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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year ago

Note

Cregan’s wife gets taken by Silas the Grim and horrible things happens to her. Cregan’s men finds her during the battle or after and bring her back to their Lord. She is traumatized and her dress is ripped in places that makes Cregan sick and rage. Back to winterfell, she gets nightmares and cregan gives her a wolf pup so she feels safe

Please read the warnings carefully. This one might not be for you.

Warnings: mention of non-con/sa, ptsd, kidnapping,

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—

You didn’t know nightmares could happen while you were awake. The worst part was, unlike regular nightmares, you couldn’t wake up to get away from the horrors in your mind. You were trapped in a waking terror, unable to find refuge even in the daylight.

Yours started the day Cregan and a bunch of his men got caught in an ambush by Sylas the Grim’s men on the way to Queensgate. It wasn’t your first time traveling north of Winterfell, you knew to stay close to the group and never stray as it was easy to get lost when the snow was affecting the visibility. But you ended up getting captured by the wildlings and taken to their chieftain.

The wildling who brought you to Sylas was very proud of himself. You were the wife of the Warden of the North, the only one who his loyalty to was stronger than his one to the Wall. Your capture opened so many opportunities for Sylas, and he planned to use you as a pawn in his game.

Chained inside a small tent, you tried to think of a way of getting out. You couldn’t just wait for Cregan to come and save you from your captor. You were the Lady of Winterfell, you needed to be resourceful and strong.

Two men were standing outside your tent, guarding — and ignoring you. They were relaying their service at night and bringing you scraps of food, just enough to keep you alive. Because you would serve their chieftain nothing if you were dead.

Although the food was disgusting, it wasn’t the worst part of being held captive. It was Sylas. The wildling chief would come into your tent and question you about Cregan’s strategies. Loyal to your husband and your people, you didn’t give any information away. You would never betray your people.

One night, you were asleep in the corner of your tent, your body curled on itself to keep warm, when you heard Sylas come in and undo his breeches. He was drunk and horny.

His sick intentions immediately clicked and you tried to get away from him. The tent was small, so he quickly got hold of you. You clawed and kicked at him as his filthy hands snuck under your dress and uncovered your intimacy. You screamed, which earned you a slap in the face and Sylas’s tighter grip on your hips.

⁂

Two long moons went by. By that time, your body was so weak and frail that you didn't even hear the battle raging outside your tent. Your mind, clouded by malnutrition and the relentless abuse, struggled to make sense of anything beyond the constant pain and exhaustion.

Your eyes opened when you felt someone’s hands on you, shaking you awake. Assuming it was Sylas coming to empty his balls, you closed your eyes and let him take you. You didn’t have energy to fight him anymore. But the voice that filled the tent didn't sound like a wildling.

‘’Go and tell Lord Stark we found her.’’

The man who had spoken stayed by your side, keeping watch until his Lord arrived. He must have been far because darkness was beginning to fall when Cregan stormed into the tent, his face and clothes had blood and dirt from the battle.

‘’Where is she?’’ his voice boomed, a mixture of anger and desperation.

The sight of his wife trembling in the corner nearly made his heart stop. You looked fragile and thin, your skin was as white as the snow, and your dress was torn in several places. Your hair was matted and there were stains of fluids on your dress.

Cregan felt sick. If Sylas had not been already dead, he would kill him again.

The Northman quickly knelt by your side and wrapped his fur cloak around you, covering your body as much as possible. He whispered your name, but you only blinked. ‘’I came as fast as I could. I'm here now, you're safe.’’ He gently raised your chin to look at your face, and his jaw clenched tighter at the sight of her bruised and weakened state.

⁂

The journey to Winterfell was a complete blur to you. You didn’t remember anything of the ten days spent sitting in the carriage, bundled in furs. Cregan personally took responsibility to escort the carriage, walking right in front of it and making sure no one would try to capture his wife again.

