His mind was a whirlwind of desire and obsession, each thought consumed by her image. He could see her in his mind’s eye, the way she moved, the way she looked at him with a mixture of fear and something unspoken. It drove him wild, pushing him further into the depths of his dark cravings.

As his movements became more frantic, Jonathan's breath hitched, his body tensing as he reached the precipice. “Fuck... I’m so close,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice rough and strained. His hips bucked erratically, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through his entire being.

The sensation of the lace against his skin was almost too much to bear, the friction heightening his arousal to a fever pitch. His hand moved with a desperate urgency, each stroke pushing him closer to the edge. He could feel the pressure building, a tight coil of heat in his core ready to snap. With a final, forceful thrust, Jonathan cried out, his voice a mix of pleasure and anguish. His body convulsed, the release hitting him like a tidal wave, washing over him with a blinding intensity. Ropes upon ropes of hot, sticky cum spilled out from his twitching cock, coating the pretty fabric of the black panties with an almost obscene abundance. The once pristine lace was now sullied, a stark contrast to its delicate beauty. His free hand's nails dug into the wood of his desk, leaving deep, angry marks as he rode out the waves of his climax. Enough of his release filled the fabric that it began to seep through, dripping slowly onto the floor below his desk in thick, viscous droplets.

"F-fuck... f-fuck..." Jonathan muttered, his voice barely more than a strained whisper. The words were laced with a raw, guttural intensity, each syllable a reflection of his spent state. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, he was lost in the afterglow, his mind adrift in a sea of hazy satisfaction. He clutched the panties tightly, the fabric now damp with his release, a tangible symbol of his unrelenting desire.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Jonathan slumped back in his chair, his body spent and trembling. His breath came in shallow gasps, his mind slowly returning to reality. The room seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening as he lay in the aftermath of his desire. He glanced down at the panties still wrapped around his softening cock, a pang of guilt cutting through the haze of his satisfaction. The reality of his actions hit him with a cold clarity, the weight of his obsession pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. But even in the depths of his guilt, he knew he could not stop. The allure of her presence, the thought of making her his, was too powerful to resist. Jonathan’s fingers trembled as he carefully unwound the panties from his semi-soft cock, his touch almost reverent. His eyes closed, a mixture of longing and despair etched across his features.

“Why do you haunt me so?” he whispered into the silence, his voice barely audible. The question hung in the air, unanswered, a testament to his torment. He knew that his desire for her was twisted, his actions unforgivable, yet he could not bring himself to stop. The darkness within him was too deep, too consuming.

In the months that had passed since the incident with her panties, Jonathan’s obsession had only deepened, festering like an untreated wound. His thoughts, once rational and calculated, had become a chaotic jumble of desire and fixation, driven by a love so twisted that it consumed every waking moment. He was a man possessed, his mind a labyrinth of dark fantasies and delusions, each one more depraved than the last. He would sit for hours at his desk after he had just spent hours at his office; the glow of his computer screen casting eerie shadows across his gaunt features as he pored over new and old images and now videos of her, all collected from the hidden cameras he had so meticulously placed. The sight of her, even in the most mundane of moments, was enough to send a shiver of pleasure down his spine. He would watch her laugh, cry, sleep, and live her life, all while he remained an invisible presence, a ghost haunting her every move.

Jonathan's apartment had become a shrine to her, every surface covered with photographs, notes, and mementos that he had painstakingly gathered. He had memorized every detail of her face, the curve of her smile, the sound of her voice. It was an obsession that knew no bounds, a hunger that could never be sated. And as his infatuation grew, so too did his desperation.

He knew she was aware of him, she’d most definitely had found the cameras he somehow put in her apartment so many months ago. It was the way she had suddenly moved apartments, but only to unknowingly end up in the same complex as him, she didn’t know where he lived but he had his proof that she knew enough to just up and move. The discovery of the cameras had been a setback, because he wouldn’t get those back but, it all uploaded to his computer at the end of every day, so he didn’t lose anything really, but it had only fueled his determination. He had to become more careful, more cunning in his efforts to watch her, to protect her from the dangers that she might encounter from being so perfect. However it was her fault, really, for not being thorough enough in her search for his eyes, she deserved it in his eyes.

"You're mine," Jonathan would whisper to himself, his voice a low, dangerous murmur as he watched her on his screen. "You just don't know it yet."

His need for attention, for acknowledgment of his existence, had driven him to new lengths. He had begun buying her gifts, leaving them at her door or in her mailbox with meticulously crafted notes. The thrill of seeing her take them inside, even if she never opened them, was intoxicating. It was a game, a dance of shadows and secrets, and he was determined to win. Each gift was chosen with care, a testament to his knowledge of her likes and desires. Clothes, jewelry, food, and even more intimate items like sex toys found their way to her doorstep. He knew her better than anyone, better than she knew herself. It was a twisted form of courtship, a display of his devotion, his love. And yet, there was always the risk of discovery. He had to be careful, precise in his placement of new cameras. He couldn't afford another mistake. The thought of her finding out, of her rejecting him outright, was too much to bear. He needed her, craved her in a way that defied logic and reason.

He would spend hours planning his next move, his next gift, each one a symbol of his undying love. He imagined her finding the packages, her expression unreadable as she carried them inside. Did she ever wonder who they were from? Did she ever think of him, even for a moment? The thought was enough to send a thrill of excitement through him, his heart pounding in his chest.

"One day, you'll understand," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "One day, you'll see how much I love you."

But for now, he remained in the shadows, his presence a constant, unseen force in her life. He would protect her, watch over her, even if she didn't realize it. He would do anything, everything, to make her his. And as he sat at his desk, surrounded by the trappings of his obsession, Jonathan knew that he would never stop. He couldn't. She was his, in every way that mattered. And so, the little game continued, a dance of shadows and secrets, a twisted love story that only he could understand. With each passing day, his obsession grew, feeding on the darkness within him, driving him to new heights of desperation and desire. He was a man on the edge, teetering on the brink of madness, but he didn't care. As long as she was his, nothing else mattered. In the end, it was her fault. She should have been more careful. She should have seen the signs, noticed the cameras, understood the depth of his love. But she hadn't, and now she was his, whether she knew it or not. And Jonathan Crane, the man who loved her more than life itself, would do whatever it took to keep it that way. Forever.

Tonight, as she closed up the café where she worked, Jonathan knew it was the perfect time to finally confront her. Him knowing her work schedule was so helpful. He had waited long enough, his patience fraying at the edges. He watched from the shadows as she bid farewell to her coworker, her smile a beacon of light in his otherwise dark world. She locked the door behind them, turning her attention to the kitchen, methodically checking inventory and ensuring everything was in its place. Making sure that everything that needs to be locked, is locked. Jonathan's breath quickened as he moved silently into the café, lock picking is easier than most people would imagine; with his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a rush of adrenaline, a heady mix of fear and excitement. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment he would finally see her face in real time and not just through the lens of his hidden cameras. He sat down in the dimly lit corner of the cafe, his eyes fixed on the doorway through which she would soon emerge. It was the doorway that was open with no door and you could enter by being behind the counter.

She appeared, her expression serene as she finished her tasks, unaware of the danger lurking nearby. Jonathan's eyes drank in the sight of her, his breath hitching in his throat. She was even more beautiful in person, her presence intoxicating. He took a step forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise and fear.

"Who... who are you?" she stammered, her voice trembling.

Jonathan took another step closer, his gaze intense. "I think you know who I am," he said, his voice low and menacing. "I've watched you for so long, admired you from afar. You were always so close, yet so far away."

So that’s what he looked like, she thought he would look worse, but back to the task at hand there is a deranged stalker in her presence. Her eyes darted around the café, searching for an escape. He’s practically in the way of it; "Stay away from me," she warned, her voice gaining strength. "I don't want anything to do with you."

Jonathan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "You don't understand," he said, his tone desperate. "I love you. I've always loved you. You belong to me."

"No, I don't," she shot back, her fear turning to anger. "You don't know anything about me. You're sick and twisted."

