#shadow will be done … soon! idk!

[allimili]

Finale.

"You did good, Pure Vanilla cookie.."

extra

and also TW for those with a weak heart. I crode

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"I'm sorry for what...me and my friends had done. Also, please keep them safe..."

[soukeyed]

✌️✌️

[elikajinnie]

Shadowed Desires - S.J

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Jake X Survivor!Reader (recommended age 17+)

Warnings: Murder, Obsession, Touchy & Needy Behaviour, Blood/Injury, touch starved jake lol.

Synopsis: A new killer is made of darkness—and now he has his eyes set on you, and he wants to swallow you whole, pulling you to him. After all, darkness always consumes what it wants, leaving nothing but emptiness behind. And soon, you’ll be lost to it.

a/n: finally done with this series :3 i kinda dont like this? idk.. maybe ill delete it.

heeseungs vers sunghoon vers jay vers

--

Ever since the Entity dragged you into its twisted realm, you’d never really had the time—or the chance—to initiate much of anything with the other survivors. There wasn’t room for hugs, no moments for cuddling, and certainly no stolen kisses. Not that you had any romantic connections with any of them, but even something as simple as touch felt like a forgotten luxury.

And the killers? That was out of the question. They were designed to hurt you, to hunt you, to bring pain and death for the Entity’s satisfaction. Over and over, you’d all return to the camp after each trial, alive and unscathed. Unharmed physically, sure, but it all felt meaningless. Same routines. Same outcomes. Same exhausting loop.

Time didn’t matter here. Physical affection didn’t matter. Your feelings? They mattered least of all. Everything was irrelevant in this place. The same cycle, over and over and over again.

It was tiring, to be honest—so quiet yet so endlessly exhausting.

The only reprieve you ever got from the monotony was when a new survivor or killer arrived. For a fleeting moment, it felt like something had shifted, like maybe this new presence could disrupt the cycle. But it never lasted.

The new survivor always followed the same pattern. At first, they’d be terrified, trembling and frantic, trying to grasp the horror of what they’d been thrown into. You’d try to comfort them, maybe offer some kind words, but even that felt hollow. In time, they’d come to understand—just like you had—that there was no escape. Their fear would dull into resignation, their hope smothered by the truth of the Entity’s realm.

As for the killers, they brought a brief curiosity. The camp would buzz with whispered speculations about their abilities, their quirks, their story. But after a few trials, it was always the same. They were there for one purpose: to hunt, to kill, to please the Entity. The only “excitement” they brought was in figuring out how their power worked, what perks they wielded, and how best to survive their hunt. Once that was done, they became just another part of the endless cycle.

Even the killers, as terrifying as they were, eventually became predictable. A face you’d recognize in the fog. A pattern of movement. A strategy you’d seen a hundred times before.

And so, the moments of change you’d cling to at first inevitably folded back into the same unending routine. Nothing really changed here. Not the faces, not the feelings, not the futility of it all. It was a crushing realization every time: no matter who arrived, no matter what was added, this place was always the same.

So you could never expect it to actually change. Change wasn’t something the Entity offered much of. It wasn’t what it thrived on. Yet, on that trial, something did.

It started out the same as always. You were sitting by the fire, exchanging a conversation with Nancy. Then the fog crept in, curling at the edges of your vision, and you were called into a trial. Business as usual. You didn’t expect anything different. Why would you?

But as soon as you dropped into the trial, you knew something was off.

The air was cold, biting at your skin like needles. The ground beneath your feet was hard and uneven made of ancient stone and disturbed earth. The faint sound of whispers filled the air, just on the edge of hearing, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. You turned, scanning your surroundings, and realized you were in a catacomb.

But this wasn’t the Plague’s temple catacombs, with their decaying walls and pools of disease. This was something… different.

The walls were lined with endless rows of forgotten graves, the cracked stone engraved with faded names you couldn’t read. Shadowy tendrils slithered along the edges of the halls, moving unnaturally, almost as if they were alive. You froze as one of them stretched toward you, curling in the air like it was reaching, calling.

Yeah, no, this wasn’t just a new map—it was something entirely foreign.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you began to move, navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the catacomb. The silence here wasn’t the usual quiet; it was alive, buzzing with whispers and the faint scraping of unseen movements. Every step you took echoed, the sound bouncing off the cracked walls around you.

You passed by what might have been burial chambers long ago, their occupants disturbed and forgotten. The floor was littered with debris—shattered stone, splintered wood, and dried remnants of things you didn’t want to name. You kept moving, your eyes darting for the faintest glimmer of light or safety, but all you found were more hallways, more graves, and the ever-present shadows, shifting as if they were watching your every move.

Something about this place felt wrong, even by the Entity’s standards.

You eventually found your way out of the endless labyrinth of tunnels and into a larger chamber. The ceiling loomed high above you, shrouded in darkness so thick it seemed to swallow the dim, flickering light of the torches lining the walls. At the center of the room was an altar, its surface cracked and weathered with age. Surrounding it were pools of… shadows?

They didn’t look like water or any other liquid you’d seen before. They rippled and shifted, alive with an unnatural energy that made your skin crawl. Occasionally, tendrils of darkness stretched out from the pools, writhing as if searching for something.

You approached cautiously, your footsteps hesitant and quiet, unwilling to draw attention to yourself. The shadows seemed to pulse in time with your movements, almost as if they were aware of you. You stopped a few feet away from the altar, your breath catching in your throat.

This map relied solely on shadows—that much was clear. The tendrils, the pools, even the way the hallways seemed to twist and shift in the dark—it all pointed to one thing.

If your theory was right, this possible new killer worked through these shadows.

Your heart pounded as you tried to piece it together. What could their power be? Could they travel through the shadows? Use them to attack from a distance? Or maybe they could manipulate the darkness to obscure your vision, making it impossible to see them coming.

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

A sudden movement to your left made you freeze. One of the shadowy tendrils shot out from a nearby pool, lashing toward the ground before retreating. You took a step back, your instincts screaming at you to run.

But just then you heard it—a low, guttural sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It wasn’t quite a growl, nor was it a voice. It was something in between, echoing from the shadows themselves.

You looked around, confused, your heart pounding in your chest as the low sound faded into the shadows. Suddenly, a scream tore through the silence, sharp and gut-wrenching, and it was close—too close. You barely had time to react before David bolted down the hallway in front of you, clutching his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.

Your eyes widened as something sharp whizzed past him. Then another, and another. Shurikens? You blinked, trying to process what you were seeing. Shurikens weren’t part of any killer’s arsenal you’d ever faced.

Oh no.

Your stomach sank as a shadow suddenly surged down the hallway after David, swift and silent, like it was gliding through the air. Then, abruptly, the figure halted, the movement unnatural, as if the darkness itself commanded it to stop. And it did—right in front of you.

You froze.

The figure loomed in the dim light, draped in a tattered cloak that billowed as if caught in a phantom wind. The hood obscured its face, leaving you to stare at the faint, shifting tendrils of shadows that coiled around its form. It didn’t seem to touch the ground, its entire body hovering just slightly above it, giving it an almost otherworldly presence.

And then it turned.

The motion was smooth, almost too calm. The killer’s body shifted toward you, and with a deliberate motion, they raised their hands and pulled back the hood.

You gasped.

The killer was… handsome. Not in the way that made you feel safe—far from it. There was something dangerous to his features, the curve of his lips, the way his black, curly hair framed his face. His dark eyes seemed to bore into you, unreadable and endless, as if the shadows themselves were staring back at you.

And the shadows—they clung to him, crawling over his form like a living entity, their movements fluid. It was like he wasn’t just using the darkness; he was the darkness.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. The way he tilted his head, the faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips—it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. His eyes burned with a confidence, as if he already knew how this chase would end.

You didn’t wait to find out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, adrenaline surging as you turned and sprinted down the nearest hallway. The air seemed heavier, as you weaved through the twisting corridors, the faint whispers around you rising to an almost deafening hum.

Behind you, you could hear him. His movements were unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional sound of something cutting through the air—shurikens.

The first one hit the wall to your right, chipping the stone. Another whizzed past your shoulder, so close you could feel the sharp breeze as it sailed by.

“Shit,” you hissed under your breath, ducking as another one flew, this time grazing your arm. The sting was immediate, sharp and hot, but you couldn’t stop.

You rounded a corner, your heart pounding in your chest, only to find yourself in yet another dimly lit hallway. The shadows seemed to thicken here, almost as if they were conspiring with the killer to slow you down. You felt another shuriken hit, this one embedding itself into your side. Pain flared, and you stumbled, but you caught yourself against the wall and kept moving.

The whispers seemed to echo his movements, warning you of his approach—or maybe taunting you. You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

You spotted a doorway ahead, partially obscured by hanging tendrils of shadow. Without thinking, you dove through it, emerging into a larger chamber filled with more of those rippling pools of darkness. You hesitated for half a second, scanning the room for a way out, but the faint sound behind you pushed you forward.

Your breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps as you darted toward another hallway, the pain in your side making every movement harder. Still, you couldn’t stop—not with him so close.

And then, just as you thought you might have gained some distance, the whispers around you changed, their tone shifting to something more urgent. You glanced over your shoulder and saw him again, emerging from the shadows as if they had carried him forward.

Your chest heaved, each breath burning as you pushed your body. The pain in your side was relentless, but you couldn’t stop. Not with him so close. The whispers grew louder, their eerie tones twisting in your ears like warnings—or mockery.

Then, just ahead, you saw movement. Another survivor.

It was Meg. She was crouched near a wall, her eyes scanning the hallway with the practiced vigilance of someone who had done this a thousand times before. When she spotted you barreling toward her, her expression shifted from confusion to alarm.

You skidded to a stop beside her, clutching your side, and for a brief moment, the two of you just stared at each other.

Then her gaze shifted behind you, and her eyes widened.

You didn’t need to turn around to know what she saw. You could feel him behind you. Slowly, you turned your head, eyes locking on the figure now standing at the end of the hallway.

The killer didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. Instead, he tilted his head again, his eyes darted between the two of you. Shadows coiled at his feet, slithering across the ground like living things, eager to obey his command.

Meg let out a low, shaky breath. “Great. A new one.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, gripping your side as you tried to steady your breathing.

For a moment, the three of you stood there, the tension suffocating. The killer took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes narrowing as his hand dipped into the shadows, drawing out another shuriken.

“Run?” you suggested, your voice tight with fear.

Meg nodded. “Run.”

Without another word, you both bolted in opposite directions, hoping to split his attention. The sound of the whispers surged again, almost laughing as the chase began anew.

The sound of pounding footsteps faded, and the whispering shadows seemed to hold their breath, the air still for a moment. You paused, chest heaving, your mind racing as you took a quick glance over your shoulder. The hallway was empty now, the killer’s presence a lingering weight in the air.

You didn’t hear Meg’s scream, but you knew—he had gone after her. She’d made the right call, though, splitting the attention. That gave you a fleeting moment of silence.

You took a cautious step forward, listening intently for any sounds—footsteps, whispers, anything—but there was nothing. Not yet, at least. The only thing you could hear was your own breath, ragged and desperate.

You turned down another hallway and spotted it in the distance: the soft, flickering light of a generator.

You approached cautiously, glancing around, but there was no sign of the killer. The shadows were quiet, as though they were waiting for the next move, for the next victim.

You kneeled beside the generator, fingers trembling as you placed them on the rusted panels. Slowly, you began to turn the wheel, starting the repair. Every sound felt amplified—the grinding of the metal, the slight whir of the mechanism turning on. You glanced up every few seconds, just in case, but the silence continued to stretch on.

You kept working, the dull hum of the generator filling the space. The weight of the shadows seemed to recede for now, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. You had to finish the repair.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you twisted the dials, forcing your hands to move quickly despite the sting of your injuries. You could feel the tension rising again, the unease gnawing at your gut. Would the killer come back for you next? Would Meg be okay?

The repair progress bar finally clicked, the generator sputtering to life with a low rumble. You breathed a small sigh of relief, your pulse still racing. One down.

But the moment of peace was fleeting. The whispers had started again—soft, but unmistakable. And then you heard it. A sound far too familiar.

The soft clink of a shuriken spinning through the air.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze by the sharp sound of something slicing through the air. You didn’t even need to turn around to know what it was.

The shuriken flew past you with a deadly precision, missing your side by mere inches, the breeze it created a chilling reminder of the danger.

Without wasting a second, you pushed yourself up, your body reacting instinctively. You didn’t wait to see if another one was coming—you ran.

You sprinted down the hallway, the shadows closing in around you as the whispers grew louder, more urgent. Every step echoed in the narrow, darkened corridor, and you swore you could almost hear him moving with you, just behind, just out of sight.

A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the faint silhouette of him slipping through the darkness, the shadows swarming around his feet like tendrils, moving in perfect unison with him.

You took a sharp turn, heading toward another corridor, hoping to throw him off. Another shuriken whizzed by, the sound sharp and deadly as it embedded itself in the wall just inches from your face.

You didn’t stop.

You could hear him now—closer, his breath, heavy and echoing in the quiet between the whispers, and the realization hit you hard: you had no choice but to outrun him. And somehow, you had to survive long enough to make it out.

But you couldn’t keep running. Not anymore.

The shurikens hit you, one after another, each strike sharp and unforgiving. Pain bloomed in your side, your leg, your shoulder—each wound adding to the weight of exhaustion dragging you down. You stumbled, your legs failing to keep up with your frantic pace, and then, with a sickening lurch, you fell to the ground.

You groaned, struggling to push yourself up, but the world spun and your vision blurred. The cold, dark floor beneath you felt unyielding as you fought to regain your bearings, only for a shadow to loom over you.

You turned your head, half expecting him to pick you up and toss you over his shoulder like you were nothing, to drag you away to whatever horrific fate awaited you.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, hovering, his dark eyes studying you as you laid on the cold floor. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, something shifted.

The shadowy tendrils that seemed to be an extension of him reached out, their touch as cold as ice. They wrapped around you with an unnatural strength, pulling you toward him with surprising force.

You gasped as your back collided with his chest, the sudden closeness making your heart race even faster.

His breath was warm against your neck, a wide contrast to the cold tendrils that still clung to you.

Then you heard it.

A sharp, quiet gasp from behind you.

You turned your head to see the killer, his gaze fixed on you with something… different. Shock? Confusion?

And then, almost to himself, he muttered, “How can I touch you?”

The words hung in the air, confusing you further. What was he talking about?

Before you could react, you felt his arms wrap around you—no, not his arms, but something else. Something... different. His arms seemed translucent, like they were made of smoke or mist, flickering in and out of existence as they moved around your body.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the realization sank in—his arms weren’t fully there. They looked see-through, like they didn’t belong to a solid, tangible person at all.

The killer, too, seemed shocked. His eyes widened, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite read. His arms—ghostly, ethereal—were now fully wrapped around you, but when his skin made contact with yours, it felt… strange.

His gasp was barely audible, but it was there, a breathless sound that caught in his throat. For a moment, neither of you moved.

You could feel the heat of his body against yours, yet his touch felt distant—disconnected, like he was struggling to truly reach you.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the killer suddenly moved with startling speed, twirling you around so that you were now facing him. Your breath caught in your throat as you found yourself pressed against his chest, his arms locking around you in a firm hold.

You tried to push against him, to break free, but his grip was unyielding, making it impossible to move. He held you there, his face mere inches from yours, his eyes wide with something that looked like desperation and something about it that made you feel uneasy, yet… compelled to stay. His gaze roamed over your face, his breath quick and shallow as he muttered to himself.

"How is this possible?" His voice was barely a whisper, thick with confusion and awe. His fingers gently traced along your arm, but the touch felt as though his skin were made of mist, like he couldn’t fully reach you. Still, he continued, more to himself than you, his words tumbling out in a frantic murmur.

"How are you… different?"

You couldn’t take it any longer. His behavior was maddening, and your own confusion and fear were bubbling over. You snapped, your voice cutting through the tense silence.

"What do you mean?"

The killer’s eyes flickered to yours, a brief flash of hesitation before he answered, the words tumbling out as if he hadn’t meant to speak them at all.

“I can’t touch any of the survivors,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were ashamed of the admission. “Or any of the other killers. I go right through them… like i’m nothing but air. But with you…” He trailed off, staring at you as if trying to make sense of the impossible.

With you… you felt a chill run down your spine as his words sank in. He could actually hold you. He wasn’t phasing through you like he had with everyone else.

"Why?" His voice was barely above a whisper, a tremor of disbelief in it. "Why can I touch you?"