Once you walked through the gates of Winterfell, a maester was summoned to tend to you. You would need a bath and new clothes too, but that could wait. While the maester was getting gathering his things, Cregan reached for the button of your coat to help you out of it, but you began screaming and thrashing in the cot as if he was trying to harm you — to rape you.

Cregan quickly stepped back and held his hands up so you could see them. ‘’I will not touch you if it is what you wish. That’s alright.’’ His voice was calm and soft, and his eyes held your gaze. ‘’But the master needs to see your wounds and tend to them.’’

You shook your head. ‘’Don’t touch me. Please, not again.’’

Tears filled your eyes and Cregan nodded. ‘’Fetch the servants and have them draw a warm bath for Lady Stark. And a warm meal brought to our chambers. The best meat we have.’’

The maester frowned at his lord’s instructions. ‘’My Lord, it would be preferable if I could—’’ he began to protest, but Cregan shut him up.

He will not have a man touch his traumatized wife against her will. Not after what you had endured when held captive.

‘’Another day,’’ he said firmly. ‘’Lady Stark needs a bath and a warm meal, and rest.’’

⁂

The days that followed were difficult and required a lot of accommodations. Starting with a change in the personnel who were allowed in your chambers. You had made it clear that you didn't want men around you, so Cregan requested that only women came to your chambers. To bring your meals, to help you bathe or dress.

The only man who was allowed near you was your husband. In fact, you didn't want Cregan to leave you — ever. He was always close. Especially at night, when the nightmares of the horrors you went through invaded your dreams.

A blood chilling scream filled your chambers, startling Cregan awake.

Every night since your return had been like this. The maester suggested you take a drought to help you sleep, but it didn’t work. Since you were in a deeper sleep, it made it more difficult to stir you from your nightmare.

‘’Shh, I’m here. We’re in Winterfell. You are safe,’’ he whispered to you, pulling your trembling body against him as tears rolled down your cheeks.

Cregan felt helpless. There was nothing he could do or say that would take the pain away. He couldn't magically make the memories and images go away. All he could be was a chest for you to cry into.

He prayed in the Godswood and asked counsel from women who he knew had gone through difficult things, hoping to find guidance from their own experiences. Unfortunately, years later, some still had not overcome their trauma.

Cregan sat in his study while you were taking some fresh air with Lady Lysa, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed. He knew your fear was rooted in your assault. You weren’t scared to be alone, you were scared that a man would use his size and strength against you — again.

When Winter comes, he’ll have to go to the Wall…and leave you. What will you do when he’s not there to make you feel safe? You didn’t allow any other men near you. He had to come up with something to ease your fears and make you feel safe in his absence.

⁂

‘’Where is my husband?’’ you asked the servant who brought you your morning meal. He was gone when you woke, and only left a vague note on the table.

The small girl cleared her throat before replying. ‘’Lord Stark had to absent himself for the day, my Lady. He is to return before nightfall.’’

You nodded. ‘’I wish to be notified when he passes the gates.’’

‘’Very well, My Lady.’’ She bowed and exited your chambers.

As the servant had said, Cregan returned before nightfall. Snow dusted the top of his head and the pelt of his cloak when you greeted him in the great hall.

When he saw you standing by the entrance, a warm smile spread over his face. “Good evening, my love,” he said, his voice was gentle as he placed one leather gloved hand under your chin to pull you closer and press a soft kiss against your forehead. "I have something to show you. Come with me."

You were not dressed apropriately to go outside, but Cregan had already take your hand to lead you out of the great hall and towards the courtyard. The sky was getting dark and fresh snow fell steadily, leaving a blanket of white across the ground. You felt a chill thorugh the sleeved of your dress. Hopefully you won't stay out long.

Cregan turned a corner towards the kennels, leaving you confused. He opened the door and asked you to close your eyes.

''Cregan, what-''

''Just close your eyes.''

You did as directed, and to make sure they were properly closed, the northman placed his hand over your eyes from behind. "No peeking," he whispered into your ear.