He flinched at her words, but his resolve remained unshaken. "I know everything about you," he insisted. "I've seen you at your most vulnerable, your most intimate. I know you better than anyone else. I love you…”

"That's not love," she said, shaking her head. "That's obsession. It's not the same thing." She gritted her teeth; “You look pretty smart so it’s depressing that you don’t know the difference” Attitude, he would not like that.

Jonathan's eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists. "You don't get to decide what this is," he growled. "You don't get to push me away. I've done everything for you, watched over you, protected you. And this is how you repay me?"

She stared him down, her breath slowly starting to come in shallow gasps. "No," she whispered. "I won't be a prisoner to your fuckin’ delusions."

Jonathan started walking over in her direction, his presence imposing. "You already are," he murmured, his eyes locked onto hers. "And there's no escaping it."

Her eyes flashed with defiance, her body tense with resolve. "Watch me," she said, her voice steady. What was she gonna do, scream; The fuck was that supposed to do?

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them a palpable force. Jonathan's mind raced, torn between his overwhelming desire to possess her and the dawning realization that his actions were driving her further away. His hands trembled at his sides, the barely contained energy threatening to spill over. He watched her every move, the subtle shift of her weight, the way her eyes darted towards the small doorway. She was looking for an escape, and he knew it was now or never. In a fluid motion that belied the severity of his intentions, Jonathan sprang into action. Despite the constraining suit, his movements were swift and precise, a testament to his unyielding determination. He darted behind the counter, his heart pounding in his chest as he made it just in time to cut off her path. With a practiced ease, he hopped over the small swinging saloon door that separated them, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Baby, I can do this all night,” he said, his voice a low, seductive drawl, tinged with a hint of madness. His breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he closed the distance between them. The endearment rolled off his tongue with a twisted sense of affection, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating glint in his eyes.

She stood frozen, her body tensed with the urge to flee, but he was already too close. Jonathan's presence was overwhelming, a dark, looming shadow that seemed to consume the very air around them. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the struggle between fear and defiance. She wanted to leave, to escape the web he had so meticulously woven around her, but he was in her way, a living, breathing barrier that she could not overcome.

"Don't be afraid," Jonathan murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I only want what's best for you. Can't you see that?" He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm, a touch that was both tender and possessive. His gaze softened, but the underlying intensity remained, a stark reminder of the darkness that lay beneath his calm exterior.

She flinched at his touch, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from the prison he had created. Jonathan's heart ached at her reaction, the realization that his love – was the very thing that repelled her. But he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. His obsession had taken root, a dark, twisted seed that had grown beyond his control.

"You don't have to fight me," he continued, his tone soothing yet insistent. "We can be together, just like I've always dreamed. You and me, forever." His words hung in the air, a chilling promise of a future she wanted no part of.

As he stepped closer, Jonathan's eyes roamed over her face, drinking in every detail. The way her lips parted in silent protest, the flicker of fear in her eyes, the defiant set of her jaw. She was beautiful, even in her defiance, and it only fueled his desire to possess her completely.

"Don't you see?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You belong with me. I've waited so long for this moment, planned every detail. You can't leave me now." His words were a plea, a desperate attempt to make her understand the depth of his feelings, the lengths he was willing to go to keep her by his side.

She took a step back, her back pressing against the counter, trapped between him and the unyielding surface. Jonathan's heart raced, the thrill of the chase mingling with the dread of losing her. He reached out again, his hand cupping her cheek with a gentleness that belied the madness in his eyes.

"I promise, I'll take care of you," he said, his voice filled with a twisted sincerity. "No one will ever hurt you, you'll be safe with me, always." The words were meant to comfort, but they only served to deepen the chasm between them.

Her eyes filled with tears, a silent testament to the hopelessness of her situation. Jonathan's heart clenched at the sight, a painful reminder of the cost of his obsession. But he couldn't let her go, not now, not ever.

"You don't have to cry," he murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I'll make it all better, I promise. Just give me a chance." His voice cracked with emotion, the façade of control slipping as he confronted the reality of his actions.

She shook her head, a silent refusal that cut through him like a knife. Jonathan's jaw tightened, the anger simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over. He had done everything for her, sacrificed so much, and yet she still resisted. It was maddening, infuriating, and it only fueled his determination to make her see the truth.

"Why can't you understand?" he demanded, his voice rising in frustration. "Everything I've done, I've done for you. To protect you, to keep you safe. And I’ve provided gifts for you..Why can't you see that?" His words echoed through the empty room, a desperate plea for understanding that would never come.

She stood her ground, her eyes locked onto his with a mixture of defiance and fear. Jonathan's heart ached at the sight, torn between his love for her and the realization that his actions were driving her further away. But he couldn't stop, couldn't let her go. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side.

With a final, desperate plea, Jonathan stepped closer, his hand reaching out to take hers. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just give me a chance. I can make you happy, I promise. Just stay with me." His words hung in the air, a fragile hope that threatened to shatter with her next breath.

But as she looked into his eyes, Jonathan saw the truth. She would never be his, not in the way he wanted. And yet, he couldn't let her go, couldn't relinquish the hold she had on his heart. With a sense of resignation, he realized that he would do whatever it took to keep her, even if it meant losing himself in the process. In that moment, as the weight of his obsession threatened to crush him, Jonathan made a silent vow. He would protect her, keep her safe, no matter the cost. And if that meant holding her against her will, then so be it. She was his, and he would never let her go. His hand reached out, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that seemed almost out of place given the madness flickering in his eyes. He leaned in slightly and gave her a kiss on the lips, practically forcing her to kiss back with how rough it actually was compared to how he thought he was doing it; soft and calm. Yeah my ass.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you leave me,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. The words were both an apology and a vow, laced with an unspoken promise of what was to come. He let go of her face and sighed;

Before she could react, Jonathan's grip tightened, his fingers wrapping around her delicate wrists with surprising strength. He raised her arms above her head, pinning them against the cold, unforgiving wall. His body pressed against hers, trapping her in place as his knee insinuated itself between her legs, applying just enough pressure to elicit a gasp. His heart pounded with a mix of arousal and anticipation, each beat echoing the inevitable conclusion of his carefully laid plans. With his free hand, Jonathan reached into the inner pocket of his suit, extracting a small syringe. His lips curled into a smile as he brought it to his mouth, removing the cap with his teeth before spitting it onto the ground. The sound was almost insignificant, but it marked the point of no return.

“Shhh... it’s okay... just don’t move around too much,” he murmured, his voice a soothing caress. He leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin as he searched for a suitable vein in her neck. The syringe hovered for a moment, a silent promise of what was to come.

As the needle punctured her skin, Jonathan’s eyes never left her face. He watched the mixture of fear toxin and a sedative flow into her bloodstream, his expression one of clinical detachment and twisted satisfaction. He withdrew the syringe slowly, almost reverently, before slipping it back into his pocket.

“Hey, it’s okay... just go to sleep,” he cooed, his voice softening as he cupped her face once more. He gazed into her eyes, watching as they began to glaze over, her resistance waning. She looked like a ghost, her complexion pale and her movements sluggish as the concoction took hold.

Jonathan supported her weight as she slumped against him, his arms encircling her in a twisted embrace. He could feel her body relax, the tension draining away as the drugs did their work. A part of him felt a pang of regret for having to subdue her in such a manner, but his obsession with her outweighed any moral qualms.

In the dim light of his apartment, Jonathan meticulously straightened the cluttered space, each object a testament to his dark obsession. His heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he glanced over at the woman lying unconscious on his bed. The fear toxin and a sedative mixture he had administered ensured she would remain in a deep, dreamless slumber for hours yet. This gave him time to prepare, to transform his chaotic haven into something that might, at first glance, seem less threatening. His hands moved swiftly, arranging and rearranging, removing any overt signs of his fixation. He knew he had to be careful—he couldn’t afford to frighten her any more than his actions already had. The apartment was filled with photos, trinkets, and personal effects of hers that he had collected over time, but he placed them in less conspicuous places, out of her immediate line of sight.