The weight of the question hung in the air between you, leaving a profound silence in its wake. You wanted to say something, anything, but you found yourself at a loss for words. How could you even begin to understand what was happening? How could he be so confounded by his own existence?

Before you could process what he had just said, something shifted in his demeanor. His tense body seemed to perk up, a sudden awareness flashing in his eyes. You followed his gaze, confused, only to hear it—soft at first, then steadily growing louder—the hum of a completed generator in the distance.

The killer’s eyes flickered toward you for a brief moment, a look of determination flashing in his gaze. Then, without warning, he released you from his hold, but his hands didn’t leave you completely. He tugged you toward the shadows with surprising force, and before you could react, he whispered under his breath, barely audible over the whispering darkness.

“I’ll be back for you.”

His voice was intense, almost pleading, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend the gravity of the words himself. Then, in one swift motion, the shadows on the wall seemed to come to life, curling and twisting, reaching for you like a living entity.

And just like that, the shadows wrapped around you, pulling you in with terrifying force.

You gasped, trying to scream or fight back, but it was useless. The shadows enveloped you entirely, suffocating your every movement. You couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, and before you could make sense of what was happening you were no longer standing on solid ground. Your body was floating, suspended in the air. There was no floor beneath you, no walls to guide you. The space around you was entirely dark, a suffocating blackness that seemed to stretch on forever.

You could feel the cold tendrils of the shadows curling around you, clinging to your body, holding you in place as whispers and giggles echoed all around you. The voices were indistinct at first, but they grew clearer, their tones twisted, mocking, and strangely gleeful. It was as if the shadows themselves were alive, sentient, and they were toying with you.

You felt your heart race, your chest tightening as panic set in. You could move, but only slightly, your body caught in the strange limbo.

You struggled, trying to break free, but the shadows only tightened their hold, their tendrils wrapping around you like chains, keeping you suspended in this endless dark void. And all the while, you could sense it—the presence of the killer, somewhere in the distance, maybe watching, maybe waiting.

He’d said he’d be back for you. But what would happen when he returned?

Time seemed to stretch in the endless void, your body suspended and held by the unyielding shadows. The whispers and giggles continued to swirl around you, but the longer you hung there, the more you became accustomed to the presence, as unsettling as it was. Still, you couldn’t shake the sense of anticipation—the knowing that eventually, he would return.

And when he did, you felt it before you saw him.

The shadows that had once clung to you so tightly and suffocating suddenly slackened. You were no longer held by their chilling tendrils; instead, you felt a warm presence behind you. It was as if his body had materialized from the darkness itself, his form pressing against you, pulling you close.

His arms were solid now, no longer transparent like before, and his breath was shallow as he held you, his touch so much more real than anything you had felt in what seemed like an eternity. The weight of his body against yours, the heat from his chest, the steadiness of his breath as he looked at you…

For a moment, neither of you moved, just breathing, existing in that shared space. His eyes, dark and wide, locked onto yours with such intensity that it almost felt like he could see into you, as though he understood you in a way no one else ever had.

He caressed your skin gently, his fingers trailing along your arm and then your face, as if memorizing every inch of you. His touch was tender as if he were afraid to break something fragile—something precious.

You didn’t know if it was the long and lonely time you spent, the isolation and fear that had dulled your senses, or if it was simply him, but you didn’t resist. There was something about the way he looked at you, something about the way he touched you, that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in so long.

His fingers ghosted over your lips, brushing them softly before trailing down your neck, his gaze following every movement with rapt attention. His touch was unlike anything you had ever known—careful, intimate, as if you were something he couldn’t let slip away.

No one had ever looked at you like he did. No one had ever touched you with this kind of gentleness. And no one had ever whispered to you the way he was now, words so soft and soothing, it was almost as if he was trying to comfort you.

“You’re real,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and something else you couldn’t quite place. His lips brushed your ear as he continued, “You’re not like them.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing your anxieties, even as they left you with more questions. You wanted to ask, to demand answers, but somehow, in that moment, all you could do was let him continue, to feel the care in his touch and the sincerity in his gaze.

For a fleeting moment, you were no longer a survivor, no longer someone just trying to escape. You were something else, something he was willing to hold, to cherish in this twisted, dark world that seemed to offer nothing but pain.

And it was terrifying. Because you didn’t know what it meant. You didn’t know what was happening, what was real anymore.

But none of that mattered. Because in his arms, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time—a connection.

The moment stretched in the strange, suffocating stillness of the shadowy realm, but soon enough, the air around you shifted. The shadows that had clung to you like a second skin began to stir, moving in ways that made the atmosphere feel thick.

The killer’s eyes snapped toward the shadows, his expression darkening. He muttered something under his breath, something sharp and frustrated. A curse, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was enough to snap him into action.

Without warning, he pulled you with him, his strong arms gripping you firmly as he yanked both of you out of the shadows. The darkness that had enveloped you receded as you were dragged back onto solid ground, the familiar, grounding feeling of the catacombs’ floors beneath your feet.

Even as your feet touched the ground, he didn’t let go of you. His hold on you tightened, his body pressed close to yours, as if he feared you might slip away again. You glanced up at him in confusion, but he said nothing, simply continuing to walk, his pace steady, the urgency in his movements palpable.

His grip never wavered, and the shadows around you seemed to retreat, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your footsteps echoing through the silence of the map. You didn’t know where he was taking you, but you didn’t dare question it. Not now, not with the strange bond that seemed to have formed between you.

As you walked, you spotted something familiar in front of you. The hatch. You couldn’t quite believe it, but there it was, just ahead of you. The familiar shape, the light flickering from within—the hatch.

Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit you: You were somehow the last survivor left? How had that happened? When did that happen?

You looked at the hatch, then back at him, your mind racing with a thousand questions. The world seemed to freeze for a moment as your gazes locked. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes said it all—he was waiting.

Slowly, his hand moved to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that was almost unbearable in its intensity. His face was close now, and you could feel his breath against your lips as he leaned in, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips in a way that made your breath hitch.

He didn’t say anything at first, but then, in a voice so low and desperate, it sent a shiver through you, he muttered, “Please... don’t run from me next time.” His words were a plea, a aching cry from someone who didn’t seem to know what to do with the feelings he was experiencing.

You could only nod, stunned, still trying to process everything that had happened. The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, everything seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you.

Without another word, he brushed your hair away from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment too long, as if reluctant to let go. Then, as though he had made up his mind, he gently lowered you toward the hatch.

You felt the soft, unexpected drop, and before you knew it, you were tumbling through the entrance.

A wave of warmth washed over you as you fell, as your wounds and the scratches healed. The pain, the exhaustion, everything vanished, leaving you feeling as though you had never been touched by the chaos of the trials at all.

You landed softly, the familiar sight of the survivor camp filling your vision. The flickering of the campfires, the distant chatter of the others, the comfortable hum of life returning to normal…

But something had changed.

You had returned to the camp, yes, but not in the same way as before. Something about your connection with the killer lingered, something that couldn’t be undone, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. The shadows were still there, somewhere within you, calling to you.

--

It took a total of five trials before you found yourself back on his map. This time, however, something was different.

The moment you dropped into the trial, the shadows on the walls didn’t feel suffocating. No, this time, they seemed to welcome you. The familiar whispers that usually chilled your spine were replaced with something… lighter. Almost playful. Giggles danced around you like echoes in the distance, as if the shadows themselves were delighted by your arrival.

You looked around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The environment felt different, more open. You weren’t in the catacombs this time. Instead, you were standing in the center of an open chapel. The stone floor beneath you was cracked, worn by time, but the space itself felt strangely sacred.

Above you, the remnants of a collapsed dome hung precariously, the shattered stained-glass windows glinting in the dim light. The shards of glass were scattered across the floor like fractured pieces of a long-lost memory, reflecting faint flashes of color from the soft light that filtered in from above. It was a beautiful sight, even in its ruin. The chapel was a hauntingly perfect contrast—so full of potential, yet broken, like everything else in this world.

But you couldn’t focus on the surroundings for long. The atmosphere felt… different. It was as if you were being watched, but not in the usual way. The giggles, the whispers—they didn’t hold the same weight of threat as before. Instead, they were more like a gentle invitation, teasing you, drawing you in. It felt like the shadows were beckoning you, urging you to stay, to explore.

You had a feeling—no, a certainty—that this trial would be unlike the others.

You glanced around the chapel, the giggles of the shadows still echoing faintly in your ears. It was strange—this quiet sense of calm that had settled over the place. The air felt thick, yet there was no immediate threat. For the first time since you’d entered, you allowed yourself a brief moment of focus, and that's when you spotted it.

In the corner, tucked away amidst the broken pews and cracked stone, was a generator. You couldn't believe it at first, but there it was, its faint hum calling you towards it. Without thinking, you made your way over to it, the sound of your footsteps reverberating softly against the chapel's walls.

When you reached it you didn’t hesitate. You kneeled beside the generator and got to work, fingers deftly turning the dials and adjusting the levers, your mind oddly focused. There was something almost peaceful in the process, a rhythm you’d become familiar with in the trials. As you worked, the air around you seemed to settle, and you couldn’t help but feel as though someone was watching you, encouraging you.

It wasn’t long before you heard it. The unmistakable sound of your heartbeat growing louder and a familiar shiver ran up your spine. The shadows seemed to grow darker, more pronounced, as the figure appeared at the edge of your vision.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was. His gaze, though unseen, was like a weight on your back, pulling your attention toward him, and you could feel it—his gaze—drawn to you, to the way you were moving, to the delicate process of repairing the generator.

For a moment, you thought you heard him chuckle softly, the sound of it lingering in the air like a haunting melody.

Eventually the generator clicked into place with a soft, satisfying hum, signaling that it was finally working. You stood up, brushing off your hands, only when you turned around you saw that the killer was standing far too close for comfort. His dark eyes seemed to be watching you with an intensity that made your heart race, and before you could react, he moved.

In a swift motion, he reached out and pulled you into him. His body was firm against yours, and yet strangely gentle. The suddenness of the contact took your breath away, and you found yourself trapped within the circle of his arms, the warmth of his body radiating through you, as if he was desperate to hold you, to keep you close.

His breath brushed against your ear as he nuzzled into your neck, his presence consuming you, the shadows around you seeming to swirl tighter, more alive, as though they, too, were eager to wrap around you. The giggles in the distance faded, replaced by the steady sound of his breath, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands as you tried to steady yourself.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. The way he held you felt oddly familiar, like a part of you that had been missing for far too long had finally found its place. And his touch, though a little colder than it should have been, was still comforting in a way you couldn’t explain.

The killer’s fingers gently threaded through your hair, his touch delicate, as if he were afraid of hurting you. He nuzzled closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his voice barely a whisper against your skin. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” he murmured, his words almost like a confession, a desperate plea.

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and vulnerable, and your heart stuttered in your chest. The shadows around you seemed to respond to his emotions, curling and shifting as if they were reflecting his mood.

You didn’t know what to say, or if you even could.

You tried to pull away, a desperate need for some breathing room overtaking you. The closeness of his body was overwhelming. His grip tightened in response, pulling you back against him with a sense of urgency, as though letting go wasn’t an option for him.

“No,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with something you couldn’t place, “don’t pull away.” The plea was buried in his tone leaving you with no choice but to stay close.

He clung to you desperately, his hands tracing the lines of your back, the shadows around you thickening, as though they, too, were unwilling to release you. His breath was warm against your ear as he spoke again, each word drenched in an almost reverent tone.

“You’re… you’re a blessing,” he murmured, his voice trembling with something you hadn’t heard from him before. “The Entity has blessed me with you, brought you to me.”

You froze, the words sinking into you like an anchor, pulling you deeper into his embrace. You wanted to ask him to explain, to make sense of it all, but the way he held you so tightly, so desperately, made it impossible to think clearly.

“Don’t leave me,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you. You are too special for me now.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the confusion and disbelief clouding your thoughts. But the rawness in his voice, the way he clung to you as if you were the last thing that mattered in this twisted world, made you hesitate.

You couldn’t pull away, not with the way he held you, not with the whispers of the shadows wrapping around you like a cocoon. For a moment, you didn’t know if you were trapped or saved.

He eventually slowly pulled away, though his hands lingered on your arms for a moment, almost as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. You were left standing there, your breath shaky, your heart racing, as he took a step back.

His eyes were focused on you, softer than they’d ever been. You noticed a shift in them, something you hadn’t seen before—puppy eyes, as if he were pleading with you in the quietest way possible. The shadows around you seemed to quiet down, almost as if they were holding their breath, waiting for whatever was about to happen.

He traced your cheek with a finger, his touch light, like he was memorizing the feel of your skin, as if it was something he had dreamed about. His gaze followed his hand, and you could feel the heat of his stare, intense and tender all at once. You didn’t know what to do. It was all too much.

“I can’t stand it,” he whispered, his voice a soft plea, the words just for you. “I need you to stay... please.” His breath was warm against your skin, and before you could respond, before you could even find your voice, he leaned in.

Everything around you seemed to still, the whispers of the shadows fading into the background as his lips met yours. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if he were waiting for some sign, some permission from you. His lips were cool but soft, and for a moment, it was as if time had stopped.

You were frozen, caught in the unexpectedness of it all, caught in the moment. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as his kiss deepened, a quiet desperation in every movement, every touch. He kissed you as if he couldn’t stop, as if he feared you might vanish if he let go.

For a moment, you gave in to the sensation, the overwhelming mix of emotions, the sweetness and the tension. You couldn’t pull away, not even if you wanted to. The shadows seemed to curl around you both, their presence now almost comforting, like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in that fragile moment.

His kisses grew more desperate, each one heavier, more consuming than the last. His hands pressed firmly against your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips, vibrating against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t move, caught entirely off guard by his fervor. No one had ever acted like this around you before—not before the Entity’s realm, not during. There was something almost intoxicating about the way he clung to you, his lips trailing from yours to your jaw, down to the curve of your neck.

And, to your surprise, you realized... you kind of liked it.

His voice came in soft, muffled murmurs against your skin. “I need you,” he groaned, his tone laced with an almost painful desperation. “I need to hold you, to keep you close. You’re mine—you’re meant for me.”

The words hit you like a wave, leaving you breathless. His arms wrapped around you tighter, his fingers gripping as though he feared you might vanish if he let go. The shadows around you seemed to move in tandem with his emotions, curling closer, darker, as if they were an extension of his longing.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’ve waited... I’ve searched... and then you came.” He pulled you so close it felt like he was trying to meld you both together, his forehead pressed against yours as he panted softly, his lips brushing yours again.

There was no denying the intensity in his words and the way his entire being seemed to focus solely on you. The world around you faded away, all of it becoming irrelevant under the weight of his need.

And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself lean into it, into him.

--

You didn’t know how it worked. Honestly, you didn’t question much about the things that happened in the Entity’s realm—trying to make sense of it always felt like a losing battle. But being the only person that the killer—Jake, as you had learned—could touch and hold? That made the trials with him… special.

Special in a way that involved him finding you almost immediately when the trial started, his shadowy tendrils guiding him to you as though you were a beacon. Special in the way he would pull you into his arms without hesitation, holding you so close it felt like he was trying to merge your existence with his. And then came the kisses—hungry, fervent, and relentless. He didn’t seem to care about the trial or the Entity’s expectations, not unless another survivor got too close to where you both were. That was the only time he would let go, stepping between you and anyone else like a jealous guard dog.

You had learned early on that he truly couldn’t touch the other survivors. You’d seen him try—his hand passing right through them as though he was nothing but air. It made you wonder, why? Why were you the exception?

The Entity gave the killers their abilities. It had given Jake control over the shadows, molded him into one with the darkness itself. The Entity had made Jake a shadow—a specter that could haunt but never truly connect.

So why you? Did the Entity truly bless Jake with you, as he claimed? Was this some kind of twisted reward or cruel joke? You didn’t know.

And, honestly, when Jake held you so close, his arms wrapped around you like you were his entire world, you didn’t want to think about it. His touch was warm, his attention was unwavering, his affection intense.

A handsome, desperate man who seemed to make it his life’s purpose to hold you, kiss you, and pour all his emotions into you wasn’t something you regularly stumbled across—especially not here. The way he acted like you were his lifeline, the only thing tethering him to existence, wasn’t something you’d ever experienced before. He made you feel wanted, needed, cherished—things you hadn’t felt in longer than you could remember. And maybe that was why you let him.

It felt pretty good, honestly.

Good to be wanted. Good to be someone’s lifeline.

--

You did figure out one thing, though... well, two things.