He closed the door and led you deeper into the kennels, careful with every step, making sure not to make you trip or stumble. Once you were where he wanted you, he removed his hand but didn't tell you to open your eyes yet.

You heard shuffling and rustling, then...a small cry.

‘’Open your eyes.’’

With the command, you opened your eyes. Lying in the crook of Cregan's arm, was a small gray and white pup. It sniffed the fabric of his cloak, its small tongue licking at the thick wool. You reached to pet it, and immediately felt its cold, wet nose brush against your hands, causing you to giggle. Cregan smiled, watching the two of you get acquainted.

''It's a direwolf,'' he stated, his voice echoing in the quietness of the kennels. ''Like the sigil of our house. He'll grow large and strong. He'll be able to protect you when I'm not around.''

The little pup looked up at you, its beady eyes staring into yours. You didn’t know what to say, deeply touched by his gift to you.

—

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daycourtofficial · 5 months ago

Text

Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part seven

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 5.9k | warnings: SMUT, piv, fingering, cheating?, light choking, creampie

Summary: Azriel’s promise to be more attentive is proving true. When he wants to take you back to where it all started, what happens when there’s someone unexpected in his stead?

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You winnowed to the cabin, the sight of it different now that it was daylight and the history of the journals was within you. You still hadn’t read the most recent ones, not quite brave enough to read Azriel’s perspective on meeting you.

You would get to them. Eventually.

It had been a few days since Azriel showed up at your bedside, sad puppy eyes convincing you he could make this work somehow. So far he had been true to his word, spending several hours a day with you. He had been bringing flowers and pastries to your room every day, sitting with you and having coffee every morning. He ate every meal with you in your room those first two days.

Each day he opened up about some part of him that wasn’t in the journals: his mother, his spymaster duties, his role in the Inner Circle.

It wasn’t all tragedy or bad feelings, though. He told you stories from growing up with Rhys and Cassian to even telling you his strategies for this year’s snowball fight.

Then you two began eating out around Velaris, a variety of cuisine that filled your belly and your heart. He had always been easy company, your tongue loose and heart bursting whenever you were with him.

It was nice. It reminded you of the before. Before telling Azriel he was your mate, before even knowing he was your mate. When things were simpler and easy.

Whenever his attention strayed from you, leaving you alone, your worries found you, wondering how long this attentiveness would last. Was he truly as sorry as he said? Or was this just to placate you long enough so he could slack off again?

You were open to his attention, his time, his company, but you always felt ready for it to be gone in an instant, never truly letting yourself relax. The one joy you have from if the worst happens is knowing that Nesta would cut Azriel into bite sized pieces for breaking your heart, and then she’d let the other Valkyries at him.

Madja had cleared you yesterday to return to normal, as long as you promised you’d be getting enough sleep and not overexerting yourself. She had lectured you for roughly an hour each day of your recovery, mad and upset one of her healers would be in this position.

To rejoice in Madja’s clearance, Azriel had asked if you had any plans today before running off on a ‘secret errand’. No one had seen him the rest of the day, allowing you time to eat with Nesta and Cassian, the former of which would glance at you every few minutes before pointedly looking at the wall clock.

Tick tock.

This morning you woke up to a bouquet of flowers on your night stand - brilliant shades of black and blue in a beautiful bundle. Some of them only grew in the upper most regions of Illyria. Had that been his secret errand? Retrieving rare and coveted flowers for you?

The card attached to the bouquet had been brief.

‘Come to the cabin by noon. Let’s have a quiet afternoon to show my appreciation.

Love, Az’

You reached the cabin door, unsure if you should knock or just go in. You had left the House of Wind early this morning, stopping in a field to pick flowers, wanting to return the favor. The bouquet was clutched in your hands, a silly notion of making Azriel a flower crown in the back of your mind. You stood outside for a moment, debating your options, until you swore you felt a nudge at your back. The momentum was enough - it brought your hand up, turning the knob to find it unlocked.