Jonathan took a deep breath, feeling the familiar tension knotting in his chest. His thoughts were a whirl of conflicting emotions. He needed her to understand, to see beyond the fear and recognize his love. He wasn’t a monster, not in his own eyes. He was a man driven by a consuming passion, a need to protect and possess her. He turned his attention back to her, lying so peacefully despite the circumstances. Her wrist was cuffed to the headboard, a necessary precaution. The chain allowed her some movement, but escape was impossible. He had made sure of that. His gaze softened as he watched her breathe, each rise and fall of her chest drawing him in deeper.

“Knew it’d come to this, didn’t you, Jonathan?” he murmured to himself, his voice a low rasp. The accent that clung to his words was faint, a vestige of his past. “You always knew.”

He moved closer, seating himself beside her on the bed. The urge to touch her was overwhelming, but he restrained himself. Not like this. It had to be right. She had to be awake, aware, and, in time, willing. His fingers itched to trace the lines of her face, to feel the warmth of her skin, but he resisted. He wouldn’t get anything out of it if she wasn’t there with him, truly there. Turning away from the bed, Jonathan walked quietly to the bathroom. The light flickered on with a soft click, casting a warm glow across the tiled floor. He leaned against the sink, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. His sharp features softened in the gentle light, the lines of stress easing from his brow. His mind wandered briefly, contemplating the events of the day and the challenges that lay ahead. The day had been long and arduous, filled with the tension of his illicit activities and the meticulous cleaning up afterward. But now, as he moved through the familiar ritual of preparing for bed, a strange tranquility settled over him.

After shedding his clothes, Jonathan stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over his tense muscles. The steam rose around him, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and silence. He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander. Thoughts of her flitted through his consciousness, a mix of longing and satisfaction. She was here, in his apartment, subdued by the fear toxin and sedative mixture. The thrill of having her so close, so vulnerable, sent a shiver of excitement through him. Finishing his shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the sink to brush his teeth. The minty freshness of the toothpaste was a sharp contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in his mind. He looked at his reflection, his piercing blue eyes staring back at him with a mix of determination and desire. Jonathan was a man driven by his obsessions, and tonight, those obsessions were within arm’s reach.

He made his way back to his room, the soft sound of his footsteps the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. She lay on his bed, her breathing steady and deep, still under the influence of the sedative. The sight of her, so peaceful and unguarded, stirred something deep within him. He turned off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, save for the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Jonathan took off his glasses and set them on the table next to the bed, a small gesture that felt strangely intimate. He climbed into bed beside her, the sheets cool against his skin. He pulled the covers over both of them and gently maneuvered her so that she was straddling him, her body fitting perfectly against his. His arms wrapped around her back, the chain of the handcuffs clinking softly as he did so.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply. It was intoxicating, a heady mix of her natural fragrance and the faint remnants of her perfume. The sensation overwhelmed him, filling him with a deep sense of satisfaction. This was what he had dreamed of, the culmination of his darkest desires.

“Fuck, this is everything I dreamed of,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against her skin. He could feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest, a rhythmic reminder of her presence.

As he lay there, holding her close, his mind raced with thoughts and emotions. He reveled in the feeling of her weight on top of him, the warmth of her body against his. There was a possessiveness to his touch, a silent declaration that she was his and his alone. Despite the restraints of the handcuffs, he felt a sense of closeness that he had never experienced before. He wondered what she would think when she woke up, how she would react to finding herself in his bed, in his embrace. There was a part of him that relished the thought of her fear, the way her eyes would widen with realization. But there was also a part of him that yearned for her acceptance, for her to understand the depth of his feelings.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered softly, as if she could hear him in her unconscious state. “I’ll take care of you.”

Jonathan’s mind wandered back to the moment he had first seen her, the instant attraction that had sparked his obsession. He had watched her from afar, studying her movements, learning her habits. It had started innocently enough, a mere curiosity. But it had quickly grown into something much more intense, a need that consumed him. Now, as he lay with her in his arms, he felt a sense of fulfillment that he had never known before. It was as if all the pieces of his life had fallen into place, and he was exactly where he was meant to be. The darkness that had always lingered at the edges of his mind seemed to recede, replaced by a profound sense of contentment.

He tightened his hold on her slightly, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He could feel her breath against his neck, a gentle reminder of her presence. The connection between them was palpable, a tangible thread that bound them together. Jonathan knew that this moment was fleeting, that the reality of their situation would come crashing down eventually. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the illusion of intimacy, to indulge in the fantasy that she was his in every sense of the word.

“I’ll protect you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “No one will ever hurt you while you’re with me.”

As the night wore on, Jonathan remained awake, content to simply hold her and listen to the sound of her breathing. There was a peace in the silence, a solace in the stillness. He had spent so much of his life in turmoil, driven by his fears and anxieties. But here, with her in his arms, he felt a sense of calm that he had never known before. The darkness outside began to give way to the soft light of dawn, casting a gentle glow over the room. Jonathan could see the faint outlines of her features in the early morning light, the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips. She looked so serene, so untouched by the horrors of the world. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, a silent promise that he would keep her safe. No matter what happened, he would always be there for her, a constant presence in her life. And as he closed his eyes, finally succumbing to the pull of sleep, he knew that he would never let her go.

Author’s Notes:

I genuinely believe he would cum in his pants if she even breathed, spoke, smiled, pointed, or barely touching him; touching him like rubbing shoulders with a stranger in an elevator type of touch.

Also he would definitely paint one of his hands in the nail polish she used. Helps submerge himself in the reality he so desperately wants to be real.

Also also, this was delayed a bit because I have this opened on my computer as well as on my phone and I saved it on one end and then it didn’t transpire on the other so I closed it out and…it just put me back pretty far.

[islamicquotesandreminders]

Allāh is the Light of the heavens and the earth. His light is like a niche in which there is a lamp, the lamp is in a crystal, the crystal is like a shining star, lit from the oil of a blessed olive tree, located neither to the east nor the west, whose oil would almost glow, even without being touched by fire. Light upon light! Allāh guides whoever He wills to His light. And Allāh sets forth parables for humanity. For Allāh has perfect knowledge of all things.

That light shines through houses of worship which Allāh has ordered to be raised, and where His Name is mentioned. He is glorified there morning and evening

by men who are not distracted - either by buying or selling - from Allāh’s remembrance, or performing prayer, or paying zakah. They fear a Day when hearts and eyes will tremble,

hoping that Allāh may reward them according to the best of their deeds, and increase them out of His grace. And Allāh provides for whoever He wills without limit.

[Sūrah an-Nūr, Verse 35-38]

[blues824]

☀️Can I please request tokyo revengers with a female yoriichi tsugikuni s/o

☀️Imagine she got reincarnated in to their time.

☀️Her still being reincarnated with the demon slayer Mark and them finding out what it means.

☀️They thought mikey was a mense until they met their s/o (when they learn when they were 80 they were still unbeatable 💀)

☀️Her taking about her twin brother and life story telling them she invented sun breathing what they still can use.

☀️Imagine them watching how powerful she can be with a katan (who is she fighting michikatsu tsugikuni/ kokushibo who is also reincarnated and the only person I can think of they can train with )

Upon further clarification, this will include Mikey, Draken, Baji, Mitsuya, and I’ll throw in Takemichi because why the hell not?

Manjiro Sano (Mikey)

He would’ve thought that you were so cool. Your scar was definitely what captured his attention, and also the fact that when he fought against you, you won with no question. Your twin was also very strong, and the only person you can actually train with without you immediately killing them.

When you show him your Sun Breathing, he is shocked. You looked so graceful that he couldn’t help when his heart fluttered and skipped a beat out of nowhere. There is just something about being with a girl who could kill you in a matter of milliseconds that was just so attractive to him, apparently. He is with you, after all.

Your skill with a katana was also something he viewed as cool, and he even asked if he could try wielding it. It was a bit more difficult than he imagined, but he is well-versed in every conceivable weapon. He would be a good opponent to a higher-ranking demon slayer, maybe even a Hashira.