For one, you enjoyed the feeling of Jake’s arms around your waist. How they would drape over you, his hands firm yet gentle as they gripped your hips, holding you as though you were the only solid thing in his shadowy world. It was strange, feeling safe in the arms of someone who was meant to kill. Ironic, even. But that’s how it felt—safe.

The second thing you figured out was that you loved the feeling of Jake’s lips. It didn’t matter where they landed—your neck, your throat, your shoulder, your cheek, your forehead. Each kiss sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. But the best? The best was when his lips met yours. Jake’s kisses weren’t just kisses. They were declarations. They were desperate, wanting, filled with the kind of need that made your head spin and your heart race.

Your favorite moments, though, were the times when it had been too long since you last saw him. When he’d finally appear, the shadows curling and shifting to reveal him, he would drop every pretense of being a killer. The mask would slip away, and there he was—clingy, needy, and entirely fixated on you.

“I missed you,” he’d murmur into your hair as he held you close. “I kept thinking about you. I can’t stand being away from you. I need you.”

He would rant softly, his words spilling out like a dam had broken. His voice would tremble, and he’d clutch you tighter, burying his face into your shoulder, his shadowy figure melting into something softer—something vulnerable.

In those moments, he didn’t feel like the Entity’s chosen killer. He felt like a lovesick puppy, desperate for your attention, your touch, your reassurance.

And it was cute. At least, you thought so.

a/n: i basically had peggy from ceechynaa on replay during this. reblogs and commentary are appreciated!

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[gilverrwrites]

Some fluff with Bruce : him giving you his mothers pearls… ;) it could be a wedding gift or any other special occasion idk ❤️

Me? Writing fluff again? It's one of my favourite things to do but damn I do it so rarely! Warnings: None!

Standing at 6’2 and weighing easily 210 lbs, your husband-to-be isn’t exactly hard to miss, or so one might think. A lifetime of skulking around on rooftops, and blending into the shadows meant Bruce was very good at only being seen or heard when he wanted to be. You’ve long since come to terms with that fact, but in your bridal suite, moments before your wedding is not the time or place.

You tell him as much as soon as you notice his reflection in the vanity mirror. He’s imposing, even with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his charcoal suit, the very same one his father had worn decades ago to his own wedding, tailored somewhat to allow for Bruce’s abundance of muscles.

Blue eyes watch you intensely as you scarper behind the wicker folding screen, but you don’t miss how the wrinkles around his eyes scrunch up, amused, as he half-grins at your dramatic reaction. Bruce has never been a particular stickler for traditions or superstition, but for some reason, you’d expected this one to be a no-brainer.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad luck- “

“For the groom to see the bride on their wedding day, I know, I know, but I had to see you.” His voice grows louder with each silent step he takes until he’s standing directly in front of you. Less than a half-inch of woven wood acts as the only barrier to his line of sight.

“Well, you can’t!” You chide, your tone is light but firm.

“I…” He hesitates, unconsciously kicking his feet against the soft carpet, and tentatively you peek around the divider to watch as he considers his words. For all that he has done, the leading, the strategising, the saving the world over and over, Bruce has never been good at speaking from the heart. It’s another trait you’ve learned to love, it means that when he does, he really means it.

“Yes, Bruce?” Careful to expose as little of your attire as possible, you tilt your head around the screen to peek at him.

“I brought you something. Your something borrowed, or old. I don't know but it would mean the world to me if you would wear them. If you could, that is.” You watch as he draws his hands from his pockets, ever so carefully and composedly revealing a string of shining ivory pearls. They are not wrapped or boxed, too beautifully delicate and familiar to warrant any eccentricities. You’d seen them a million times before, but never would you have considered having them situated around your own neck. They were far too important to Bruce for that.

“Are those… your mothers?” He nods in reply, leaning closer as he stretches his open hand to you. Hesitantly, you meet his hand in the middle, ghosting your fingers across the smooth gemstones, too cautious to take them.  

“My parents, their legacy…” Bruce goes on, his voice is so deep, so close to your ear it almost makes you lightheaded. “For the longest time I thought Gotham was the only thing that could compare with regards to who or what I care about but then Dick came along, then Barbara and Jason, and so on. Before I’d even noticed it, I cared about so much. My heart was practically full.”

“Awh, you’re such a softie Bruce.” You tease. Dusky pink builds in his cheeks as he chuckles, smile growing when his eyes lock onto your own grin. Simultaneously, his free hand clasps over your own, pressing your bare hands into his mother’s necklace before he continues.

“Almost full.” He states. “There was just enough room left for you. The last piece. You complete me and I couldn’t possibly know what my parents would think about all this, of you, but I like to believe they would approve, that they would want this. Want what makes me happy.”

“And wearing these, what would make you happy?” You ask.

“Exceedingly.” He confirms.

“Then how could I say no.”

His breath hitches, eyes examining every inch of you appreciatively as you step out from behind the divider, as if he hadn’t already committed whatever view he’d caught of you in the mirror to memory. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, you don’t look too shabby yourself.” As you speak, you turn away from him, somewhat awkwardly with your hands still linked, until your back is to his chest. He gets the point quickly, unlinking your fingers and ghosting his strong, warm fingers over your shoulders before unclasping the pendant you’d planned to wear for the ceremony until a moment prior.

“Mrs Wayne.” You sigh quietly, watching through the vanity reflection in the corner as Bruce carefully readorns your neck. “Those are gonna be some big shoes to fill.”

“Not at all. Martha Wayne certainly was not the Wayne ideal when she married my father, and she never changed a thing about herself to fit in. Or so I’m told.” Bruce presses a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Keep being who you are. It’s what I want, and I know for certain it’s what she would have wanted too.”

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 8 | ln4

summary: if i had choose her or the sun, i'd be one nocturnal son of a gun.

warnings: fluff!!!!, meeting the parents awkwardness, walking along this thin line between a relationship or not (i'm really not sure how to describe it), language, some suggestive stuff in the beginning, things are heating up for them... kind of...

message from jordan: okay 1. unfortunately i am a stupid american, so pls excuse the lack of knowledge i have of england 😞 i am simply just a girl trying, and 2. the more i write for this series the more i hate it, i feel like everything's all over the place. idk, i hope you guys are enjoying it, though! also this is kinda short... pls don't kill me

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

the early morning sun was shining brightly through the light colored curtains, shadows bouncing off the walls. you had gone back and forth between scrolling through your phone and looking around lando’s childhood bedroom. catching glimpses of trophies, photos of him and his friends, and posters of different cars.

you two had gotten to his parent’s house late last night, cisca and adam staying up to greet you two as soon as you pulled in the driveway. cisca was quick to pull you into a hug, making it very clear that lando was right. she was excited to meet you. adam introduced himself kindly, helping lando bring your things inside before you all made small talk and headed to bed.

deciding you should probably get up and get started on your day, you gently moved the covers more to lando’s side before getting up and walking over to your suitcase. you rummaged around for your toiletry bag before quietly making your way into the connected bathroom.

you managed to take a quick shower, stepping out and wrapping yourself in a towel before you looked around in the bag for your toothbrush. however, the door suddenly opening caught you off guard as you let out a gasp while pulling up the towel more to make sure you were covered.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry.” lando’s voice was still raspy and filled with sleep, him covering his eyes as he pulled the door towards him, blocking his view but it not shutting all the way.

“no, no, it’s okay,” you said softly, rushing to get ready now, "just hold on one second-"

"no, i don't want to rush you, i'll run downstairs-"

"-i'm done, i swear."

he sighed in defeat when you pulled the door closed again, his eyes falling to the hoodie he had lent you the night he brought you home from the party. he smiled softly to himself as you stepped out of the room, gesturing it was all his.

he sent you a soft smile in appreciation, closing the door and taking a deep breath. the room smelt faintly of the smell of your perfume and it was still a little steamy from your shower, he laughed softly at the little smiley face you had drawn on the corner of the mirror.

once he was finished, he opened the door again, "thanks,"

you nodded, shoving your phone in the pocket of his your hoodie, "i mean, it is your bathroom."

he laughed, shaking his head, "for now, what's mine is also yours."

you joined him in the room now, settling on the fact that sharing the space would be easier than waiting for the other to be done. you reached for your toothbrush in your bag, finally being able to brush your teeth uninterrupted as he did the same.

you were finishing up when you heard him let out a soft sigh, looking over and seeing him running a hand through his hair, "i look like a mess!"

you chuckled, shaking your head as you took a step closer, "it's not that bad,"

it really wasn't. his curls were a little flat and a little frizzy, but no where near a hot mess. they were a hot kind of messy, one particular curl wanting to fall against his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back up.

"here, let me," you said softly, moving to step between him and the counter. he let you reach up towards his hair, taking some water from the sink before raking your fingers through the curly mullet. he watched your face intently as you fixed the unruly curls.

you looked down, meeting his eyes as you softly laughed, "what?"

"nothing," he shook his head, "you're just... absolutely beautiful."

you couldn't help the heat that rose to your cheeks, "don't start,"

"no, i'm serious!" he protested with a smile before turning you around so your back was against his chest, the both of you looking at your reflections in the mirror, "i mean, c'mon. look at you,"

you smiled at your reflections before turning your head, "is this your way of smooth-talking?"

he chuckled, smirking as he leaned down to your level, "is it working?"

two can play this game, "wouldn't you like to know?"

"kids! i made breakfast whenever you're hungry!"

the two of you pulled apart at the sound of cisca's voice. he cleared his throat as you nodded your head, "you should uhm.. probably get dressed. i'm gonna... go talk to your mom."

"yeah, i'm gonna.. do that..." he said, "i'll see you downstairs."

you nodded, walking out of the bathroom and making your way down the stairs. cisca wore a smile on her face as you entered the kitchen, "morning, honey! how'd you sleep?"

you nodded, "pretty good,"

"good!" she smiled, "coffee?"

"please," you smiled as she poured some into a mug for you before you moved to fix the cup to your liking, "thank you."

"of course!" she smiled, "i made some eggs and french toast, so help yourself! they're still on the stove," you nodded and fixed yourself a plate, "what do you guys have planned for today?"

you shrugged, looking over towards her as you sat at the table, "not sure. i think lando has a few ideas, but i'm just here for the ride, really."

"he was telling me you don't visit home much," her voice was sweet and sympathetic, "you're always welcome here, dear. anytime. holiday or not, and with lando or not also. he's a bit much at times."

you laughed with her as you heard lando's footsteps approaching the kitchen, "i have ears!"

"just making sure they work, love."

"uh-huh," he joked back with her, lightheartedness hanging in the air, "looks good, mum."

she hummed, looking towards lando who was making himself a cup of coffee at the kitchen island, "don't forget, we're having family dinner tonight. everyone's coming over."

"everyone?" lando asked.

she laughed softly as she rose from the table, "yes, child. everyone," she made her way back into the kitchen as she started cleaning some things up, "i'm heading into town to get some things for dinner, do you guys need anything?"

you both shook your heads, "we're good, thank you."

she bid her goodbyes, giving lando a motherly kiss on the side of his head before she left. you cleaned up after yourself, lando helping you put the breakfast foods away before he looked down at his phone.

"well, what did you wanna do today?" he asked, leaning against the counter as he sipped on his coffee.

you shrugged, "anything interesting around here?"

"not unless we head into town."

you hummed, watching as it looked like an idea sprung into his head as he pulled his phone out from his pocket. a few seconds later, he looked up at you with a smile.

"you ready?"

you hummed, swallowing your own sip of coffee as you gave him a confused look, "i need my shoes, but where're we going?"

"c'mon," he grabbed your hand as you put your mug into the sink.

"i'm coming, i'm coming!" you laughed softly, grabbing your shoes and slipping them on before following him out the door, "are you gonna tell me where we're going, though?"

"no, but i have a feeling you'll like it," he smiled, unlocking the car door and opening the passenger side door, "at least, i hope you do."

you chuckled softly, shaking your head as you got inside.

there was one thing lando was good at and it was keeping you on your toes.

[cr4yolaas]

for lovers who hesitate — tsukishima kei

synopsis: you find your old academic rival at your new job. every bone in your body says it’s fate, but everything else seems to be stopping you.

notes: puking cuz idk how i feel abt this one. i worked on this all thru out my trip and there was a lot of scrapping and rewriting and deleting the entire thing and rewriting it again, but i think this version is the best i could get it to. i <3 tsukishima kei

tags: fluff → angst → fluff, self-indulgent long fic, reader smokes, reader has trauma w/ their parents, mainly fem reader oriented but gn pronouns used, reader has self-destructive habits, themes of self-doubt from both, tsukishima is probably ooc, slow burn but not really, the most awkward love confession ever, mitski rdr x radiohead tsukishima (sorry), proofread but not really

tsukishima kei, for once, was at a loss for words.

there you stood beneath the bright green foliage, your face marred by the heatwaves of the sun and still all too familiar. he thought, for a moment, that he had the wrong person — you had taken on a rougher appearance, but his body, heart, and soul still recognized you. and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to you.

where had the last decade gone?

he coughed into his fist and walked past you, feigning ignorance to your arrival. when you followed after him with a keycard of your own, he found himself flustered.

no words were exchanged. he was playing the silent game with you, although he quietly hoped you would say something first.

and thus, he continued his shift as usual, with the added oddity of you shadowing him alongside his boss. he just couldn’t find the proper words to place on his tongue, nor the right gestures to show that he did want to talk, he just didn’t know how to.

but truthfully, what was one supposed to say in such a situation?

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

you believed that tsukishima hated you. and you wouldn’t blame him.

when you applied for this job, you had no expectations going into it, save for the hope of a higher salary and a lighter load than your previous job. what you had not anticipated was to stand face to face with the man you swore to hate in your youth.

a sliver of hope embedded itself within you; an overwhelming desire to perhaps refurbish a long lost relationship had taken root. but when he looked away so persistently and spoke not a word to you, that sliver dissipated into meaningless sand.

you continued your work as best as possible. it was a routine job — set up the displays for the day, guide whatever visitors came around, and leave in the afternoon. but when a certain blonde was sneaking glances at you and somehow always in your vicinity, it proved to be easier said than done.

you were too afraid to admit that his presence was refreshing. that, in the midst of the mundane and borderline unhealthy cycle you had formulated within the past handful of years following graduation, he had proven to be an odd factor; he stood as a disruptor to the routine. it was unwelcome. and even still, you craved it and more.

tsukishima kei had always been a constant in your life. you just didn’t expect him to reappear so soon, so suddenly.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it was a wednesday. an uneventful shift had come to an end. and just as you rid yourself of your work attire, a verbal invitation to a work party was sent your way.

the prospect of it was almost laughable. you were under the impression that the body of employees in a museum would be too reserved to host parties such as this, and you were quickly proven otherwise. thus, you accepted instantly.

as soon as you sat down, you regretted it just as quickly.

the moon had just barely begun to hang bright in the sky, and yet the table was already full of drunken coworkers that you hadn’t seen before. loud chatter filled the room, as if this table was the only one in the establishment. it was overbearing.

before you could take even a sip of your drink, you excused yourself under the pretense of needing to use the restroom. instead, you escaped outside, the gentle breeze reestablishing your senses and reeling you back in.

he was also there.

“oh,” he exclaimed softly. his eyes drifted away from yours, the warmth of his cheeks illuminated by the dim lamp above. oh was the first word he had ever spoken to you since graduation. you nearly laughed.

“hello,” you offered quietly, still testing the waters of conversation. your gaze fell to his fingers, slim and cherry-kissed and blemished, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “um… i didn’t expect to see you here…?”

tsukishima laughed lightly at your tone, as if to conceal his own anxieties. “likewise.” he watched as you pulled out a cigarette, the stick meeting your lips like it were more than natural. “did you come all this way to stalk me? or to follow me? after all those years of silence?” he teased, although a tinge of bitterness dripped from his words.

you shook your head aggressively. “no, no, i just…” you bit at your lip for a moment before continuing. “i’m taking a break from my actual job. i needed to wind down before i return.”

tsukishima hummed at your response, evidently oblivious to your lie. he looked at you for a moment too long, his eyes grazing over each alteration and unfamiliar feature. he could not help but admire you in this light — the soft strings of moonlight in contrast with the neon signs glaring against your complexion painted an image he hadn’t seen in ages.

for the first time in a long time, tsukishima kei thought you were unbearably pretty.

what he didn’t catch wind of was your nervous shuffles and your incessant skin-picking as you stood beside him. he didn’t realize that the cigarette was a distractor, a tool to pull you back in. and he failed to acknowledge the stutter in your voice as you spoke to him, for it hadn’t crossed his mind once that you thought he disliked you. not that it would matter to him, anyways.

it’s too soon, he thought to himself. this is stupid, he argued. i’d mess it up if i did anything reckless, he reasoned. all of which were excuses to fight against the overwhelming reality of his vulnerability.

you turned your head away, the extended silence whittling away at whatever confidence you once bore. tsukishima watched with framed eyes and a calculative stare, as if scrutinizing each and every action you took. unbeknownst to you, it was the exact opposite of that.

the soft call of your name from inside the bar pulled your attention away, much to his dismay. he witnessed your frame disappear through the doors, your eyes flitting towards his so quickly he might’ve imagined it.

this was foolish. tsukishima decided that much. but despite his claims of how stupid it was, he was getting reeled in faster than he could pull out.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

despite how hard he tried to display his ignorance, tsukishima was caring at his core.

silent glances exchanged between shifts morphed into small conversations shared whenever possible, as if the tension that previously barred you from interaction had dissipated into nothingness.

at some point, he dropped off a neatly wrapped bento box to your desk, the fabric littered with small dinosaur doodles.