You pushed the door open, a smile on your face as excitement bubbled to see Azriel. The smile quickly faded, replaced with something between shock and a grimace. Just like that night all those weeks ago, Eris stood in the kitchen, back to you, his long hair tied back with a leather strop. He wasn’t cooking, but he had two mugs prepared in front of him, the aroma of coffee and tea blending together nicely.

You blinked several times, amazed you found yourself here, again. With Eris, again.

“Are you just going to stare at me or are you going to tell me what you are doing here?” He didn’t turn around, didn’t move at all. You half thought you imagined his voice until he clanked a spoon against his cup.

“What I’m doing here? Azriel asked me to be here.” Indignation colored your tone, unable to overcome the shock of finding Eris here.

“Azriel said he’d be here by noon.” As if his words reminded it, the grandfather clock chimed through the cabin, twelve strikes of the bell bouncing through the silence. He finally turned to look at you, a determined look in his eye, like if he squinted hard enough you’d grow bat-like wings and become a tall, hot Illyrian.

“Where is he?” You muttered, waiting for the door to open. You didn’t want to be stuck with Eris for too long without Azriel to run interference. The cabin was quiet as the two of you avoided looking at each other, an awkwardness that had you bouncing your leg.

At ten minutes past, Eris threw the towel onto the counter, stomping to the front door of the cabin. He grabbed the knob, trying to yank the door open, as if he could conjure Azriel himself, but the door didn’t budge.

“Damned thing.” He strained again, pulling harder, his forearms bulging with the action. He pressed his foot up to the wall for leverage, but the door still didn’t budge. A few shadows wove their way around the knob, gently trying to pry Eris’s fingers from it.

“Mother’s sake.” Eris gave a frustrated sigh before dropping the knob, turning to look at the bouquet that sat on the counter. It had looked just like the one Azriel had dropped off in your room this morning, not even noticing it once you had seen Eris.

“Do whatever it takes to have some common ground and like each other.” The words came from Eris, but he mocked Azriel’s intonation, the words likely from his own personalized note. “Bastardous male locking us in here.”

He strode back into the kitchen, a bottle of something dark materializing in his hand. He poured several generous shots into his cup, the smell causing your face to shrivel.

He didn’t touch the other mug, the steam finally having settled enough for someone to enjoy it.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the only sound Eris draining his mug dry. Eventually you grew bored and crossed the room, standing next to him. You grabbed Azriel’s mug, grimacing at it before adding cream and sugar to it. You felt Eris’s eyes watching you, critiquing every movement you made.

“Why do you think you’re an equal to me?” Eris was the first to speak up, his voice nearly causing you to drop the mug from your hands.

“I beg your pardon.” Out of the corner of your eye you watched him pour more of the alcohol, whiskey probably, into his mug.

“Then beg.”

You stood there, staring blankly at him. How did Azriel put up with this male, much less love him and want to see him? He was an arrogant ass, treating you as if you caused this situation?

His long fingers met your eye line, snapping directly in front of you. “Are you dim? Why do you think you deserve his coffee, much less him?”

“Am I dim?” You felt two steps behind in this conversation, hating how inferior Eris was making you feel through all of this. You needed to get leverage, get ahead of him or outsmart him somehow.

“Are you going to repeat everything I ask you? I’ll tire of that so quickly, I’d prefer to write my questions down so you can sound them out yourself, assuming you can read at a high enough level.”

“I can read just fine.” The coffee was still a bit too warm to drink, but you cradled your hands around it, allowing the warmth to bring more fight back into you.

“You never know with the Night Court. Perhaps illiteracy is contagious and your High Lady is the beginning of it.” The mention of Feyre so casually had you squinting at him, trying to figure out if he truly thought so low of you or was just lashing out at whoever popped into his head.

“If you hate the Night Court so much, why be mated to someone from there?”

“Even broken clocks are right twice a day.”