Ken Ryuguji (Draken)

You made a very worthy opponent, and you pinned him down to the ground. We all know how he feels about people who are strong (or even stronger than him), so as you could probably tell you immediately got on his good side. This isn’t even including your skills with a katana or your Sun Breathing.

He had the ‘honor’ (his words) to witness a sparring session between you and your twin, and the concrete below was absolutely destroyed. There were cuts, there were bruises, there were gashes, there was a broken nose on your twin’s part, etc. Draken never knew that you had such a ruthless side to you.

When he saw you practicing with your katana, he was curious about how you managed to accumulate such an overwhelming amount of skill. You had handed it to him, and guided his movements gently as you explained that you had died in your past life of being a demon slayer. 

Keisuke Baji

You both had met when he decided to pick a fight with you and you beat him in a matter of seconds. You had applauded his bravery and his tactics, and that’s how his feelings for you started. The scar upon your head was something he had noticed in that one fight, and it caused him to get a bit distracted, or so he claims.

He had seen a sparring session between you and your twin, and if he did not know that it was just a sparring session he would have thought that you were fighting to the death. Typically, Baji could hold his own against very strong opponents, but that was before he met either you or Kokushibo.

Then, you pulled out your katana and started using sun breathing as your twin brother used his blood art (he’s not a demon in this life, but still retains his abilities) and it was so cool. Of course, neither used 100% of their power, but it was definitely the training of a lifetime that Keisuke witnessed.

Takashi Mitsuya

The first time he saw you, he also noticed the scar on your head, and he knew that you had been through way more pain than he had. The two of you tend to stick to peace, but won’t hesitate to fight if the situation calls for it. He has seen you fight as well, and you are the most feared person in any gang.

That is, along with your twin. The two of you sparring is like an unstoppable force meets an immovable object and when Mitsuya saw the two of you, he was shocked. The fact that the two of you had that amount of power was surprising, to say the least.

When he saw you unsheath your katana and continue the battle, he noticed how graceful it was. Your Sun Breathing helped it immensely, and you ended up beating your twin. Mitsuya gave a small round of applause as he congratulated you for being the victor.

Takemichi Hanagaki

He assumed you were a tear in time as he kept jumping back in time again and again, but in reality you were always there and he just suppressed your memory. After all, he knew that the scar upon your forehead was familiar, as though he has traced it multiple times. Oh that’s right, he has, because you were his girlfriend and you have laid your head in his lap numerous times.

The first time he saw you sparring against your twin, he actually thought it was a fight to the death. There was no way that the battle wasn’t personal because you both were just going at each other like cats and dogs. However, it really was just sparring and nothing else.

Your skills with a katana also surprised him. You had managed to retain your Sun Breathing even after being reincarnated, and Takemichi watched as you ended the sparring session by winning. He let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

[cupids-chamber]

— " A CHORUS & A VERSE " Fluff / Gender neutral reader

He caressed your hair softly, mumbling something to you. Many words of comfort and warmth fell from his mouth, fluently. As if they were a melody, a lullaby that you’ve grown quite used too, a chorus that stuck in your head and refused to leave. He gently rubbed circles on your neck, and whispered more words of utter praise into your ears; it was something that could’ve made you lose it had you not been so tightly wrapped up in his arms. 

His grasp would only tighten, as the strong scent of his conditioner filled your senses. You took a moment to nuzzle your head further into his neck, hoping it would cover up any embarrassing reaction. 

You mumbled something incoherent, as you paid no mind to his words; slumber graced your form as his large hands carefully guided your body to the side of the bed. He’d let out a couple soft laughs, remembering how moments before you had protested to the sheer idea of going to bed and catching some rest. 

It didn’t take him long to lay down beside you, carefully pulling you in his arms once more. He’d gaze over your sleepy features, admiring all of you; a lovesick smile would grace his features as his mind filled with only thoughts of you. He may have been a chorus that stuck to your head and never left but to him you were a verse that had imprinted its name into his very core.

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[monamors]

Break in.

With Timothee Chalamet x Reader

Authors Note: Hi, please consider sending a request in, I’m not very creative w/out a prompt!

After a grueling day at the office, battling endless traffic, you finally arrive home to your empty house. You text your friends, apologizing for missing the hangout, noting that Timothee also skipped without explanation. Your house feels more like a shell than a home—no groceries, just takeout, and your only companion, Tux the cat, purring at your feet. Loneliness pervades, not because you can’t find someone, but because no one compares to Timothee, the man you can’t move on from despite being just friends.

You change into comfortable pajamas, a cozy oversized sweater and underwear, when a cold breeze tinged with grass sweeps through the hallway. Cabinets rattle in the darkness. Grabbing a bat from the closet, you’re startled by glass cutting into your foot from a broken window. A shadow charges at you, and you swing, striking something solid in the chest. The figure collapses.

Heart pounding, you flick on the kitchen lights, ready to call the police, only to realize the intruder is Timothee.

“Tim—Timothee! What the hell are you doing breaking into my house?!” You demand, keeping the bat poised.

He groans on the floor. “I was looking for something.”

“What could possibly be so important that you’d break my window instead of texting?” You help him up, fetching the first aid kit.

“I’d rather not say. I’ll just pick it up and leave, and I’ll pay for your window.” Timothee avoids eye contact.

“So you want to take something from my house and not tell me what it is?”

“Yes.”

“No, tell me what it is.”

“It’s a card.”

“So you want to steal my mail? What the hell?”

“Don’t worry about it. Can I just grab it and leave? Please.” He pleads.

“Fine. All my mail is upstairs in my office. Follow me.”

As you both ascend, Tux the cat tries to cozy up to Timothee, seeking affection. In your office, you sit behind your desk and open the drawer, pulling out a stack of letters. “Which one is it?”

“The pink envelope.”

You retrieve it, and Timothee tries to stop you, but you insist, brandishing a letter opener. The words on the card pierce your heart:

“My Beloved Y/n,

In the quiet moments when the world fades away, it is you who fills my thoughts, like the soft caress of moonlight on a tranquil sea. Your presence in my life is not just a blessing but a symphony of emotions that crescendos with every beat of my heart. I am captivated by the way your hair cascades like silk, swaying with a grace that rivals the dance of the stars. The sparkle in your eyes rivals the brilliance of a thousand suns, reflecting a universe of dreams and possibilities.

I find myself spellbound by your essence, drawn inexorably to the warmth of your smile and the tenderness of your touch. Each moment spent in your company is a glimpse into paradise, where time stands still and every word exchanged is a verse in the poetry of our connection.

And so, with a heart overflowing with love, I must confess: I am deeply, irrevocably in love with you. Your laughter is the melody that plays in my soul, your presence the light that guides me through the darkest nights. To love you is to know a love that transcends the ordinary, a love that defies logic and embraces the infinite beauty of who you are.

I understand if these words come as a surprise, for they have long been whispered in the depths of my being, yearning to be spoken aloud. But I cannot deny the truth any longer, nor the depth of emotion that binds my soul to yours.

Whether or not you share these sentiments, know that my love for you will endure beyond time itself. You are my muse, my inspiration, and the beating heart of everything I hold dear. For in you, I have found not only a friend but a soulmate whose presence completes me in ways I never thought possible.

With all the love my heart can hold,

Timmy”

A tear escapes your eye.

“Listen, I know you might not feel the same way, and that’s why I tried to take the letter. I didn’t want to jeopardize our friendship.”

“Timothee, you’re such a hopeless romantic,” you say, rising to kiss him.

He meets your kiss with tenderness, emotions swirling between you both.

“You’re still paying for my window,” you manage to say between kisses.

[enokvirkow]

Elden Ring Vergil for @stratagemichor

[soldier-lodbrok]

Half-Ashen child Roran

@holyguardian and I went wild on Elden Ring lore. So now Roran is the first child of a living human with ancient Cetran powers and a Tarnished.