“what is this?” you questioned, an amused lilt to your voice. you failed to notice the way pink rose to his ears, too enamored by the intricate arrangement of veggies and rice.

“don’t think anything of it. i just had leftover food and didn’t want to waste it.” the excuse slipped through his lips as if it were truth, earning him a soft smile from you.

there were butterflies whipping their wings against his ribcage so aggressively they might have bulged out from his skin.

eventually, you invited him out for a walk to the convenience store nearby during your break. and after that, it became routine. with an umbrella in one hand and his wallet in another, tsukishima walked with you down the street to buy onigiri and sandwiches and sometimes a sweet treat nearly every day, and that shared hour became his favorite part of work.

it was silly.

you sat beside him in the booth, your blistered hands carefully unwrapping the plastic from your meal. to your left sat a can of soda. and to your right, he was there.

“i need to stop living off of these,” you complained while motioning towards the onigiri in your grasp.

tsukishima shook his head. “what else would you eat?”

“your bento boxes,” you commented absentmindedly, your bites becoming larger as you neared the center of the rice. “i liked it, when you gave it to me that one time. you should make it again.”

he looked away, his chin resting atop the sweat of his palm. slowly, he turned towards you. “it’s just a bento box. surely you can handle making one.”

“oh, shut up!” you laughed while shoving him lightly. “the fact that you can even make one is shocking. all you have in that head is volleyball and shit.”

“our old test scores say otherwise,” he quipped. the shift in your eyes left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“whatever,” you muttered before leaving to throw out your trash. a pit grew in tsukishima’s stomach.

the blonde mustered the last of his resolve and made an offer. “i’ll teach you how to make one.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

of all the things tsukishima was bracing himself to see, a thinly-walled apartment that was less than well-maintained was the last thing he was prepared for.

you came out from your bedroom in clothes that were far more casual than his, your hair disheveled and your steps uneven. “sorry for the mess,” you uttered while bending down to pick up a hoodie sprawled across the floor, alongside a plastic bag that looked empty. he could only watch in awe.

he placed his bag down on your counter before arranging the ingredients, each brought from his own home. the clatter of your rushed cleaning echoed behind him. and when you finally stood beside the man, he could not contain his grin.

tsukishima decided to hold his tongue. instead, he opted to gently guide your hands through each step, the perspiration collecting on his skin a stark contrast from the rough texture of yours. he realized how little you knew, despite your insistence that you were more than knowledgeable in what you were doing — it showed in your unstable cutting and your hesitance when preparing the pot for boiling — but he refrained from commenting, in fear of disrupting the peace he’d constructed.

on the other hand, you were horrified.

to admit that you were inferior to him in yet another aspect uprooted the envy you had burrowed deep within yourself, and you were terrified of letting it overspill. he was so calm — at least, that was what it looked like — and you’d be damned to ruin it.

mitski’s soft hums reverberated in the background, your shaky chopping filling in the rest of the noise. it was almost satirical — the solemn melodies coated your bare bones and rendered you silent, a strong juxtaposition to the warmth exuded from the closeness of your skin to his. neither of you did anything to interfere, save for an earlier comment from the man questioning your music taste.

(“then what do you listen to?”

“… radiohead.”

“wow. as if that’s any better than mitski.”)

tsukishima found himself smiling at your pride in your creation. messy, yes. but within each ingredient lay a remnant of him, and that was enough.

a stream of small talk emerged into you sitting on the couch together. the music dimmed down to white noise and an old romcom that had only two star ratings played on your TV, the poor quality adding to the humor. your legs leaned against his beneath the blanket. and there was peace.

tsukishima knew what it was. he knew what this would blossom into, and he could only hope and pray he didn’t mess it up in some way. your quiet yet crude commentary disappeared into the tender air, and he remained silent, as if absorbing each syllable that fell from your lips.

it was so quiet, and so vulnerable, and so delicate that he felt like he was going to explode.

he didn’t question it when your head fell onto his shoulder. he didn’t make fun of you when your colorful reviews on each scene turned into sleepy ramblings. and he didn’t say a word when you dozed off against him, your whole body against his.

instead, he looked around. he took note of the dust collecting on the cabinets, the water marks on the windows, the clothes and food and plastic scattered all over your living room, the dead plant on the shelf, and the half-empty pack of cigarettes sitting on the arm of the couch. it was all a far, far cry from the cleanliness and stability of his own home, and yet, he thought to himself, this is so like them. and he thought, i could live in here, if it were with them. and again, he thought, this could be a home.

tsukishima kei was of the belief that he did not have a type. but as he observed your house and reflected on its singular (?) inhabitant, he figured that this was his type. his type was your quiet laughs and your sharp remarks and your wrinkled clothes and the scent of cigarettes that always seemed to cling to you. his type was you.

he exchanged one last glance to your sleeping figure before getting up and leaving you to rest. not without wrapping up your lunch for tomorrow, and not without a small smile on his lips.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

hell came to you on a thursday morning — the day following whatever had happened between you and tsukishima. you hadn’t put on your uniform just yet, and your belongings sat outside of your locker.

your boss scrambled into the office, his brows furrowed and his larger hands closing the door as quickly as he could without slamming it. the sweat that collected between his wrinkles shined beneath the dim lights. his breaths were haggard and rushed and shallow.

for the first time in a long time, you felt fear.

“there’s people who want to talk to you outside,” he whispered. “they want to talk to you now.”

there was no one else in the building. no one other than you, your boss, and the people who were so adamant on speaking to you.

so why was it so loud as soon as you stepped out?

the eyes of your mother came into your vision first. then, the stare of your father. and finally, their faces blended into one large picture that made sense.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

withered hands slammed against the table. you watched the papers and the dinosaur trinkets rattle. “that’s no way to speak to your parents.” you could feel it — the air seeping out of your lungs, depriving you of breath; the trembling in your palms; the cloudiness in your peripherals. you could hear them, but you couldn’t hear them. at some point, their vocabulary was solely financial, and at another point, it grew cruel and violent, akin to wild dogs gnawing away at your skin. you didn’t know where it was going. the hastened footsteps of an unidentifiable coworker neared, and the shaky breaths of your boss behind the door grew louder and louder.

you needed to leave.

your feet led you away before your mind could. the yelling softened, until finally, the only sound was the chirp of birds and the whirring of cars.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t see you for a week. he didn’t hear any mention of your name, didn’t find your face in a crowd, didn’t feel the vibrations of your voice against his chest. you had disappeared, and no one told him why. it wasn’t until your name didn’t show up on the schedule that something clicked.

it was cruel. you were cruel, he decided.

tadashi sat on the couch while his roommate leaned against the counter. the hum of the air conditioning blinded the blonde’s senses.

“i don’t fucking know what i did,” tsukishima groaned into his palms for the twentieth time that night. “they just left. they quit and i can’t even contact them because i was stupid enough to not ask for their number or email or anything. i don’t- i don’t fucking know, ‘dashi, i don’t.”

“i’m sure they had some good reason,” his friend attempted. “i don’t think they’d do that if it weren’t within some sensible limit. it was fucked, yeah, but… i don’t know. i think they’ll come back when the time is right.”

it was tiring. it was tiring to be left alone not just once, but twice. and it was tiring to have it hurt so much more the second time.

tsukishima ran a hand through his hair. “it’s so stupid.” another groan spilled from his tongue. “i’m so fucking tired of this.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

this was just about the fourth job you had applied for.

the museum could no longer be a part of your routine — instead, it morphed into loud nights and bustling men and the clinking of glass; it emerged from quiet and gentle tours around dinosaur exhibits to noisy cheers and yelling and the more-than-occasional bottle thrown at your head; it turned into pure, devastating loneliness.

it was compact. it was suffocating. it was overwhelming. it was everything the museum was not. but you could not return there, no matter how much you ached for it.

you were avoiding him. avoiding everyone.

a gentle nudge from a blurred face reminded you that your shift was over for the night, coupled with an apology for the gash that formed on your head from another drunken man who had no outlet for his anger other than you. with heavy steps, you trudged back home, thankful for the week’s pay and the free food and drinks.

it was quiet.

the lights were off, and the LED numbers on the microwave read way past midnight. a dull pounding resided in your chest.

just the other day, it was so vibrant. you were alive, and so was he, and it was going well. but it was wrong. you realized that much when your parents came to remind you, and you realized it again as you quit the same day.

the thumping in your chest spread to your head, and your back met the wall with a force that was sure to upset your neighbors. carefully, daintily, you slid down, your body reaching the floor gently.

you missed him. but it was wrong.

that night, for the first time in a long while, you cried.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tucked away in a small alley in sendai resided an establishment with only three tables and a bar that was worn down from years of use. and behind it, tsukishima found you.

he was only out for a walk. at least, that was what it was until his feet brought him elsewhere and he stood face-to-face with the most suspicious of buildings. and when he saw you, it felt as if all the anger and guilt and distress that riddled his bones and flesh and blood withered away, as if it hadn’t coalesced within his veins over the past month.

before you could hide, his hand snaked around your wrist, his touch light yet desperate. “can we talk?”

talking entailed bringing him back to your apartment. and by extension, it included him witnessing your house somehow being worse than before.

tsukishima found himself sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, and you found yourself sprawled across said couch. he picked at the blisters on his fingers before quietly asking, “why did you do that?”

he could hear your nervous habits — the shifting, the fidgeting, the harsh lip biting. “i don’t know.”

“bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.

you turned over onto your side to face his back. “my parents found me,” you explained meekly. improper guidance leads to destructive tendencies. tsukishima kei, in his high school years, was deemed your only obstacle to complete succession — always a few points ahead, a few questions ahead, a few steps ahead — and your poor influence from youth only fueled such a fire. and so, you felt that it was reasonable to loathe him. your judgement was clouded beyond repair.

tsukishima listened. he listened to every detail, every portion of your retelling of each segment of your childhood, and your teen years, and your silly hatred for him. he listened to you talk about what you did after graduation — how you got into a good university but dropped out and hopped between a multitude of jobs (thus proving your claim at the work party to be a lie), and how you were constantly escaping from both the stress and your parents.

he listened so intently that it was overbearing. you didn’t tell him that. instead, you talked and talked and talked until you sculpted him into someone who knew your entire life, as if he were there from the beginning.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered through stubborn tears. you hated it — how exposing it was, how you had practically dumped everything onto him in one go, how you couldn’t help but beg for forgiveness in the end. most of all, you hated how easily he gave you his forgiveness.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t leave your house at all that week. you found no energy to complain.

in the morning, you’d find him cleaning whatever disaster you left behind, whether it was the pile of laundry on your bed or the collection of full trash bags next to the front door or the food (or rather, the lack thereof) in your fridge. he was silent all the while, and that hurt more than any berating he could have done.

“why are you still here?” you asked him one night. you had finally moved from the couch to the bed, and tsukishima couldn’t be any prouder. (any movement at all was enough to be proud of, he felt). “you shouldn’t want to be here.”

you watched him heave a heavy breath as his shoulders drooped. “because i want you,” he admitted, his voice unmistakably tender and soft and ridden with a youthfulness that he unearthed from deep within himself. “i want to be with you and i want you to be happy and i just want us to be happy together, for once.”

he spoke of his affections so fluently, as if he were born to share them with you. and still, every bone in your body was whispering otherwise.

even so, tsukishima promised that he would be willing to wait. even if it meant watching you down an unreasonable amount of beer at an unreasonable hour.

he promised to sit through it all with you, even if it meant listening to you call his name out in long, drawn-out tones. even if it meant hearing you confess your long-harbored affection for him. even if it meant hearing you say that you never told him, not even in high school, because you felt like you didn’t deserve to tell him.

tsukishima didn’t understand.

he failed to comprehend how you didn’t feel deserving, when his whole body, mind, and soul was bound to you; when, in the depths of the night, he’d burn pink in the night at the mere thought of you; when he was so uncharacteristically smitten for you. he didn’t get it. he didn’t think he ever would.

not that he said anything about it — at least, not in that moment. not when you were inexplicably drunk, to the point where you couldn’t move a limb without tumbling over.

but, without a doubt, he went to bed with a stupid grin and a berry-kissed face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it took another couple of weeks before tsukishima would see you at work again. you entered through the doors as if you never left, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be excited or neutral or anything else, because his guts only knew tenderness with you at that point — all the fake ignorance and stubbornness and denial had been cast aside.

you basked in a shared silence in the locker room, until you finally admitted that you were, in fact, healing. to some degree, at least. you asked him to come over again under the pretense of seeing how clean your house was. you detailed every segment of your life, from when he last saw you to your entrance into the museum, including how you made yourself breakfast for the first time in forever and how you drank a cup of water almost every day. and he was so overwhelmingly proud, so much so that it spilled over and he couldn’t contain himself.

“i love you,” he blurted out, his rushed admission cutting off your rambling. you whipped your head towards him, but he was looking everywhere except for you.

“what?” you exclaimed.

“i said i love you. i’m in love with you. what don’t you get?”

your jaw hung open, just like that of a fish. “wait- what the fuck?” much to his amusement, you jumped up and began pacing around the room. “i like- well, i guess, love,” you paused, the vocabulary uncomfortable on your teeth. “you too, but like- what the fuck? who told you that?”

“you did.”

“what?”

tsukishima kei was laughing. he was laughing at you, and yet, you weren’t as angry as you expected to be. he was laughing, and all you could do was relish in the noise.

“so,” he hummed delightfully, an amused smirk on his lips. “am i still coming over?”

you (begrudgingly) agreed. again, he laughed — this time, at the heat rising to your face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

through the cracks between your blinds, silk strands of sunlight crawled through, a soft reminder of the morning. beside you, a mountain of warmth lay, with his glasses still on his face and his hoodie misshapen on his body.

tsukishima was always the first to rise. he would wait for your eyes to flit open gently before getting up and making breakfast, despite your protests that your food was probably better than his. he never listened.

the splatter of coffee into your cup served as the only noise in the room, save for the dull noise of the morning news on the TV and the cars passing by outside the window. you watched intently as the blonde set up the table, his lip drawn in a tight line but his eyes shimmering with contentment. “eat up,” he spoke quietly as he took a seat in front of you.

tsukishima kei was, by no means, a cruel person. he was just a little rough on the edges and occasionally didn’t quite know how to say things without being mean. but as he sat with you, eating breakfast made by him in your shared apartment; as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead before leaving to change, ignoring your groans about the remnants of syrup on his lips; as he drove you to work as the sun settled in the sky; you realized he was simply a man in love.

[xiepheer]

can you do one where shadow milk let Truthless recluses wife (reader) stay in the spire with him, cause idk he's trying to be a somewhat good boss, and its just basically a fic (or headcannons if that's what you'd prefer) about Truthless recluse with his wife, while Shadow Milk si tryna hype him up like

TR: ....(just resting his head on readers shoulder cause he's depressed or whatever)

SM: Awwww! Truthy reclusy seems to like you Mrs reader BAHHAHSHAHH! TR: ....shes my wife.... SM: I-... (starts thinking before doin a young Sheldon eureka moment) awww! didn't think we had a Mrs and Mr on our hands! black saphire cookie better get his radio started cause I think we have the cutest couple!

The Truth and his Light

Truthless Recluse x Wife reader

Hey everyone! Sorry for the long wait! I've been quite busy lately so I haven't written!

Anyways thank you guys so much for the support!

I love yall!

You're Pure Vanilla cookie's dear sweet wife.

And even though he had forbid you to go with them to beast yeast, you insisted and went anyways.

"Oh you know how dangerous this could be! I do wish you could've stayed in the Vanilla Kingdom dearest..." he spoke. His voice filled with worry as you and Gingerbraves team walked through the forests of Beast Yeast.