His touch can turn ashen things into living ones - and makes them mortal again. So, watch out, fellow Tarnished.

[sevendeadlywhispers]

7Seals

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Chapter 6*

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•Previous Chapter: Chapter Five

•Next Chapter: Chapter Seven

• New chapters every Thursday

•Content: Levi Ackerman × OC female. Slow Burn! Canon verse!

• Word Count: 2.7k

• Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with * at each chapter. This chapter contains themes of abuse. If this bothers you please do not read.

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78Fahrenheit (demo)  - Ethel Cain

2:22 ─────━❍─ 1:25

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The wind whispered through my hair as I guided my ODM gear through the intricate patterns of the training course. My body moved with a dance-like grace, effortlessly slicing through the air to sever the napes of the practice dummies.

The past three days had been a relentless cycle of one-on-one training with Captain Levi. His focus? My ODM gear and nape-slicing skills. Not a word escaped his lips during these sessions; he merely observed, occasionally mirroring my movements with his gear.

"You're using too much gas," Levi's blunt comment reached me as I returned from a practice run, my body dripping with exhaustion. Collapsing to catch my breath, Levi's foot jabbed into my leg, a harsh reminder that rest was a luxury.

"Get up. I didn't say you could sit, brat," he grumbled, his impatience evident.

"You're making unnecessary movements with your gas. Release, then move."

"Are you trying to kill me?" I retorted, still catching my breath. Levi's response was curt.

"It's not impossible."

"Fine. I'll do another run," I conceded, my determination overshadowing the fatigue.

"No. We're finished for right now," Levi declared. "Take five, then meet me on the training fields. We're recruiting today."

His words hung in the air, and I didn't argue. The training had pushed me to my limits, bruises from the gear darkening every day. The ODM gear, a relentless companion, left my thighs raw and my legs trembling. Levi's challenges extended beyond physical strain; they tested my mental fortitude, an arena where I was already grappling with the mess left by Alexander.

The pain echoed not just in my body but in the foggy recesses of my mind. Mentally checked out, I wondered how much more my body could endure and whether the cloudy aftermath of Alexander's actions would ever lift.

Doubts lingered in the air as I took my short break, sweat clinging to my skin from the relentless training. The question haunted me: Was I truly good enough for a spot on a special operations squad, especially one led by someone as formidable as Levi?

My mind circled back to Alexander, the one who knew me best, my companion for the past six years. His silent presence loomed in my thoughts, and a nagging doubt crept in – perhaps he had been trying to protect me, knowing my strengths and weaknesses better than anyone. Maybe he was right; maybe I was too weak for Levi's squad.

Levi made me feel like a mere shadow in his presence. Every spar was a reminder of my incompetence. He urged me to pin him, a simple task, yet one I struggled with. I hadn't even secured a spot in the top ten of my class. So why did Levi choose me? What did Erwin see in me that warranted such a position?

Survival haunted my past, with Alexander by my side for the last six years. Did Erwin consider my mere survival a qualification? My thoughts spiraled, questioning why I had lived through the fall of Wall Maria. Levi's intervention had saved me, but why?

Wouldn't it have been simpler to let me perish? It would have spared everyone the trouble, and given Alexander a chance at happiness. My internal debate echoed with the possibility that perhaps I wasn't meant for Levi's special squad. My presence, a potential burden, could jeopardize him and the entire squad.

Training days blended into a haze of exhaustion, my body pushed beyond its limits. Bruises marked my skin like a roadmap of pain, a testament to Levi's relentless regimen. Mentally checked out from the mess with Alexander, my mind felt clouded, a storm brewing beneath a calm exterior.

The haunting question persisted: Why me? Why did Erwin and Levi see potential in someone who couldn't even pin their captain during sparring? A whisper of doubt insinuated that maybe I was a mere survivor, not a true Scout.

I just keep going in circles.

I questioned Levi's motives, Alexander's warnings, and my abilities. Was I destined for more than just survival?

As I reached the training fields, Levi's gaze met mine. Where was the emotion that lay behind those eyes? Inner turmoil gripped me, a symphony of conflicting emotions. Every move felt like a step closer to revealing my inadequacy.

"You're late." Levi's voice broke through my thoughts. "I said five minutes, not twenty."

"I lost track of time." I stumbled over my words.

"Save it." Levi groaned. "My office after dinner."

"Yes sir," I said to him as we walked towards the group's training.

The sun dipped lower, casting a golden hue over the training grounds. Levi's voice cut through the air, a command that echoed with authority.

"I need high ground." His groan spoke of a tactical mind at work, and without hesitation, he navigated the field, reaching the closest building.

With practiced ease, he utilized his ODM gear to ascend, his silhouette against the darkening sky. From my vantage point below, he seemed like a shadow, a silent observer seeking an advantage. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, scanned the training fields.

"Oi," his voice rang down at me, a summon I couldn't ignore. "What the hell are you waiting for? Get up here."

The dread settled in, knowing that the pain of using my ODM gear awaited, yet duty demanded my ascent.

With gritted teeth, I propelled myself upwards, each motion a reminder of the physical toll training had taken on me. When I reached the rooftop, Levi had already claimed his spot, his eyes fixed on the recruits below. The town sprawled beyond, a canvas painted in the hues of dusk.

"Wherever I go, you go," Levi declared his words a simple directive that held more weight than spoken. His gaze remained focused on the ongoing training, looking for potential new members of his squad.

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The world below unfolded like a patchwork quilt as we soared through the dense woods. The ODM gear granted us an exhilarating freedom, taking us to untouched corners of the training grounds. The rush of wind against my face, the feeling of power coursing through every movement—it was a sensation unlike any other.

"Guys! Stop!" Hange's voice echoed through the trees, halting our swift progress. Alexander, always the assertive one, zoomed past me, hooking into the trees ahead. "Get up here, Hange!" he called out, his words carrying a playful challenge.

"Yeah, Hange, stop being scared and come join us!" I added my teasing encouragement. Hange's reluctance toward the ODM gear was known, a fear born from a face-first landing during their first attempt.

"Our gear is supposed to be used for emergencies only on this exercise, remember?" Hange's voice drifted from below, a reminder of the rules we were supposed to follow. But rules were always meant to be bent, weren't they?

Following Alexander's echoed voice, I found him perched high on a sturdy branch. "Come here," he beckoned, and I ascended to join him.

"What's up?" I asked, settling onto the branch beside him. The scenery spread out below us, a sea of treetops and greenery.

"Enjoy the view with me," he suggested, and I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty surrounding us.

"It's beautiful," I commented, my gaze lost in the vastness of the woods.

"Yeah, but you're prettier," he said with a casual grin, a compliment that never failed to make my cheeks flush. His words, always laced with a charming boldness, echoed back to the first day we met at training camp.

"Wherever I go, you go. Okay?" Alexander's tone shifted his words carrying a weight of seriousness.

"I can't afford to lose you, Iris."

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The memory lingered, a snapshot of unspoken promises amid the rustling leaves. As I returned to the present, perched on a rooftop with Captain Levi, the echoes of those words whispered through the air, a reminder of something that once was.

"Are you done daydreaming?" Levi's baritone voice asked cutting through my thoughts.

"I-" I stumbled over my words but it was pointless.

"Do you see anyone from the squad below worth our time?"

"Oluo and Eld." I quickly said. "They work well together."

"Oluo doesn't take his training seriously. All he's done is talk." Levi observed. "Who's his captain?"

"Alexander."

I saw Levi's gaze in the corner of my eyes. It wasn't too kind but it wasn't angry either.

"Should have known, guessing Eld was on your old squad as well?"

"Yes sir. Oluo has fifteen solo kills and Eld has ten. Together they've had ten assists. They work really well together." I explained to him. "We have a lot of trust in each other."

"Trust?"

"Yeah, without trust, you're as good as dead," I muttered, avoiding Levi's eyes as my gaze lingered on the vast landscape below. His eyes, usually intense, now held a curiosity that felt like it delved into my very thoughts.