"It's okay honey. You do need company and I can help you too yknow?" you spoke, holding his hand gently and squeezing gently to reassure him.

Pure Vanilla cookie just nodded, the worry still visible in his face. He feels something is off walking in Beast Yeast.

As you all walked, soon enough, you were getting lead to the Spire Tower (I forgot what it's called) where you met the beast cookie, Shadow Milk cookie.

The original holder of his soul jam.

There you had to watch so many thing happen but mainly, watch your dearest husband turn into a cookie you've never thought he will ever be.

Turning into Truthless Recluse, turning into a cookie that devoid of anything.

But you stayed by his side. Always.

And Shadow Milk cookie noticed that you two would be often stuck to each other.

Now of course, Truthless Recluse still remembers that you're his wife and he doesn't deny it.

"Awwwe do we have a new pair here?" said by Shadow Milk cookie himself with a teasing voice.

Truthless Recluse just furrowed his eyebrows and stated at him as he pulls you closer.

"She's my wife..." Truthless Recluse spoke. His eyebrows still furrowed as he stared at the clown in front of him.

"OOOOH HOHOHO WE'VE GOT A COUPLE IN OUR HANDS!" Shadow Milk cookie yelled out loud.

"Ahehehe! You never told the audience that you're couples! We'll now since they know, APPLAUSE APPLAUSE to our contestant, Silly Vanilly!" Shadow Milk cookie yelled out again.

"Shut up..." Truthless Recluse spoke with an annoyed tone. He was clearly done with Shadow Milk cookie's shenanigans.

And you just laughed along softly as you massaged his hand to clam him down from crashing out again.

Shadow milk cookie DID NOT stop teasing you two and did NOT stop following you two all day.

24/7 he'd be there to tease you even in your sleep.

You two would be cuddling when he interrupts your sweet cuddling session.

But you two learned to eventually ignore him until Gingerbraves team arrives.

Hello everyone! Sorry if its short but I do hope you guys enjoyed it!

I skipped almost all the eps of PV and SMCs eps SO SORRY but I'm omw to finishing it rnn so I'm very sorry that I don't know or my writing is confusing.

Anyways I love you guys!

[obliviouscxnt]

His Shadow Azriel x Reader

a/n: quick little idea/drabble i had (that could honestly get turned into another series) idk if this has been done before, if it has let me know please, I'll probably delete this. I hope you enjoy :)) <333

synopsis: azriel takes you for granted

Warnings: angst

pt.2

He thought it was poetic, the way the shadows disappeared around Mor. She brightened up his life, literally.  

Never did he think he’d find someone else capable of doing such a thing. Until he met Elaine. 

The change was gradual, so gradual he hadn’t even noticed. 

They stayed with him, at first, treating the once-human girl like any other person. But then she was turned fae, and Azriel’s visits with her began. With each visit, less, and less, shadows joined him. 

He was completely unaware, she stole his focus. 

He felt protective of her, like a precious flower he had to keep from wilting. That protectiveness slowly became something more, a yearning. Even more so when Cassian discovered he was mated to the eldest Acheron.

Though the night Elaine kissed him, everything changed.

They’d sat outside, in her garden, and even though the sky was already dark they’d stayed. Getting lost in conversation. She told him about things she cared about, and he listened. She asked him about himself, and he answered.

 At some point she ended up in front of him, gazing up at his lips. 

She looked so beautiful, illuminated by the stars, surrounded by her lovely garden. A sight he felt lucky to witness. 

When she leaned forward he couldn’t stop himself. He met her halfway, so softly, so gently. But as soon as his lips touched hers, all those feelings for her died. He felt nothing.

The switch in emotions almost gave him whiplash. It was dizzying. 

Underwhelming didn’t feel like the best word for it, but it was the only thing he could come up with. Nothing was exciting about the kiss, nothing revolutionary. It wasn’t like it felt wrong, but it didn’t feel right either. 

Disappointment was what Azriel felt. A little part of him was hoping that maybe the Acheron sister would be his mate. 

It seemed fitting, right? Three brothers, three sisters. But now that her lips were against his, he knew it wasn’t right.  

The spymaster pulls back, taking a step away. Looking at the beautiful woman. Any feelings beyond protectiveness had vanished from his body. Not even a tickle of butterflies when she smiled at him, so obviously delighted with the kiss they shared.

It wasn’t her fault, any male would be lucky to have Elaine. But it was clear to him, that male couldn’t be him.

“It’s getting late, we should head in.” Her face drops at his words, he doesn’t even look at her as he begins leading her inside and back to her room.  

He should say more, apologize, and tell her how he feels so she at least has a reason. Not just silence. But his brain was still reeling from the drastic change in emotions—or lack thereof. No words leave his mouth.

He walks Elaine up to her room. Bidding her a short goodnight before leaving the frowning woman to her own devices.

He kicked himself for hurting her, for allowing it to get that far. Elaine was just so tempting, and he was so hopeful. He kicked himself for that too. 

Of course he wouldn’t have a mate. 

He couldn't even give the poor woman an apology.

It wasn’t until he made it to his room, all the way up in the House of Wind, that he realized no shadows were with him. Not even a whisper reached his ears.  

They’d been with him as long as he could remember, and now they were just gone. 

He couldn’t place the feeling they left in their absence. But he knew he didn’t like it. 

*****

You knew it was unfair of you to be jealous. He didn’t know how deep your devotion ran.  He didn’t see life the way you had, you didn’t even think he saw you as anything other than a servant. 

It wasn’t unfair of you to feel sad about that. 

You’re nothing but shadows to him. When he’s always been everything to you. From the moment he first called to you, when you were barely a flicker of darkness.

But he would never see that. 

Azriel is sound asleep when you slip through the cracks of his door and into his room. 

He hadn’t even called to you. Did he even care you were gone? 

You find yourself taking form, a form of something he could relate to. A beautiful woman, someone like Elaine, or Mor. But you knew you looked nothing like them. Your darkness couldn't captivate beauty like that. Bold and enchanting, like the Morrigan. Pure and innocent, like Miss Elaine.

A sigh leaves your mouth as you curl up in your designated corner, looking at the hands that felt alien to you. Even if you showed him this form, saw him face to face, would he see you any differently?

You doubt it. You’d always be shadows to him.

You were so busy wallowing to yourself in the corner you didn’t see the shadowsinger stir at your sigh. Didn’t see him blink awake, or sit up and look around. 

But you felt it when his eyes settled on you for what felt like the first time. Heard the gasp that left his mouth. 

Your heart stops, frozen in fear for half a second, before it starts again, and you collapse into clouds of darkness.

*****

It was the middle of the night when Azriel woke Rhys up, shouting at him from outside his mental barriers. The worry in his voice was what had the High Lord jumping out of his mate's arms, waking Cassian, and heading to the abode carved into the top of the mountain. 

Azriel paces around the office room, running a hand through his hair. If he wasn’t so stressed he would’ve noticed that his shadows don’t try to comfort him like usual.

“What’s going on?” Rhys asks as he and Cassian walk into the room. Both are in different states of undress with looks of concern on each of their faces.

Cassian immediately notes Azriel’s distressed state, a rare sight considering the spymaster had long ago mastered staying calm and stoic in the face of trouble.

Cassian almost doesn't want to know what has the male so bothered.

“There was something in my room.” 

“What?!” The reactions are simultaneous. Any sign of sleep was immediately gone from both of their faces.

“I think it was a woman… I don’t know I didn’t get a good enough look. It disappeared right after I woke up.”  His fingers grip his hair. Heart still beating fast from the interaction. No one has ever snuck up on him like that. 

He's usually the one doing the sneaking.

His shadows, which had returned sometime after he’d fallen asleep, hadn’t even noticed the stranger, if they had they certainly didn’t warn him. He tries not to feel the nerves that fact struck in him.

“What do you mean, ‘disappeared’?” Cassian asks.

“Exactly what it sounds like, Cass. One second it was sitting in the corner of my room, the next it was gone.” Which made absolutely no sense, the wards surrounding House of Wind forbid winnowing of any kind. 

This was obviously a serious issue, the wards could either be faulty or someone could have found a way around them. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a vivid dream?” Cassian asks, just trying to come with any better explanation.

“Was your encounter with Bryaxis just a vivid dream?” Azriel snaps. There was no way he imagined it. No way.

Rhys diffuses, stepping in with hands raised in surrender. Silently telling Azriel that they were on his side. “What did it look like when it disappeared? Did it look like it was winnowing?” 

The spymaster thinks about it. No. No, it didn’t. 

It was like its body blended with the darkness. Became the darkness. Almost like… Azriel’s eyes widen.

A shadow. 

“What? What is it, Az?” Rhys asks, probably noticing the revelation he was having from the look on his face. 

The shadowsinger's face becomes neutral, as calm as a person with his features was capable of looking. He shakes his head. “Maybe it was nothing. Sorry for waking you guys up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Then he left without another word.

Rhys and Cassian share a look. A mix of bewilderment, concern, and exhaustion filled their features.

Azriel waits till he reaches his room to say anything, making sure to close the door behind him before a single word can leave his mouth. “Are you jealous? Is that it? Is that why you always leave around Elaine and Mor? Why you thought it would be fun to scare me and my family? Because I don't give you enough attention?” 

His shadows scatter, detaching from his body, hiding under his bed and in the darker nooks of his room. 

“Don’t hide now. I know it was you, that’s why you didn’t warn me.” He gazes into the dark corners of his room, glaring. How could they keep something like this from him? Hide the fact that they could take form? “Show yourself.”

There was an eerie pause, Azriel’s heart began beating faster. Then the fae lights started to flicker.

With each flash more and more shadows gathered before him. Building on each other. The lights went out completely.

When he turned them back on you stood before him.

The most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Pure darkness rose from your body, looking like black smoke. It encapsulates you, different from the way it encapsulates him. The darkness wasn't an extension of your body, it was a part of you, was you, moved with you like it was just another limb.

“My intention was not to scare.” You spoke in a whisper he’d heard many times. A whisper that was most loyal to him. That fulfilled his every beck and call.

Azriel was at a loss for words. You were stunning, a word he'd not known the true meaning of until he laid eyes on you.

“For years, centuries, I’ve followed you. I chose you as my singer. I answered your call.” Tears fill your eyes, but when they fall they dissipate into smoke. Blowing away with a wave of your hand. “I have shown you nothing but loyalty, and care. I’ve sat back while watching you love others and I’ve made peace with it, I’ve accepted our differences.” You suck in a deep breath and steady yourself. “But when I leave, you don’t care, don't even notice.” Your lips tremble, voice breaking as you ask him a question he couldn’t even think to answer. “After everything I’ve done, how can I mean so little to you?” 

Azriel’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He has so much to say but his vocal cords are tied. He did care, though it was clear he hadn’t shown it enough. He found himself thinking about all the little times the shadows had been there for him, comforting him, caring for him. And now he could put a face to those moments, it wasn’t just shadows, it was you that’d been there for him over the years.  

“So yes, I was sad and mad, and maybe a little jealous... But I wasn’t trying to scare you. I was just- I don’t know! Imagining? Yearning for a life I can’t have?” 

 The fae lights began blinking again making his heart jump with every flicker. He doesn't want you to disappear yet. He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. 

“You don’t have to say anything, I don’t want an apology.” You lift a shadowy hand, wiping your face and steeling yourself. “Don’t fret, shadowsinger, I’m still your faithful servant. I couldn’t refuse your calls even if I wanted to. And I’m okay with that, it’s what I chose. Just don’t expect me to be there for you in moments where you can't even acknowledge my existence.” 

The lights flicker again and you're gone. 

Leaving Azriel to wonder if he’s lost you. Although, he never really had you in the first place.

next->

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。and my body keeps saying (it's yours) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo thinks this is different, new, almost like it’s the first time for everything.

contains: f!reader in mind but no specifics are mentioned, 18+/mature/soft-slight n*ft/w, sex with feelings (it’s really just vanilla tho!), first time!, there’s an awkward bit but that’s intentional!, lots of nervous feelings! but also lots of intimacy!

a/n: for nonie.🫧 who asked about what it would be like for their first time! title is inspired by an emotional oranges song, devotion (which i used as music inspo for the entire fic too + troye sivan, what a heavenly way to die). this is also my first time writing anything close to n*fw so please be kind! idk if i’ll ever write one again; takes place between tell me about love (show me how) and so this is what it means to be in love!

collection masterlist: conversations on love 02. tell me about love (show me how) <- you are here -> +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

It’s a touch—

—fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw, trailing down his neck, lightly, delicately.

Gojo kisses you beneath the glow of your bathroom lights and he twitches, just a little bit. 

“Sorry,” you stop, attempting to pull away from him immediately. 

His neck is sensitive, always has been since Toji. The mark has faded over the years; what used to be a line running through the shadow of his jawline is now nothing, but you know the feeling lingers, still. You’ve tried to avoid the area as much as you could—while sparring, hugging, kissing; holding him in moments as intimate as this. But sometimes, your fingers slip, and he jolts, so you move away, apologetic—

And he wishes that you didn’t, wishes that he didn’t have to react that way when all he really wants is for you to hold him like this.

He stares at you now, lips puffed and kiss-bitten, and thinks, he shouldn’t even be here—

—at 2:00 a.m., in your apartment, fresh out of a three-day assignment he caught the last train for, just to see you. 

He shouldn’t even be here, bone-tired in a black t-shirt and track pants he couldn’t be bothered with—there just wasn’t enough time to change out of it. 

And he really shouldn't even be here, except, he cut the assignment two days short, rushed through it, restless, eager at the thought of getting back soon. 

All because he missed you. 

Gojo keeps you close, his fingers splayed on the base of your spine, warm and pressing. You can’t read him, his next move, but his eyes hold lightning crackling. He takes your hand and guides it back to where he’s weakest, underneath his jaw, on his neck—healed skin and tissue, his lifeline to you.

“Keep it,” he murmurs, eyes piercing. 

He still twitches when you touch his skin, but it’s always been involuntary. You should know that it could never be because of you, your hands that hold every good thing his heart carries. 

You lean in first, tiptoeing, nudging his nose with yours and your lips hovering. His pulse point rests beneath your fingertips—can you feel how fast it’s beating? Just from having you near him? 

The tips of his hair tickle your forehead and he swallows, throat bobbing. It’s impossible to resist him when he’s this boyish, this charming, so you kiss his lips once, before pulling away, teasing. He bites his lips, red blooming against pink, and you don’t know exactly what you’re anticipating—

But he leans in. 

When you kiss again, the feeling is familiar, a memory of trembling lips and shaky breaths by a bathroom door that isn’t yours. He doesn’t tremble anymore, isn’t as stiff when he has your lips memorized among many other things, but Gojo still flushes the same way your cheeks heat up and your breaths intermingle at the same rate your hearts race.  

You follow where the lights have diffused into your hallway, this dance with him a push-and-pull you’ve done a few times before. He keeps his palm flat on your lower back, pushing you closer, while pulling you towards your bedroom door.  

His hands slide to your waist, dipping you, grip tightening as you bite his lips, tugging. He moans softly, voice low when your hands rake through his hair, the vibrations rippling through your mouth. Your fingers grasp at the short strands of hair at the back of his head, sighing when his lips are released from yours. 

There’s a moment where you catch his eyes, pupils blown a dangerous blue—a sky swallowing you whole before he begins trailing kisses down your neck, nips and licks evidence of just how greedy he is with you. 

A heat builds within you, rooted deep in your belly as you stay pressed against the outline on his crotch. 

It’s hard to imagine a time before all this, how he even struggled to hold your hand when he touches you now like this. 

You stumble over his feet as he backs into your bedroom, steadied only by his hold on you. You chuckle, a small ‘oops’, so sweet, as your collarbone clashes with his teeth. He smiles, lips curled against your skin as he teases, “So clumsy,” 

He’s kissed you this much before, has held you this tight, and touched you much more but this feeling between you now, he can tell—

Tonight is different. 

You lead him this time, to the edge of your bed as you keep him closer, hands all over him. When you lie down, lower lip caught between your teeth, you smile shyly but your eyes burn sinfully, and Gojo wonders if you know that this is what he sees when he’s dreaming. 

He moves closer, your mattress dipping as he hovers above you, arms caging the sides of your face. His head is spinning, eyes zeroing in on the skin exposed by the single button undone on your pajama top. 

When you cup his cheeks, thumb running across his swollen lips—

He thinks he might go crazy. 

You have no idea what you just did. 