"What are you guys doing up there?" Alexander's voice snapped the fragile thread connecting us, and I turned my attention to the man with ash-brown hair, scowling up at us.

Levi and I exchanged a swift glance, a momentary understanding that vanished in the face of Alexander's intrusion.

I haven't seen Alexander in the last couple of days. The mess hall had been a lonely place without him, and the tension that lingered between us found no resolution in his avoidance.

"Recruiting," I responded, breaking the silence with words that carried more weight than he could fathom. The distance between us felt like an unspoken chasm, fueled by his baseless accusations.

"Well, recruit somewhere else. My squad's off-limits."

Alexander's words, delivered with a glare aimed directly at me, cut through the air like a knife. Levi, embodying an unexpected calm, stood up and gracefully descended from the roof, landing in front of Alexander.

"Problem, soldier?"

As they faced each other, I stood on the roof, caught between past accusations and an uncertain future.

"Yeah, there is. You're interrupting a training session with my squad," he snapped, his stern gaze fixed on Levi.

The towering figure of Alexander made Levi appear even smaller. Anyone could sense the tension and understanding that Alexander wasn't about to extend a warm welcome.

"Your soldiers lack discipline if being observed is a distraction."

Levi had a calm and confident demeanor that I know made Alexander mad. His words lingered in the air like the tension between them, prompting me to leap off the roof and join Levi on the ground. I could feel the squad converging, drama was the scouts favorite activity after all.

"Then that's more of a reason to move along and recruit elsewhere. My squad's off-limits."

"Nothing is off-limits for me. I have free rein to choose any member of the regiment, whether they want to join or not. Including you." Levi's assertive voice could be heard all around us.

"And who gave you such power?" Alexander questioned, his disbelief apparent.

"Commander Erwin. I'd love to chit-chat about meaningless shit all day, but I have a job to do."

With those words, Levi turned and walked away, leaving a stunned squad and a seething Alexander in his wake.

"Get back to training," Alexander bellowed at his squad, eyes lingering.

As Levi walked away, leaving Alexander fuming with frustration, the tension in the air lingered longer than it should have. I felt the weight of Alexander's disapproval as he turned his piercing gaze toward me.

He grabbed my wrist, leading me away from the unfolding drama. As we entered the nearby building, my thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the power dynamics shifting within the regiment.

What have I gotten myself into? The clash between these two is like a storm, and I'm standing in the middle of it.

Alexander's grip on my wrist tightened as he led me away from the gathering crowd. The building's interior enveloped us, shielding our conversation from prying eyes.

"Explain yourself, Iris," Alexander demanded, his voice low and harsh.

I struggled to find the right words, torn between defending Levi's actions and pacifying Alexander's evident anger. This is a delicate dance, and one wrong step could lead to more trouble.

"He's just doing his job, Alexander. Recruiting for the Special Ops," I offered cautiously.

Alexander's scowl deepened.

"And you think that gives him the right to disrupt my training session? To challenge the authority of my squad?"

I bit my lip, contemplating my response. How do I make him understand without making things worse?

"He's persistent, but it doesn't mean he disrespects you or your squad. He sees potential, that's all," I tried to reason, trying to choose my words wisely.

Alexander's eyes bore into mine, searching for sincerity. "Potential or not, this isn't the way to go about it. We have rules, and he can't just waltz in and disregard them."

"Just trust Erwin. He knows what he's doing." I said trying to calm his nerves.

The room hung heavy with tension, a suffocating silence enveloping us. I turned to face Alexander, uncertainty clawing at my insides. His gaze, cold and unforgiving, pierced through me like a blade. The air was filled with unspoken words, and I felt my stomach plummet into an abyss of dread.

Before I could comprehend the storm about to erupt, my body stumbled backward, colliding with the sturdy desk behind me. Panic surged as I braced myself, my trembling hands reaching out to steady the chaos within me. The echo of the impending storm reverberated through the room, drowning out any semblance of peace.

A sharp contact against the right side of my face sent shockwaves through my senses. I winced, instinctively cradling the stinging pain. The heavy breathing in the room intertwined with the shiver that ran down my spine. The sting of tears welled up, soothing the physical ache but doing nothing to quell the storm raging within.

"Who do you think you are?"

Alexander's voice cut through the silence, each word a lash against my already battered composure. He advanced, a looming presence that seized control of the room. His hand found a fistful of my hair, yanking me mercilessly closer to him. I bit back a cry, my eyes locked with his, a silent plea for mercy.

"Do you think I'm fucking dumb?"

His words lashed out like a whip, each syllable seething with anger. His grip on the back of my head tightened, and I felt the world tilt under the force of his rage.

"Answer me."

His demand hung in the air, a command that brooked no disobedience. I swallowed hard, my voice a fragile whisper in the charged atmosphere.

"No."

The tears streamed down, tracing a path of despair on my cheeks. His eyes bore into the raw vulnerability laid bare before him. My body was locked in the vice of his anger, and I braced myself for the tumultuous storm. His words sliced through the room, anger boiling beneath the surface.

"Tell that captain of yours to stay the fuck away from our squad."

Another demand hung in the air, a venomous command that echoed in the silence. I nodded, a silent acknowledgment, but it was never enough. His fist collided with my face, a burst of pain and frustration.

"When I ask you something, you answer. Got it?" His voice was a relentless storm, demanding compliance.

"Yes," I whispered, the word hanging in the charged atmosphere.

"Do you understand what's going to happen if you don't listen to me?" His question sent shivers down my spine, and my voice trembled as I replied,

"Yes."

The weight of his expectations bore down on me, and I felt the vulnerability in my compliance.

"Good. Now come here," he said, lifting me off the floor and holding me close. His touch was a paradox of comfort and pain, his hand gentle in my hair as he cradled me. I felt his lips press against the very spot his fist had struck moments ago.

"Please listen, Iris. I do this because I love you." His words were a desperate plea, a conflicted confession that hung in the air. He squeezed me one last time before releasing his hold, his departure leaving an emptiness in the room. He didn't look back, and the silence that followed echoed with the weight of unspoken struggles. I was left standing, all alone in the dark training room while the day still passed on.

It wasn't the first time he hit me.

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Authors Note:

Abuse is never to be romanticized. This is to spread awareness and help others cope in different outlets. You are not alone.

For more help:

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233

Text START to 88788

You are not alone.

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[anti-terf-posts]

In shadows deep, her words take flight,

Ashley's grace, a gentle sight.

With pen in hand, she weaves her tale,

A whispered verse, beyond the pale.

In worlds of ink, her soul unfurls,

A delicate dance, amidst the swirls.

With every line, a glimpse revealed,

Of secrets kept, and hearts concealed.

Oh, Ashley fair, with eyes so bright,

In darkness found, a guiding light.

Through pages turned, her essence blooms,

In poetry's embrace, she finds her room.

(give your criticism >:3)

I'm not that familiar with poetry, so to me this is literal ART. (but again I don't know much about poetry so I'm not good with criticism)

keep it up, my friend !!

[polaroid-petals]

🌿 Tangled in Dreams of Light and Shadow — Masterpost

This is a masterpost for my fics, artwork, and ideas in this verse. It will regularly be updated with artwork and new information. Last updated on the 1st of July 2024.

Stranger merely exists as a concept. A functional metaphor for the human conscience. A figment of the imagination, an allegory, a dream—call it what you will, he is not real. Since the day Blackspace spat him out as a clever visualisation of the Dreamer’s guilt, he has known more than anything that he is but a theoretical concept devised with a single goal. An existence he scarcely questions, for it is not within his nature to stray from his purpose. With Omori defeated, Basil is assigned to tending Headspace as its gardener groundskeeper. The Dreamer is rebuilding his dream to be more reflective of reality without being the escape it was meant to be. His purpose was met and the boy he serves may start his journey towards recovery, but when Stranger finds himself not only alive, but banished to the dark realm he was born from, he can’t help but wonder. Why did he persist? Why has the Dreamer allowed him to stay even after his work is done? And if he is nothing more than a theoretical concept, then why can he think? Why can he feel? Hurt? Love? What is he?