He takes a breath before pressing every bit of his longing onto your neck, kissing, sucking, licking, imprinting proof that he was here, with you. It’s red and blotchy, situated right underneath your ear and it’s one too many but still not enough—for him, never enough.

You gasp, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and it’s overwhelming, this feeling. As quickly as it escalated, Gojo freezes, as if you’ve burned him, as if he’s caught up to what could possibly be happening, and it’s—

It’s a lot. 

He pulls away slowly, eyes wide and breath shaky. The air is thick, hot and heavy, and this—where this is going is something he’s never done before, not entirely. 

You sit up, alarmed, hands cradling his face carefully. His eyes are frantic, nervous, blinking at a pace that only makes you worried. 

“We can stop,” you mumble, lowering your hands to take his, gently.

He sees you, hair a mess, marked his, beautiful, and  he just wants to make sure—that you’re okay with this, that you want this, with him. Truly. 

“Do you want to?” he asks, a sky you could fall into, “Honestly.” 

He breathes out, staring. You gulp before shaking your head. “Do you?”  

And he doesn’t have to think much about it, really, because of course, he doesn’t want to stop. 

How could he, when it’s you?

He shakes his head too and you smile.

You squeeze his hand, guiding it to the buttons of your top, “Okay—”

“We’ve never…” he hesitates, trailing off.

It’s weird because it isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before; you’ve both done things at the very least, just never all the way. And now, with the knowledge that that very fact is going to change—it feels different, new, like it’s the first time for everything. 

You nod, stroking his knuckles to reassure him, “You said you’re a fast learner, right?” 

The nervous laugh you give is oddly comforting, and he remembers that first kiss and the single thought that if he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 

So he takes it—

—unbuttons your top one-by-one, and he’s a bit shaky, hands clammy, but he gets it off eventually. Then goes his shirt, and your shorts, his pants, a struggle to get past his ankles until you’re both bare, cheeks hot while giggling, like first loves—and maybe it is. 

Gojo sees you stripped down, uncovered, wholly you for the first time and thinks he could die. 

It’s vulnerable and strange as he hovers over you this time, skin-to-skin, but you fit together this way, just right. 

You giggle some more, unable to hide your nervousness. It’s a habit you have—laughing in inappropriate situations, but he thinks it’s cute, so he does it right back. 

Your fingers trace his eyebrows, down to his nose and cheeks, then to his lips, still red and bitten, “You’re so pretty, Satoru. Not fair.” 

He blushes, tips of his ears and neck flushing, “‘Course,” he kisses your nose, pulling away to get a good look at you.

“Have to be if I’m with you.” 

It’s cheesy, and you roll your eyes, laughing full-on but he smiles wider and it feels good knowing that he’ll forever get to share this moment with you. 

“I, uh,” he mumbles, trying to find the words, “have to prep.” 

“Oh, yeah, right,” you move, hands reaching for him between you, but he catches your wrist before you touch him, stopping you. 

“Don’t,” he says, firm, face red as he looks straight at you. “I might not…” he doesn’t continue but you know what he means, so you nod, pulling away. 

His hand trails down your body, inching closer to where you need him to be, and it’s sweet you think, because he kisses your lips once before asking, “Can I?” as if he still has to.

You nod, before whispering, “Don’t ask next time.” 

Next time, you said and it rings, echoes in his head as a promise for more—that this is just the beginning. 

So he touches you, in every way he thinks you should be, in every way he knows you want to be. 

There’s a gasp, then a moan as he leaves another mark on your neck, and you’re so close when he stops. 

You whimper, but you know what’s next, and you see it in his eyes as he prepares himself, fingers discarding a square packet, “You’ll let me know?” he whispers, soft, concerned.

You’ll let me know if I hurt you? he means, and his eyes stare into yours, sincere. 

You nod, brushing your lips against his, and when you feel it—it’s unusual, maybe a bit uncomfortable but he’s there kissing it away. 

There’s an adjustment, a few awkward positions until he finds it, then he goes slow, rhythmic. Your sighs grow louder and he groans, withholding, then you say it—

“‘Toru,”

—by his ear, soft and breathy, and he’s gone, stilling and spilling, a part of him forever yours, irrevocably. 

thank you notes: to nonie.🫧 for asking about this in the first place, and to niku (@stellamancer) for emotional support and for reading this first!! + for helping me go over it!! i love u niku 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[woantohae]

hey friend you should do a bob reynold x witch!reader like she has the same powers as wanda but like not??like a headcanon or them meeting through the thunderbolts idk just something fr fr

thank youuuu for stepping up

Thunderbolts || (Bob Reynolds x Polaris! reader)

Summary: They're not supes. They're not heroes. The don't give up.

What happens when a group of "bad people" needs to assemble to fight something bigger than them?

Author's note: Hello! So this is a series of Bob Reynolds, the other parts can be found in my masterlist <3333

Y/N had arrived at the place where Valentina had summoned her. The girl didn't entirely trust her word, but the woman had information that was valuable to her. For months she wanted to know where her sister Wanda Maximoff was. After the battle against Thanos, Wanda had completely disappeared. The black-haired woman tried to call her whenever she could, but her cell phone was always busy or she simply didn't answer.

Y/N knew she was still grieving Vision's death. But she let her know that if Wanda needs something, or a sister.... she would be there in an instant.

The darkness of the corridors did not give her a good feeling, she kept her eyes fixed on each corner to make sure she was prepared to fight if necessary. She turned the corner and found a room with various furniture and objects scattered around the space. There was a light illuminating the room but it didn't calm her down completely. She heard someone else enter the room, so she quickly hides in a dark corner. The girl doesn't want to start a fight so soon.

The new person is a man wearing a suit similar to Captain America's and wearing a shield with pride and confidence. It's John Walker. She had heard of him.

Y/N frowns when she sees that he is also hiding when she hears another person enter the room. Why on earth had Valentina summoned her here if more people were arriving?

She remains in her place until she sees how a new girl with short blonde hair enters the place at a slow but sure pace. She looks at some papers and her face expresses distrust. She knew she was not alone, especially when John decides to come out of hiding and start shooting her, to which the blonde dodges him. There are two more people who enter the scene and start fighting. Y/N lets out a sigh and takes off her coat, letting it fall to the floor. She comes out of hiding and stands in front of the rest.

"Who are you?" John asks. He proceeds to throw his shield, but the girl raises her hands and lets the energy flow from her fingers to stop the vibranium in mid-air and throw it across the room.

"Bad move" Y/N observes her opponents.

"How did you do that?" the blonde asks, without moving from the spot.

"What? This?" She lifts a metal box and throws it at the soldier. The shor-haired blonde girl throws a knife through the air, which Y/N catches and throws away, being caught by a masked person. The fight continues with bullets fired by another black-haired woman.

Suddenly, the short blonde haired girl stops the fight with a scream.

"Enough!" She exclaims "We're not going to gain anything if we keep trying to kill each other."

The masked person stops next to the black-haired person in the black suit. John looks at Y/N suspiciously and she raises her hands in surrender to hear what the blonde has to say. Everyone watches each other carefully to see their movements and not let their guard down.

"It's obvious that someone wants us gone," she points out with a gesture. "We've all done bad things here."

Y/N looks at her with a frown.

"Shadow op. Contract kills" she raises an eyebrow.

"Why would anyone want that?" John questions picking up his shield. He shrugs. "And you former Red Room assassin. Why should I trust you? God only knows the blood in your hands"

"That's pretty ludicrous coming from the dime store Captain America." the other black haired woman says.

"I'll have you know the official Captain America, so..." he defends.

"Yeah. For like, two seconds" Y/N jokes.

They both laugh with sarcasm.

"It getting so tense in here" a new voice says.

Everyone turns to where the voice is heard and sees a man dressed in scrubs. Y/N is ready to use her powers if he tries to attack them. The man immediately throws his hands in the air.

"Wow, easy"

"Who are you?" Ghost asks.

"I-I- I'm Bob" he says pointing to himself.

"Great. Another one we need to fight with" John says.

"Wait. Weren't you sent together?" Bob asks pointing at them, still raising his hands. It seems harmless, Y/N thinks.

"If that were the case, believe me, I wouldn't have thrown the shield at her," John points out Y/N.

"Yeah, sure," she says.

Before they can fight again, a clock starts counting down and the lights of the room turns off.

"Shit," Yelena says. He turns to Bob "Why are you here?"

"I-I don't know." he seems nervous.

The clock continues counting until there are only seconds left to find out what it is.

"We must go. Now!" Ghost says.

Everyone starts running as soon as they hear the clock beeping at zero. Y/N runs to Bob's side by chance and upon hearing an explosion, Y/N pulls his hand to fall to the ground with her.

The smell of smoke fills Y/N's nostrils and she coughs at the sensation. He looks to his side and sees everyone lying on the ground, trying to catch their breath as best they can. Bob looks at her fearful of what just happened and nods his head.

"Thank you" he thanks. Y/N just watches him and shakes her head, having only one thought in her head at the moment.

Valentina was behind all this.

........

Part II

Hi! I know it's short and nothing is happening between Bob and Y/N..... yet.

But I'm thinking about how to continue the story and I would like to complement it when "Thunderbolts" is released. However, I'm going to let my creative process take care of the continuation between both characters for now.

Hope you enjoyed it <333

[demolitionsweetheart]

Sweet tooth

Sonic the hedgehog x fem!reader

Request:Can I request Sonic eating out fem reader?

Tw: obviously smut, bodily pain(if you squint), mild language

A/n(pls read): assumed movie sonic since this request was after my movie shadow one I just decorated using other pictures :3...sorry again for the pause in posts.. Haven't been feeling very well but I'm trying to work on everything.. Also idk if it's actually an inconvenience but I'm sorry my work is short.. When it's personal I tend to write longer but when it's smut or comfort based I just don't make them that long.

NSFW!MDNI

Sonic had been extra clingy all day, finding every excuse to touch you..whether it was resting his chin on your shoulder, draping an arm around your waist, or tracing lazy circles on your thigh when he thought you wouldn’t notice. Normally, his energy was boundless, bouncing from place to place, but Today he was focused. On you.

“You’re being weird,” you teased, poking his cheek as he lay beside you, staring like you like you were an angel.

He smirked, eyes glinting with something mischievous. “..no..Just appreciating your beauty, pretty girl”

Your face heated, but you rolled your eyes. “Right.”

But then he started pushing it..letting his hands linger when he guided you, teasing enough to your heart stutter, and most effective..running his fingers along your inner thighs absentmindedly like he wasn’t driving you insane.

It wasn’t until he pulled you into his lap, arms snug around your waist, that you realized he was past the point of subtlety. His seemed so needy, a grip so firm, as if he was holding back something feral.

"Sonic," you warned, but your voice was softer than you intended.. More inviting then halting.

He was growing so impatient.. "Please."

You'd teased him enough, even if you weren't trying to.. He was done playing coy...

"You won't hurt me, promise." Sonic winked, hands already gripping your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin, impatient. He was always like this—so eager, so desperate to get his mouth on you.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in his gaze made your stomach flip. "You're insane." You booped his nose playfully but it only made him more antsy.

Sonic smirked, "not insane, just hungry" he corrected..practically vibrating under you, his hands sliding up to your hips. His grip was solid and impatient. he was already nudging his snout between your legs, barely giving you the chance to adjust.

Your hesitation was killing him. He could feel the warmth radiating from you, smell the heady scent of your arousal, and it was driving him up the damn wall. You were hovering, just inches away from giving him exactly what he wanted. It was torture.

"none of that," Sonic growled, claws ajusting against your thighs before he yanked you down onto his face.

A sharp gasp left your lips as his nose prodded at your clit, the friction immediate, and so direct. He groaned as soon as your heat met his mouth, his tongue lapping up the slickness eagerly.

Despite being under you, he was in control.

His grip tightened, nails digging into your soft flesh as he devoured you. His tongue shoved between your folds, a hungry whimper escaping him as he drank in every drop. The vibrations of his low moaning fed your need even further.

Your hips jolted, thighs trembling against his cheeks, overwhelmed by the sudden intensity. Sonic fucking loved it... how sensitive you were, how your body twitched with every swipe of his tongue. It only made him more eager.

"Fuck, Sonic—"

He groaned into you, Like he knew exactly what you needed and he was more than happy to give it to you. His tongue flicked against your swollen clit before dragging down, slipping between your folds, then pushing deep inside.

His fingers kneaded into your thighs, holding you in place. He needed you closer, needed you to grind against his face, needed you to use him the way he ached to be used.

His nails bit deeper, his breathing ragged, nose pressed so snug against your clit that every exhale sent a fresh jolt of pleasure through you.

You whimpered, grinding you hips down, slowly at first, until Sonic groaned again..so needy, urging you on. The friction was overwhelming: his nose dragging against your sensitive bud, his tongue thrusting into you in desperate, eager strokes.

"That's it.. yeah, fuck—" Sonic's words were muffled against you...slurreed and drunk on your sapid taste.

Your thighs clamped around his head, and he whimpered. A Loud and needy noise- like this was  just as good for him as it was for you. You tightened your grip in his quills, tugging hard, and he shuddered beneath you.

His tongue was relentless, licking, sucking, practically slobbering over you, messy and wild. He was so damn greedy, moaning against your dripping core like this was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

"Sonic—!"

You couldn't stop grinding, couldn't stop chasing that peak. His hands shoved you down harder, having you to ride his tongue, begging you to use him however you wanted.

The knot in your stomach twisted tighter. You were close...so close you could barely think.. Barely breathe

Then he nipped at your clit.Your body jolted, pleasure replaced by a quick sting.

"Fuck—don't use your teeth"  you pulled back.

He latched onto you again, tongue circling, lips sucking, fingers digging bruises into your thighs. He opened his eyes, half lidded to watch you, loving the way your hips jerked against him, chasing your high. He loved it.

His tongue dragged back to your aching, throbbing core, finding that same sweet spot that had you squirming, abusing the tender spot.

Your breath hitched, pleasure overwhelming, too much, too good. Your thighs clenched around his face and Sonic moaned, loud and desperate as if he was the one getting off.

The intensity was unbearable. Your stomach tensed, hot, low, and tight, white hot pleasure threatening to spill over.

"I'm gonna—"

Sonic grunted, knowing. His grip tightened,  nails pressing till it stung.  His tongue moved faster,  dragging against your gummy walls, fucking into your with desperation.

You thighs trembled, Spasming around him as you let go.

A choked moan ripped from your throat,  back arching into him as a  wave of pleasure washed over you. Thighs giving out when he didn't stop lapping like an animal.

Sonic groaned into you,  drinking in you sweet release.  He held you firm, keeping you against his face forcing you to ride out every jolt of pleasure.

You body was spent and oversensitive, but sonic didn't stop. His tongue lapped up everydrop, slow and leisurely,  savoring even as you tried to pull away from the overwhelming sensation.

He smirked against you,  nose nuzzling your over stimulated bud one last time before finally letting go of your hips.

You slumped back,  arms holding your weary body as you panted, heart hammering against you chest. Your legs felt like jelly and sonic had the smuggest grin on his face.

"Not insane?" You shot him a glare.

Sonic just licked away what was left of you from him lips, grinning again.

"No.. But still hungry~"

Thank yew for reading.. Engagement is very appreciated!

Requests r open

[zombiecare-rot-art]

Last day of mer may and my Moon design is finally done!!! I got inspo from the blanket octopus and shadow leviathan from Subnautica Zero. I went back and forth with wanting to make this boyo partially transparent and honestly, I only didn't because it would have made the coloring take longer lol. Because I played Subnautica to help get me inspired and motivated to finally tackle making designs for Sun and Moon (will do Eclipse but not any time soon sadly) I envision them in that environment but they don't have to be limited to that game, so to all my fanfic authors out there if you like either design and want to use them please do (and send me a link so I can read it hehehee~)

I was first thinking of the scar on his chest to be something caused by Sun but idk

Sun design!

Edit: Eclipse has now been posted!

[docwritesshit]

Hello! I hope you're doing well and taking care of yourself today/tonight. I was wondering if you could do pregnancy/parent headcanons for Sun Wukong, Macaque, and MK (separate) of how they would be as dads. Like how they would take the news of their S/O being pregnant, how they would be throughout the whole pregnancy, and what fun things they would do with their kiddos. If you feel uncomfortable with this, that's totally fine

I feel like I’ve done these guys with kids but I could be entirely wrong

ANYWAYS

The Monkey boys with a Pregnant!SO and how they are with the kids!