---

Tangled in Dreams of Light and Shadow is a Stranger-centric exploration of Omori's good ending, and what happens to headspace and its denizens after the final fight with Omori is over. 

Sunny’s creativity is far too pivotal to his identity to simply abandon the fantasy world he has been building for the past four years. Confession or not, his trauma cannot simply vanish overnight, and so neither will the two guides who have brought him to this point in his life. Not only does Omori persist after that final duet, but as a representation of Sunny's conscience and his still-to-be-resolved guilt, so does Stranger. And inexplicably, whenever the two are asleep at the same time, Basil's real-world consciousness seems to join Sunny's in his headspace dreams.

Central stands the philosophical question of what it means to exist, especially when one’s existence is intrinsically subjected to another’s fickle fantasy and nothing about one’s life is real—or should be real in the first place.

---

🌿 Characters

This story focuses on Stranger, Sunny, Omori, and Basil.

✷ Stranger

The dark star. The forgotten polaris. The admission of guilt, grievance, and conscience.

No creature on earth has had its path in life carved out more clearly than Stranger. Nameless and faceless, sculpted in approximation of someone who matters—yet never graced to be the one who does. When he finally achieves what he was made to do, the promised end to his miserable theoretical existence is ripped from his weary hands. Even when his final task as a jailer presents itself to him, he finds misery over success. An eternal anomaly, it’s a mystery why anything would ever be so cruel to allow him his existence, yet he persists. Even through exile. Even through death.

No man could ever hope to kill his conscience, but what difference does it make if it lies forgotten in nightmares with a reminder of what it once failed to do? Tormented by questions of purpose and fate, the bitter sting of being neglected and abandoned by his dearest Dreamer bites almost as venomously as the knowledge that he has regressed to his old ways that created the very being he now represses.

One day—if he dares uphold foolish optimism—the Dreamer might remember that there still lives an entity within the darkest recesses of his mind and offer an answer to the existential mystery of Stranger’s sapient nature. 

And if not, Stranger may have to reclaim his role as an unwanted guest in this sickeningly perfect dream.

☼ Sunny

The Dreamer. The wayward lamb. The eternal sun that has blown life into this flourishing world.

Sunny may have forgiven himself and faced the truth, but that doesn't mean that he stops dreaming. All the work that was put into headspace, all these colourful characters and whimsical worlds—he simply can't abandon such a formative creative project, even if it is rooted in a foul darkness. The emotional damage would far outweigh any benefit.

As he navigates his new life in the city, his dreams remain a sanctuary for him to take refuge in. Headspace is disjointed, but his renewed interactions with his friends and his endeavours in therapy help make way for a more mature dream that means to explore his psyche rather than suppress it.

Like he has in the past, blackspace and its denizens were pushed out of headspace, this time not to suppress but to organise for cleanup "when he is ready". He has not been ready for some time, and people are starting to notice. If he wants to get better and avoid falling back into old habits, he will have to unchain his nightmares eventually and find a way to live with them in harmony.

It's a question of whether he's prepared to continue facing himself and learning during this arduous journey.

☾ Omori

The misguiding shepherd. The domineering puppet. The guardian who broke his vow to attain his god-given goal.

Omori was once meant to be a protector—and when he carried out his role with so much precision that it nearly ended his ward, he was instead vanquished and removed from his precious Dreamer’s vicinity. But as Sunny’s trauma cannot vanish overnight, neither could Omori, no matter how deep the coils of the nightmare they tangle him up into may be.

Just as the Dreamer will always dream, Omori will always find his way back to him, regardless of how well he is imprisoned. He does not meet the scorn he expects and is instead extended a hand. In this new world, separate from the Dreamer yet able to follow in his footsteps, Omori is more than a little lost. After having spent so long constantly wary, tasked with maintaining and repairing a volatile dream under constant attack by monsters, this second chance in the form of retirement has him more on edge than it soothes him.

Though he was once the embodiment of a child’s trauma, his physique seems to have begun to change as the Dreamer works through his issues. Stunted as he may be compared to his original, he appears older and wiser with each passing day. He maintains that the Dreamer made a mistake and that he is in grave danger, but everything he learns about his new life seems to contradict his worldview. He is no longer the carapace of that scared little kid who needed someone to keep him safe, now his own person. Worse, he seems weaker, burdened with the harrowing effects of his own post-trauma and his newfound human emotions that torment him every chance they get.

A warden cannot operate without an endangered ward, so Omori may seek out new threats elsewhere when none present themselves.

☘︎ Basil

The flower boy. The tender gardener. The one whose eyes once glowed an eerie red.

From the moment he guided Sunny home and gave him his blessing to tell their friends the truth, it was evident that his bond with his best friend ran deeper than was apparent on the surface. Their joined coma may have been the first time they dreamed together, but it would be far from the last. More and more frequently, Basil finds himself inhabiting a colourful scape when he goes to sleep, and no one can quite explain why or how.

That hasn’t gotten him out of the bad spot he’s been left at since he gouged out Sunny’s eye and drove his shears into his abdomen. Having faced not only the fallout of Mari’s death, but also the aftermath of Sunny’s confession head-on, it will take time for him to come to terms with his actions. Unlike Sunny, he hasn’t managed to forgive himself, and the journey towards accepting his past may be tough. He’s older and wiser now as he navigates his trauma and recovery with Sunny, but that doesn’t change how much he has suffered during those four years.

Still, as the one who chose reality over fantasy, Basil has been given a curative role in headspace. He tends to Sunny’s dream, ensuring that he can’t use it for the wrong purposes again and that he uses it to support his life in the waking world, not avoid it. He has met some odd versions of people he knows, including his own, and this dreamscape is quite puzzling, if not downright terrifying—but he must have been given this opportunity for a reason.

If he supports his friend on his journey towards recovery, maybe that can serve as the atonement he needs to finally redeem himself.

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🌿 Relationships

All of the main four have ties to the others, be they platonic, romantic, or the blazing embers of hostility from whose cinders may yet flourish new bonds. 

The relationship between Sunny and Stranger as creator and creation stands central. The main romantic relationships are Nightshade (Stranger/Omori) and to a lesser degree Sunflower (Sunny/Basil).

This section will be gradually updated as each dynamic gets its art and story

Omori & Stranger

Linked fic — Brittle

To an outsider, one might consider that there is very little love between Omori and Stranger. Gestures and words that mimic love, perhaps, but no actual love. 

Whether what they have is sane or lovely matters very little to either. Despite having once been adversaries, Stranger and Omori are two sides of the same coin, and they were always going to drift together eventually. Even if they still clash frequently. Even if their relationship is more than volatile.

They may not share a traditional relationship, but they treasure what is there. It matters very little how others judge their bond.

Stranger → Omori

Stranger has never hated Omori. He’s been frustrated by him, and he has on many occasions wanted to wring his neck and torment him until he’d let go of the Dreamer. He has faced him as a vessel and eventually an antagonist, yes, but within that complex matrix of feelings he holds for him, hatred has never been one. 

The truth is that Stranger quite adores Omori and can’t help but to dote on him, no matter how often his efforts get rejected.

It has never been Stranger’s purpose to hold feelings or opinions, yet Omori was the first to make him understand that perhaps he came with a defect. His grievances, his fury at the Dreamer, and his desire to see him rise above his weaknesses only ever served to attain his goal. But not what he feels for Omori. It seems to serve no purpose, and yet his soft spot for Omori has been visible from day one.

Stranger’s intrinsic love for the Dreamer seems to have carried over to Omori, but their unique bond’s effect is that Stranger has fallen for him despite all the hard-to-love parts of Omori. And in the end, Stranger is his own person. He has chosen to embrace these feelings as his own, not some disembodied copy foreign to himself.

Their relationship is rocky, in part due to Omori’s purpose, in part due to their past, but being given another chance in headspace has offered them the room to grow closer. You could even say that Stranger is happy with Omori.

Omori → Stranger

To say that Omori hates Stranger is an understatement. To say that Omori loves Stranger is an equal understatement.