Wukong

This man is over the moon when he first got the news

Immediately goes overboard in decorating for the babies nursery

I feel like it takes him a few days before he goes “… wait. Shit”

Because this man has aloootttt of enemies. And they are all not above harming innocent parties

So he’s taking every precaution there ever is

Barely lets you leave the mountain by yourself. Either him or someone else has to accompany you

Is constantly holding onto you, even more than usual

Can only sleep with you in the same bed, even more than usual

When your showing more and the baby is moving, good luck going anywhere by yourself

“Wukong-“ “Shhhhhh, I can feel ‘em kicking”

Will not ever miss when the baby is kicking, he swears he will witness every single one

When the baby is actually born, he is not leaning that little angels side

I feel like he is SUCH a girl dad. Idk why

Is mesmerized by every babble and smile with his kid.

Honestly, I feel like he enjoys tea time with his daughter. Pinky will be out and proud as he sips his ‘tea’

Macaque

Do not be surprised to see and extra shadow following you around for a bit

You’re very curious so you ask him about it

“Just trying to protect my kin”

… excuse me, THE FUCK-

After an explanation and you going off on him for not telling you (legit he thought you knew already), you just let the shadow be

Be ready to just see a baby room just fucking appear in your house.

You’re not even showing yet and this dude already has a stock pile of diapers and bottles and wipes and all the things

Over prepared ass mfer/pos

As soon as the baby is born, attached to the hip this one

Cannot get this man to put yalls child down. He is constantly hold them

(I keep wanting to say her. Why are they both girl dads? Who knows)

Can and will throw hands with the baby while they are out and about

MK

Shocked. Gob smacked

He is starting at the wall for a good few minutes

Then he is all over you, giving you all the love he can

You can see him drawing in his sketchbook a lot more

His excuse? “Just trying to capture that glow”

God he is ENAMORED with your growing body. Has to always be touching you in some way or form

There’s also anxiety with him

He can only imagine how he can handle a child while also being Wukongs successor.

Is trying so so hard to be with you and the kid but GOD THE VILLAINS ARE FUCKING ATTACKING HIM

When the kid arrives, he enjoys just drawing with em in the room

Sometimes he tries to draw what they will look like when they grow up. He hopes they atleast get your eyes

King of Daddy- Kid dates while you get some me time. None of them would say no to spending time with your kid while you go and do your own thing but MK especially loves it

That’s all I got

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r]

Loki using his Shadows on you after your behaviour at a party

TW: Slight Voeyerism, sex with shadows, hints to somnophilia.

Odin had held a grand festival. It had beautiful nymphs and goddesses from different worlds. You had dressed in a beautiful black top with a matching skirt. The shirt cut off before your navel and the skirt cut off before your thighs.

Wrapped in a beautiful glittery veil, and a golden headband. You were stunning, in Loki's eyes you shined brighter than all the stars above, glittering on the ceiling.

Grünle a jöttenhimer had asked you to dance and you agreed to one just to indulge him. Suprisingly akward was far from it. He was a gentleman through and through. With slight jokes and remarks. You enjoyed his company yes. Buqt you wished to be in the arms of a god a few yards away.

Although those yards felt like seas. You knew this wasn't one sided as you felt his gaze on you, and you only the entire time. Grünle brought you close for the last time and gave you a polite hug.

Kissing you cheek, he smiled and told you to enjoy yourself. You simply smiled and said you would.

You allowed the music and the wine to guide you, mingling with he crowd. You didn't feel his gaze anymore. You started to turn but was caught when yoy fwlt something trace your waist.

Or rather.

Someone.

"You of all people should know that i get jealous very easily, especially with people i care about," he whispered gently into your neck.

He moved you to he music and you began to dance. You didn't need to look behind you, or at the long veiny hands infront of you.

And he was jealous.

He slowly twirled you and you glimpsed his face.

He was jealous.

The dance between you was filled with tension, he held you closer at parts, his hand going higher towards your neck as though to collar you.

You smiled to yourself, if he ever wished to do that, boy would you let him. He kissed your cheek at the end of the dance. Before stealing one from you lips. It was a quick one.

You only bit your lip and curtsied and after your dance gave your hand out to another, and another, and another. Till you swore you shoes had worn out. With every dance, they would swoop in a kiss your cheek.

You could basically feel his jealousy rising with each peck. You had gone out to the adjoining balcony for air. You tried to gather your thoughts. You had teased the god of mischief. Surely some form of punishment should be on its way.

As you stood pondering what you had done. You realised you weren't alone. You felt them.

His shadows.

You felt them slip under your dress, fondling and groping you. One even slipped into your hand and took your drink. Sliding it onto the balcony table.

The slowly relieved you of you dress sliding it off your shoulders. Soon you were on your back, softly moaning at the invisible person on you. You felt everything, from your breasts to your nethers.

It's not like you've never been touched there before, it's just that you've never been touched by his shadows.

The moved in sync guiding you to your orgasm, one went over your mouth to stop anyone from getting to hear you.

Loki was the type to either fuck you infront of everyone, or the keep your moans and pleasures to himself.

It stopped at your breasts for a minute giving it a light squeeze before heading up your face to your ear.

Over and over, these shadows were relentless. Guiding you to every orgasm. You were a sweating heaving mess. You turned to try and crawl away but they wouldn't let go.

Finally they released you. Cleaning you up aswell. Your mind was hazy and in a mess. Slowly one slid up your body again.

"The things I wish to do to you lovely, but alas my shadows will have to suffice for now, do not wait up for me love, i shall come for you, then, I shall have you, awake or not."

lo elysium.

You felt the floor open at your feet and off you went. You hoped loki would join you soon.

A/N: curtsied

Idk how to spell it and I'm too lazy for da shit

Also if y'all cannot picture the outfit, I got reference from. The Dragon King's bride on WEBTOON , CHAPTER 16

Also reader is either black or like dark skinned, am I projecting? 🤔 maybe🤷🏾‍♀️

[sims3fiend]

S3SettingsSetter New new version New

I have returned from the grave to do another re-rewrite of Sims 3 Settings Setter! Hopefully the last! The main new features are a pattern detection approach, meaning it should work on any version of the game, and a new platform for some function rewrite optimizations I've done (steam only). Also most importantly includes the ability to set the Streaming settings to throttle lots, reducing stutter dramatically and a patch to make lots load on radius instead of view.

A full write-up below, but here's the main features:

Change "variable" settings ingame: This lets you change things that normally require mods but live ingame, letting you tweak things how you want. This includes things like changing bloom levels, light colors, sunlight brightness, weather (so you can have snow in summer), sunrise times, tweaking shadow distances, etc etc. Highly recommend just playing around to see what can be done. These are now correctly mapped so they should all work correctly.

Change "Config" settings (not ingame): This lets you set any config (graphicsrules.sgr) thing you want, including some that aren't in the original files (idr the name). It also lets you have set presets, and means you can (hopefully) more clearly see what settings you've changed. I will slowly (I've said this before lol) manually add Config and Options settings to the live edit, I haven't found an easy automatic way of doing this unfortunately.

Performance tweaks and notifications: Set notifications for hitting memory thresholds, letting you know before an E12 happens. Improve game performance with tweaks to game code. Uhh, maybe other stuff soon idk

Please note, as this is a new rewrite, this is still a beta. There will probably be bugs, the menu may glitch out, etc. Please also note that some settings may effect things in unexpected ways, if you're not sure what a setting does, maybe try it out in a fresh save first. Generally though, everything is correctly mapped and shouldn't have any lasting negative effects on your game.

BaselinePerformance preset (put into Presets folder and load ingame with File -> Presets). This should reduce stuttering while still being light enough that it wont tank laptop players. Use this instead of my GraphicsRules file please! https://simfileshare.net/download/5333998/

Download: http://www.simfileshare.net/download/5333999/

Source: https://github.com/sims3fiend/Sims3SettingsSetter

\/ More details/blog post/How to use \/

How to use

Installing:

Just like before you 'll need an ASI loader. I recommend dxwrapper but if you're using Smooth Patch that comes with one too. You then just plonk it into your The Sims 3\Game\Bin folder like any other .asi mod and run the game.

Using:

Preset insert to open the UI

The menu should open up, if it doesn't, look in your game directory for hook_log.txt and send it to me x. If you don't have one, chances are your asi loader isn't working correctly.

The settings tab only becomes editable once a game has been loaded (might change this later). These are values that can be edited live ingame and should change something even if that thing isn't immediately obvious.

Most have sliders, the min/max/step are determined by the game itself, but you can set them above/below these values by right clicking

This also lets you "Clear Override" AKA remove it from the ini, or "Reset to Default" which resets it it to default :)

When you've got things how you want, go to file -> save to save them. If you want to make a preset out of them, that's in file too x, presets save things like patches, Config and QoL too, so just be careful. When loading a preset you can chose to Overwrite which basically clears your ini, or merge, which adds that preset on top of your current settings.

Everything else should be pretty easy to figure out idk

What's new/blog

New function approach for live edit

I actually properly looked at the code flow and found a neat vtable that had, essentially, what I was dreaming of when I made the version version of this. The function gives the name, min, max, step and address of incoming variable manager controlled settings, which is rly rly good! A much more sane and easy to develop for approach than the manually mapping out address spaces approach I was taking before!

Patterns

I've tried to use patterns for the most part, this means finding the function and trying to write a "pattern" of bytes that matches both main versions of the game (Steam and EA). This can be pretty tricky as you have to be specific enough that you don't get false positives while being loose enough to get both versions. It seems to work on both EA/Steam version (with the exception of the patches), but please let me know if it doesn't.

Patches

NERD ZONE NERD ZONE SKIP THIS PART

These will primarily be direct naked ASM patches to functions, and I'll probably be keeping them exclusive to the steam version of the game unless there's something that's a substantial improvement, as the EA one has been compiled differently so different instructions are used, meaning I'd have to write two patches. You can probably skip using them for now if I'm being honest, I have a bunch in the works but these mostly suck.

Point intersection patch

Essentially this is a hand written naked ASM patch for the point intersection code TS3 uses, this is used for nav meshing IIRC, and was the first proper one of these I did after seeing it in vtuner. Sadly, It's not really going to be noticeable at all, maybe a second faster load on custom maps, as they bulk call it during load. IIRC non-custom ones also call it during sims moving but I could be wrong as I wrote this aaages ago and didn't keep great notes. It has a lot of stuff in it and does achieve a very substantial boost vs the default function as a result, it's just that the function isn't really a cause of lag (though is on the render thread IIRC so..). It achieves the performance boost by I guess nearly fully rewriting it, I added an early exit, use prefetchnta, switched to SIMD, lddqu, shufps, fast paths… idk these are all words that mean nothing to basically everyone reading this including me but I'm quite happy with how it turned out.

Target Framerate

Changes what I can only assume is the games framerate target, it seems to interact w/ the frame buffer. I haven't noticed any noticeable difference but give it a go! This one may desync things in theory but I haven't noticed so 🤷 lol actually this makes animations slow down for some reason so I've removed it oops, need to look into this more.

Lot Visibility

Disables the games check for if a lot is in view, instead it should just load based on the radius around the camera. This is a the patch in Stutter Reducerer so if you're using that you don't need this (just enable Lot Throttling under streaming)

LZ Optimization (not released)

This is basically the point intersection but for the games main package decompression (RefPack) implementation. I… am/was a bit of a dunce with this, for whatever reason my original implementation was focused on large reads using AVX,SSE, etc… Now, the issue is… LZ does small (1-4) byte reads… so… I'm in the process of rewriting it once more. Plan to uroll the functions and do idk like MOVZX I think would be huge, simplifying the flow, etc etc.

The performance gain might actually be somewhat noticeable for this as this function is used in gameplay quite a bit. How you might ask? Well, every single lot that is loaded reads and extracts files for every object in that lot every single time it is loaded, in excess of 40mb/s with that being several hundreds of thousands of calls (some files are very small, and refpack also is byte-by-byte). This is all also done on the render thread, so the game has to wait for this to do its thing (and several other functions) before it renders the next frame. Very good very fun.

Multithreading (maybe eventually)

I've tried but no real luck, I've had some "success" but mostly it's been failures. I do have some interesting things I want to look at, especially related to lot loading so we'll see what the future holds. I think some degree of multithreading for the render thread would be incredibly huge.

Other patches

I have like 10 other ones that are not quite ready yet but should help, hopefully I'll just trickle them out but I think waiting until I can get them working properly is probably dumb.

Coming soon:

Stuff that I'm working on I swear I promise!!! It's coming!

UI QoL - There's a lot wrong with it.

"Options" category support. This is tricky as changing these settings directly writes them to the .ini file in documents for some reason

Several patches

A system for automatic performance tweaks like reducing active lots to 0 when loading, then throttle-loading them back once game has loaded, or automatically reducing settings related to object caps, etc.

More live-edit settings. There's a bunch I want to add it's just annoying. Most are static values though but having to find patterns that find them for both versions is rly annoying. Things like RenderSimLODDistances, FogDistances, the Script category…etc. If you have any requests lmk!

The ini file is kinda ugly garbage horrible to look at

Need to figure out why these have min/max/step like, is there some sort of debug ui I'm missing out on? It seems like there is but idk how to trigger it, gunna be pissed if it's something obvious

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Welcome to part 2 of Whispers of Secrets and Starlight 🥳🥳🥳

I was praying for times I could use this song

Btw if anyone is wondering, idk why but this is what I imagine the daily outfits our future high lady wears: all of this or this other too, and a lot of other kpop outfits actually, the concepts are soooo good

Also... my bff who lives with me helped me write the smut, I'm too shy to do everything by myself so if you feel the writing is a bit off it probably wasn't just me in the document lol

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, Tamlin knows how to do politics 😔, 10% book following and it's gonna get worse, mentions of SA, PTSD, smut so... beware minors, mentions of war, Rhysand 🤤

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 9: Heart On The Window

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting flickering golden light across the maps and reports strewn across your desk. A cup of untouched tea sat beside them, long gone cold. You didn’t even notice when Rhysand stepped into your study until his voice curled around you.

"You’re working too hard, darling."

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t look up from the report in your hands. "Pot, meet kettle."

Rhysand let out a soft huff of laughter as he crossed the room. The moment he reached you, he leaned against your desk, one hand braced beside your papers, the other offering a sealed letter.

Your brows rose as you took it. "What’s this?"

"News from Cassian."

That caught your full attention.

You set the report down and broke the seal, eyes scanning the contents. Your heart thrummed as you read. Rhys watched you carefully, his own report still in hand.

"The first female Illyrian battalion," you murmured. "That’s… that’s never been done before."

"One of the many changes I’ve been making these past centuries," Rhysand said softly.

You lifted your gaze to his, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him. This High Lord who had spent centuries fighting against deep-seated traditions, against Illyrian warlords who would rather see their females clipped than ever give them a sword — or freedom. A male who had been changing Prythian long before anyone had even noticed.

"You’re making history," you said, voice quiet.

A shadow of a smile ghosted over his lips. "We’re making history. They only accepted after Cassian told them a female would be commanding their moves. You."

The words settled deep in your chest but before you could say more, you glanced down at the rest of the letter. Cassian had intensified the training of the Illyrians, preparing them for war, making sure they were ready for what was to come.

"Az is extending his spy network, I don't know if you already read his report today" you murmured. "He's been trying to find more information about Hybern’s allies. Do we know if they’ve been securing more partnerships in the last few years?"

Rhysand’s jaw tightened. "Not officially. But Amren believes they will be showing themselves soon."

You sighed, setting the letter down. "Lucien said Tamlin has a map of the Cauldron’s pieces," you reminded him. "And now we know that the temples marked on it have been robbed recently. Hybern is gathering the pieces."

"I know, Amren told me you both figured it out two days ago."

You swallowed, looking back at him. "She thinks we won’t have to worry, though. The temple in our territory is being heavily guarded now, and I warned Helion. I mean, you technically warned Helion. The Day Court is prepared in case they are attacked too."

Rhysand nodded. "That’s the one thing keeping her from completely losing her mind over this. She's been surprisingly calm, judging the situation."

A smirk tugged at your lips. "And you?"

He hummed. "I suppose it helps me sleep at night."

"You don’t sleep."

A slow, wicked smile curved his mouth. "Maybe I would, if someone warmed my bed more often."

Your breath caught. But before he could push his advantage, you rolled your eyes and turned back to the reports.

"We still don’t know how far Tamlin is willing to go with all this," you said, attempting to steer the conversation back on track.

Rhysand let out a mocking sigh, but he nodded. "Lucien’s been doing what he can from within," he said, "but Tamlin is wary of him. He won’t let him get close to the real plans."

Your nails tapped against the desk. "If Lucien can’t get close enough, then we need another plan."