Stranger is a conundrum that frustrates Omori. He doesn’t make sense. Omori’s feelings about him don’t make sense. One moment he’s smug that he’s left behind in blackspace, the next he’s crawling through nightmare guck because he’s worried about him. When did he become so weak?

Maybe it has to do with his shifting age, or maybe he deals with Stranger differently now that the threat is gone. Whatever happened, Omori isn't so sure if he's happy with this change.

But he can’t deny that when he lets Stranger in, his life is better. Despite having once been staunch enemies and Stranger having led the Dreamer to his doom, Omori can’t deny that the outcome of closing the distance between them isn’t so bad. So long as Stranger keeps the affection that Omori is very well entitled to coming.

Might still claw out Stranger’s eyes.

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🌿 Links

AO3 series

Brittle (Omori & Stranger)

[labyrinthhofmymind]

a snippet of chapter 4 of ‘Don’t Forget Me’ by labyrinth_ofmymind!

The house seemed so much lighter back then with Marlene in it. Everything did.

“Sweetie… Are you ok?” Mary can suddenly hear the voice of her mother, who is guiding Mary to sit on the side of her bed. She turns around, having just gotten dressed, and realises she has tears trickling down her face.

“Oh baby.” She says, and it seems that’s all it takes before Mary starts to cry even more. Her mother takes her in her arms, giving Mary the perfect place to just break down and sob hysterically. She cries and she cries, and it hurts like hell, because she hasn’t cried like this since Marlene died. Hell, she hasn’t cried, period, since Marlene died. She doesn’t know why this managed to be her tipping point, but it is, and it feels so horrible and yet so good at the same time.

Mary cries and cries, and at some point she makes it over to the bed, lying on her side and clutching onto her mother for dear life, like she’s going to leave. Like she’s going to leave just like everyone else.

Mary cries and cries, her throat so incredibly sore and her lungs tiring out, causing her to choke and splutter into the pillow. It’s so hard to breathe and the tears keep pouring and Mary has never felt so exhausted and terrified in her life. There’s this hollowness to her chest, a deep shooting pain through every single cell and blood vessel, and she’s convinced that in this moment, she really is dying.

Mary cries and cries, and her mother’s voice becomes muffled, and Mary’s vision becomes clouded with her tears, and she’s hyperventilating and crying out for help, and nothing feels ok. Mary is not ok.

Mary cries and cries, and she thinks about how Marlene was here last time, and now she’s not, and Mary can’t see her anymore, can’t hold her, can’t touch her, can’t talk to her, can’t feel what it’s like to be in her presence. And that hurts more than anything. Marlene is gone, she’s never coming back, and yet Mary struggles to fully grasp that concept in her head. Because Marlene’s always been there, ever since they met in their first year at Hogwarts. She’s been there for every birthday, every major event in Mary’s life. She’s been by her side through all the ugly and the dark, and she’s always been there through all the good and the light. She’s been there, and now Mary doesn’t know how to live when Marlene isn’t by her side living with her.

Mary cries and cries, and she remembers the way Sirius would make her laugh and smile when no one else could, the way he would crack jokes and make light of situations like it was a gift only he could possess. She remembers Peter and how they would help each other with their Astronomy homework because it was always a weak spot for the both of them, they never could seem to grasp the concept of all the different constellations and what they meant.

Mary cries and cries, and she remembers when she first met Dorcas in third year, when the Gryffindors were versing the Slytherins, and the Gryffindors lost but Dorcas went up to James and Marlene and purposely congratulated on a game well played. She remembers Dorcas then just slotting into their friendship group after that, like there was always a place left specifically for her, even though she faced so much hate from the Slytherins for fraternising with Gryffindors. She remembers dancing with Dorcas at parties and finding out that girls could like girls and boys, and that you didn’t just have to pick one or the other.

Mary cries and cries, and she remembers the countless times she sat on the Quidditch Pitch with Marlene and James after hours, as well as all the times James would ask Mary for advice on how to get into Lily’s good graces. She remembers James’ smile and his kindness, and how out of all the marauders, he was the one who she never fought with. Because really, it’s impossible to fight with James.

Mary cries and cries, and she remembers Lily, sweet, beautiful Lily, and how desperately she wanted to be a mother. How she had her wedding completely planned out by the age of eleven, but gave that all up at the age of eighteen just so she could marry James in the middle of a war. How she cried to Mary when she found out she was pregnant, not because she didn’t want the baby, but because she was scared she would mess it all up like she messed up her relationship with her sister, Petunia. She remembers her hugs, and her laugh, and her smile, and her love. Her love. Her love. Her love. Because to be loved by Lily was the biggest and most special gift one could get.

Mary cries and cries, until she can’t cry anymore. She holds onto her mother the whole time, grateful that she’s here but also guilty wishing that she had more. It’s a horrible thought, one that just makes her cry even more, but it’s there, and she finds that it never really goes away.

Mary cries and cries, and all of her painful thoughts persist, until eventually, she drifts off to sleep.

It’s the first time in over two months that Mary doesn’t dream.

brb gonna go sob this is probably the saddest thing i’ve ever wrote

[alexandra-scribbles]

So I was listening to Taylor Swift as one does when the song Castles Crumbling came on and I think that once I said that it was a Maedhros coded song… and I was very wrong. Upon listening to it several times in a row I’ve realized that song is entirely about Feanor (if he were to get a 150k words redemption arc in a fully developed fic and not my scrambled thoughts)

Like, lets dissect the song

First verse:

Once, I had an empire in a golden age

I was held up so high, I used to be great

They used to cheer when they saw my face

Now, I fear I have fallen from grace

Like, Feanor was born at the height of Aman, peaceful tree light bathed paradise where nothing went wrong and was actually the beloved prince of his people, referred to as the greatest of the elves and he basically free fell from grace without a parachute.

The chorus:

And I feel like my castle's crumbling down

And I watch all my bridges burn to the ground

And you don't want to know me

I will just let you down

You don't wanna know me now

I am pretty sure that Formenos was destroyed by Morgoth and that was a physical castle crumbling but like, Feanor’s metaphorical castle crumbled too. And he did burn all of his bridges, with his half-siblings, the vanyar, the teleri, the valar, the mayority of the Noldor. My main man was burning everything in his path including his son sorry Telvo so we can asume that he also let a lot of people down in his path.

The second verse:

Once, I was the great hope for a dynasty

Crowds would hang on my words, and they trusted me

Their faith was strong, but I pushed it too far

I held that grudge 'til it tore me apart

Power went to my head, and I couldn't stop

Ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off

And here I sit alone, behind walls of regret

Falling down like promises that I never kept

This kills me, because he was supposed to be the guiding light of the Noldor, the flame imperishable come alive, and it is also known that Feanor was a great orator and could command crowds and that people followed him out of devotion and like he pushed it was past too far with the Kinslaying.

The grudge part, we all know who it would refer to. He disliked and mistrusted his half siblings so much that it was one of the main causes of his defeat. He thought that with his host and his anger he’d be able to destroy Morgoth and get back his Silmarils.

And he certainly ran his siblings off (and Maedhros too to a degree) when they tried to help and he ended up alone somewhere in Mandos never to be able to return to the world.

He also broke his promise to Nolofinwe so…

The bridge:

My foes and friends watch my reign end

I don't know how it could've ended this way

Smoke billows from my ships in the harbor

People look at me like I'm a monster

Now they're screaming at the palace front gates, used to chant my name

Now they're screaming that they hate me

Never wanted you to hate me

The first line speaks for itself, everyone who was there watched how Feanor died and im sure even he was surprised by it.

Then the line that screams Feanor… who’s ships are burning? People being horrified by the ships burning? That checks out.

People that once used to if not love, respect Feanor, now openly hating him and scorning everything to do with him….

… and perhaps, if Arda hadn’t been marred as it was… perhaps no one would have hated him.

So… yeah, thats about it. If you’ve read this far, thank you. Now please go listen to the song and think about our favorite extra crispy Noldor king.