Rhysand leaned in, his voice a velvet promise. "Don’t worry, darling. I already have one."

You narrowed your eyes. "Do I even want to know?"

His grin was pure trouble. "You’ll find out soon enough if we need to use it. If not, I won't stress you with it."

You sighed. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you adore me." You did. Gods help you, you did.

Rhysand leaned back on the desk, rolling his shoulders, exhaustion from war planning still evident in the sharp lines of his face. But when he looked at you, his violet eyes softened, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"And how is Feyre's reading coming along?" he asked, the shift in topic intentional. He knew you needed a break from discussing battle strategies, and nothing made you more at peace than talking about your cousin’s progress.

You smiled, stepping closer to him. “She’s doing so well. You’d be proud of her.” A hint of pride laced your voice as you continued. “She’s becoming more confident, and even asks me to sit with her while she reads out loud. She still struggles sometimes, but she doesn’t hesitate to ask for help anymore. And she already thanked the priestess who's been guiding her more times than Iris can tell her it's not needed.”

Rhys hummed in satisfaction. “She also reached out to me, asking to restart her physical training.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded, reaching for your hand, tracing lazy circles against your palm. “I set up one of our trainers to work with her. She’s determined.”

You exhaled, warmth filling your chest. “That’s all I ever wanted for her, so she will feel strong again.”

Rhysand tugged you forward, his arms wrapping around your waist as you instinctively circled yours around his neck. He let out a pleased sigh, nuzzling your temple.

“You’re happy she’s trusting you,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Of course, I am. I need your family to like me, don’t I? Especially if we pretend to get married.”

The way he said 'pretend’ made your stomach flutter. Your cheeks burned as you averted your gaze, and Rhys, ever the predator, caught the reaction immediately.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “What’s that look for?” You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you there. His voice was softer this time, almost unsure. “Do you want to marry me?”

Your breath hitched. “Rhys.”

“I mean it,” he murmured. “Do you want to officially be my High Lady one day?”

You stared at him, at the sincerity in his expression, at the slight vulnerability peeking through his usual confidence. Your heart clenched, and you wondered how long he’d been holding onto that question, too afraid to ask.

“Of course, you insane male,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his. “It’s been a process to love you, but every day, I feel like I’m falling even more.”

Rhys let out a shaky breath before sealing his lips over yours. The kiss was slow, reverent as if he were committing this moment to memory. But then his hands skimmed down your back, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

You pulled away just enough to chuckle. “See? This is exactly why I asked for separate studies.” But you didn't made a move to stop him from taking your shirt off.

Rhys grinned, voice husky. “Are you complaining?”

You leaned in, lips grazing his ear. “If you prove to me that you’re my good boy,” you purred, “I might be willing to warm your bed for a while.”

A growl rumbled in his chest as he swiftly lifted you onto the desk, pushing aside the endless war papers without a second thought. “Oh, darling,” he murmured, kissing down your throat, hands already roaming. “You’ll never have to ask twice.”

And Mother above, did he prove himself.

War papers sprawled across the polished wooden surface, their edges curling slightly as if mocking the chaos they represented. Yet, amidst the tension of impending battles and political strife, you and Rhysand found yourselves locked in a different kind of conflict, one of desire, power, and unspoken promises.

Rhysand stood tall, his broad shoulders filling the space as he leaned over you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was both tender and voracious. It was a kiss that spoke of reverence, of a man committing every detail of the moment to memory. But as his hands slid down your back, his fingers catching on the top that holds your breasts, the tenderness gave way to something wilder. He tugged the fabric upward, a silent demand that left no room for misinterpretation.

You knew Rhysand’s tendencies, his inability to keep his hands — or his lips — to himself when you were near. It was a game you both have been playing for a while, a dance of power and submission that neither was willing to abandon.

A primal growl rumbled in his chest, deep and resonant. With deliberate slowness, Rhysand dipped his head, his mouth closing over your breast. His tongue swirled lazily, a hungry exploration that made you arch into him, his breath hitching in your chest. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he suckled, his teeth scratching tour skin in a way that only heightened the pleasure. It was a sensation that was both tender and rough, a perfect blend of his duality, the gentle lover and the dominant High Lord.

“Rhys,” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair as you tilted your head back, exposing your neck to his roaming lips. His name was a plea, a surrender to the sensations overwhelming you.

He hummed against your skin, a vibration that sent shivers down your spine, before pulling away just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark with desire, his pupils dilated as he drank in the sight of you. “You taste like heaven everytime I try you again,” he murmured, his voice thick with longing.

But he wasn’t done yet.

With a wicked grin, he slid lower, his lips and tongue mapping every inch of you again, committing it to memory. His breath was hot and eager as he buried his face between your thighs, his hands spreading your legs wider to grant him better access. You were wet, your arousal evident, and he wasted no time in devouring you with a ferocity that left you trembling and gasping for breath.

His tongue was relentless, tracing patterns that made you squirm and moan. He lapped at you eagerly, his teeth scratching your sensitive skin in a way that only added to the pleasure. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he explored every inch of you again, his mouth a tempest of sensation.

“Rhysand,” you cried out, voice breaking as your climax built, threatening to consume you. Your fingers dug into the desk, nails scraping against the wood as you fought to anchor herself to reality. The wood almost cracked under the force you were holding it.

He growled against you, a sound of satisfaction and possession, before pulling away just enough to look up at your eyes. His lips were glistening, your essence coating them, and the sight was enough to send a fresh wave of desire crashing over you. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice a command. “I’m not done with you.”

You shivered at his words, your body aching for release, but you nodded, trusting him implicitly. This was your dance, after all, a delicate balance of power and surrender.

With a smirk, he rose to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt. His pants fell to the floor, revealing his erection, thick and throbbing, a testament to his desire for you. He didn’t rush, taking his time to savor the moment, to let your anticipation build.

“You’re mine,” he stated, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through you. It wasn’t a question, but a declaration, a reminder of the rummaging bond between you.

“Yours,” you breathed, voice soft but unwavering. You were his, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than to be claimed by him again.

He leaned over you, his hands gripping the edge of the desk as he positioned himself at your entrance. His eyes locked with yours, he thrust forward, filling you in one slow, deliberate motion. You gasped, nails digging into the wood as you adjusted to his size, your body welcoming him with a tightness that made him groan.

“So fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice strained as he began to move, his hips snapping in a rhythm that was both urgent and controlled. The desk creaked beneath you, the papers long forgotten as you become lost in the moment.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, your thighs rasping on his jacked as you met his thrusts, your body moving in sync with his. The power exchange was palpable, his dominance evident in every stroke, yet you were no passive participant. You were his equal, your desire matching his own as you surrendered to the pleasure he wrought.

“Harder,” you asked — never demanded, your voice breathless as you tilted your hips, seeking deeper penetration. You wanted nothing more than to carve your nails in his back, hold him closer to you, but you held yourself back. In the future, you promised yourself.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, the desk groaning under the pressure of your passion. His hands gripped your hips, bruising in their intensity, as he pounded into you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his lips brushing your ear as he nipped at your lobe. “My good girl, taking my cock like you were made for it.”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head falling back as you surrendered to the pleasure. “Because I was made for you, Rhys. Always for you.”

His thrusts quickened, his control slipping as he neared the edge. “Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

Your climax hit you like a wave, crashing over you with an intensity that left you breathless. You cried out, your walls clenching around him as you shattered, body trembling with the force of your release.

He followed moments later, his growl of satisfaction filling the room as he spilled himself deep within you. His body stilled, his forehead resting against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath.

For a long moment, you remained like that, hearts pounding in unison, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Then, with a soft chuckle, Rhysand pulled back, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss.

“I believe I’ve proven myself,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the lines of his face as you leaned into him. “You have,” you agreed, tone playful. “Though I suppose I’ll have to keep testing you, just to be sure.”

He grinned, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.”

And as you leaned into each other, the world outside — with its wars and worries — faded into insignificance. In that moment, there was only you, your desire, and the unspoken promise of more to come.

He took himself out of your warmth and winnowed both of you to his bathroom, where the bath started to fill itself under his silent command.

☆

The warm water calmed over both of you as steam curled around the marble walls. Rhys sat between your legs, his back resting against your chest, his wings slightly spread as he let you run a washcloth gently over his shoulders. His head leaned back against your collarbone, eyes closed, breathing deep.

You knew he wasn’t just relaxing, he was listening. Feeling. Memorizing every little touch, every caress, every drop of water sliding between you both. Your fingers traced soft circles on his arms before dipping lower, washing away the sweat and heat from earlier. You were always cautious during those moments, always careful with what you said and did.

Because you knew. You knew how Amarantha had broken him in ways no one else could see. How she had forced him into submission, twisted pleasure into something sickening. How, even now, the wrong words — hell, sometimes even the wrong tone — could bring back the shadows of those fifty years under her claws.

He never hid anything from you. When you started experimenting with your bodies, he had laid his boundaries out, not because he was ashamed or scared, but because he trusted you. And so you were careful every time. Not cautious in a way that made him feel fragile, but careful in a way that let him know he was safe.

Your hands drifted up to his hair, gently massaging his scalp. “You were perfect,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His lips quirked up. “I always am.”

You let out a soft laugh, rubbing circles into his chest. “I mean it.”

His breath hitched slightly, as if he hadn’t expected the words. As if, even after all this time, he still didn’t know what to do with your gentle appreciation for all of his effort into your pleasure.

So you continued, voice low, steady. “You’re always so good to me, Rhys. Always so careful, even when you don’t have to be.”

One of his hands came up to cover yours, gripping it tightly against his chest. Your other hand dipped into the water, trailing down his spine. No scratches. No harsh touches. Just warmth. Just you.

When you reached for the soap, Rhys shifted slightly, making room as you lathered it between your hands and ran it along his skin. But when you started to reach for his neck, he stilled. You knew why.

There had been a time — just a few months ago — when he would scrub his own skin raw after being with Amarantha. When he had tried to erase every last trace of her, even if it meant bruising himself in the process. And so now, every time you bathed together, you made sure to leave your scent on him somehow. To remind him it was you touching him. Only you. For the rest of your lives, if he wanted.

So instead of washing the soap away completely, you leaned down, kissing the spot down his ear. Your scent lingered there, mixing with his own.

“You're mine,” you whispered. Not as a claim. But as a reassurance.

Rhys exhaled, tension melting from his body as he turned in your arms, cupping your face with wet hands.

His forehead pressed against yours. “Yours,” he murmured back.

He kissed you then, slow, deep, and reverent. As if you were something sacred. And when he pulled you tighter against him, when his wings curled protectively around your back, you knew this wasn’t just about washing away the past.

This was about building something new. Something better. Something that could be yours.

As the bathwater cooled and the steam in the room began to fade, Rhys pressed one last lingering kiss to your shoulder before exhaling a slow, steady breath.

You both moved in unspoken sync, toweling off, dressing in soft nightclothes, the weight of the day and the amount of hours laying down war plans slowly pressing down on your limbs. But just as you turned to head for your own chambers, Rhys caught your wrist.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, searching his face. He had been the one to ask for separate rooms in the first place, not because he didn’t want you near, but because of his nightmares. He hadn’t wanted to wake you up in the middle of the night — even if sometimes he couldn't control his emotions from slipping through the bond —, hadn’t wanted to steal any of your attention away from Feyre when she was still adjusting to Velaris, to being free from Tamlin, to her new life.

You swallowed, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “Are you sure?”

Rhys hesitated. Just for a moment. Then he nodded. “The nightmares haven’t really stopped,” he admitted, voice quiet. “But…” His fingers tightened slightly around yours. “When you’re with me, I—” He exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. “I always feel calmer. And sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, all I want is to know that you’re here. That you’re safe. That you’re with me.”

Your chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice. So you stepped closer, reaching up to cradle his jaw in your hands. “Of course, Rhys,” you whispered. “I’ll always be with you.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something deep and reverent and yours. He kissed you, soft and slow, before taking your hand and leading you to his bed. And as you curled up together beneath the covers, as his arms wrapped securely around you, as he buried his face against your neck and breathed you in, you knew. Tonight, if the nightmares came, he wouldn’t have to face them alone.

☆

The next morning, you made your way to Feyre’s room, knocking lightly before stepping inside. She was already seated at her desk, a broad smile lighting up her face as she eagerly gestured for you to come closer.

“Look at this,” she said, practically buzzing with excitement. She slid a sheet of parchment across the desk, her calligraphy significantly neater than it had been before. “It’s getting better, right?”

You picked up the paper, tilting your head as you examined her careful strokes. The improvement was obvious, her letters were more even, her spacing more consistent. You looked back at her and grinned. “It’s amazing, Feyre. I’m so proud of you.”

A pleased blush dusted her cheeks. “Thanks. I actually enjoy it now, learning how to read and write. And not just that, I'm getting better at learning how to use my fae senses, how to listen to my instincts, to my body. It feels… good.”

Your chest swelled with pride. She had come so far from the girl who had once flinched at every single loud sound or every bright light. Now, she was embracing it. Embracing herself.

Before you could say more, a knock sounded at the door. A servant entered, holding out a sealed letter. “A letter from the Spring Court,” they said, before bowing and leaving.

Feyre turned the letter over in her hands, fingers running over the seal. “It’s from Lucien,” she murmured before breaking the seal and making an effort to read the first words. You couldn't contain your smile seeing her focused face. “You read it. It’s about the war, you’ll understand it better.”

You nodded, unfolding the delicate parchment that smelled too much like flowers. Lucien’s handwriting was precise but rushed, as if he’d been careful yet eager to write this.

Things are progressing. One of the warlords — curiously one of Beron’s youngest sons — has been particularly talkative, and I’ve managed to pry a lot of information out of him — he also let slip that Beron has been called to participate in the planning but didn't agree to it (yet). He’s been boasting about Tamlin’s plans to allow Hybern’s forces to use the Spring Court as a staging ground. It’s worse than we thought. Hybern isn’t just moving forces into Spring. They’re planning to use it as a funnel to invade Summer and Autumn next — if Beron doesn't agree. But here’s the interesting part: Tamlin is still keeping secrets from Hybern. He’s hesitant about giving them full access to the wards through the Wall, and I think I can use that. I’ve been planting doubt, making it seem like Hybern might betray him. He’s starting to trust me again, which means I’m getting closer to seeing what else he’s hiding.

Your grip on the letter tightened. Tamlin. That spineless, arrogant coward. Even after everything, he was still helping Hybern. You kept reading.

We’ve also been feeding him false information about the Night Court’s movements. He thinks they have mapped out a move to retrieve you from Night, and he’s been working with Hybern to prepare an extraction plan. But the map he has is the one Azriel altered. When the time comes, they’ll be walking straight into their own ambush. If this works, we’ll cripple their forces before the war even begins.

A sharp smile tugged at your lips. Good. Everything was going according to the plan.You were about to hand the letter back to Feyre when you caught the last few lines.

Tell your cousin I hope she’s doing well. I know this must be difficult for her, but she’s strong. She always has been. And I miss our talks. I miss you. When I come back I'll teach you how to make that tea we were talking about last week. Yours truly, Lucien V.

Your brows lifted slightly as you glanced at Feyre, who was trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t eagerly waiting to hear the contents of the letter.

You cleared your throat, folding the parchment. “The war news is good. Lucien’s getting Tamlin to trust him again, and they’re feeding him false plans to lure Hybern’s forces into a trap.”

Feyre exhaled in relief. “That’s great.”

You hesitated, watching her carefully. “And… Lucien wrote something else. Something personal to you. I'm sorry that I glanced at it for too long.”

Feyre’s face immediately turned red. “Oh?”

“He misses you.” You smirked, handing her the letter. “Wanna talk about it?”

She swallowed, fingers tightening on the parchment as she read his words. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

“My feelings for Lucien are… complicated,” she admitted. “I’m not certain about anything, but I think I like him. A lot.” She bit her lip, eyes flicking down to the letter again. “He’s been really sweet. And he's been so patient with me. He never pushes, never expects anything. Never make fun of the words I get wrong or my bad calligraphy. And never complains about how much time it takes me to answer his letters when his comes in less than a few hours. He just… listens. He makes me feel safe.”

Your heart warmed at her confession. “I’m happy for you,” you said softly. Then, with a mock-serious expression, you added, “But if he ever says or does anything to hurt you, I will personally send him to the same hell I’m sending Ianthe and Tamlin to.”

Feyre snorted, shaking her head. “Duly noted. I'll tell him that in the next letter. And for the first time in a long time, you saw hope glimmer in her eyes. And felt it growing in your heart.

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