“That would mean there’s someone else in Night worthy of your time.”

Pride surged through you at besting him, the redhead scoffing before finishing his tea that was more alcohol than tea at this point. You sipped on Azriel’s coffee, the taste different from the coffee in Velaris. It was stronger, even with your added cream and sugar. It had a vague pumpkin aftertaste, just a hint of sweetness you knew Azriel secretly liked.

“Why do you think you are better suited for Azriel than I am?” You had wondered this whole time how Eris viewed his relationship with Azriel - everyone around you described him as a monster, incapable of love or feeling. You had the shadowsinger’s side, and now you wanted his supposed other half’s.

“I can handle his ire. He can take it out on me. I can handle him. His darkness, his violent tendencies, his anger. I’m more of his equal than you are.” Eris had turned his full attention to you, his mug now on the counter as he snapped at you. Ranting and raving, it’d be easy to confuse him with a mad male.

Love teetered that line of sanity and madness, you supposed.

“He could do the same with me.”

“Has he? Have you seen him angry? Have you seen him in the pits of despair?”

You pursed your lips, annoyed he was somewhat right. In the times you had seen Azriel at his worst, he was quick to hide himself away, never allowing you to help lick his wounds for long. Now you realized it was to see the male before you.

“Maybe I’m his equal in other ways.”

“You certainly are equal to him in being a pain in my ass these days.” They were muttered, but you knew he spoke loud enough to ensure you would hear it.

“Diplomacy isn’t your strong suit.”

“It isn’t Azriel’s either.”

“I’m quite good at it, and perhaps that’s why we were mated. Equals doesn’t mean we’re the same person. It means we balance each other out.” You pulled a flower from your bouquet, handing it to Eris. He doesn’t reach for it, only moving his head to look at you in confusion.

“What is this?”

“A flower. It’s a pretty plant that grows and fae enjoy receiving them as gifts.” He only rolled his eyes, crossing his arms at your response.

“I have a bouquet.”

“Azriel told us to play nice. I’m being nice and diplomatic. I’m giving you a flower.”

“From a bouquet you were going to give to my mate.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand and putting the flower into it. “There. What you do with it now is up to you.”

You had finished your coffee by then, moving around Eris to wash it in the sink. Despite how painful it was to speak to him, you couldn’t seem to make yourself stop. Every pause in conversation needed to be filled by something. You wanted his voice to fill the silences, to know more about him, and maybe to prove to him that you’re more than he thinks you are.

“You’re not as mean as you want people to think you are.” You weren’t sure why it came out as a whisper, as if it was some truth that could only be acknowledged in hushed voices and soft tones.

“You have met me three times and think you know everything now.” He turned away from you, peering out of the kitchen window, watching the wind blow the trees outside.

“You helped me. When I was healing Az, you helped me. That wasn’t mean.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You hated me and you helped me.”

“You would have killed yourself saving him. Azriel would have been miserable. I was saving him from heartache.”

You watched Eris’s back tense ever so slightly, preparing himself for the conversation to continue. You let the words settle, let them reach every corner of the room, let Eris relax again before responding.

“Hm. Killing yourself to save someone you love. Sounds an awful lot like Azriel, no?”

Even from behind you watched his jaw ticked and his back stiffen, at being outsmarted or over how well you knew Azriel, you weren’t sure. To best Eris Vanserra in a verbal sparring match not once but twice in such a short time was something to truly brag to Azriel about later.

“You don’t have to lie to me. You can say you were being nice.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” You stayed quiet, only watching him before he sighed. “Fine, if you don’t consider a half-truth a lie.”

A beat passed, accepting that that was all you would get from Eris on the subject.

“Thank you. Even if it was to spare Azriel from pain, it spared me from some, too.”

He didn’t say anything, only moved through the cupboards, searching for something. It only took a moment until he pulled out a sleeve of chocolate, unwrapping the foil and popping a bit into his mouth. Your stomach rumbled at the rich, slightly earthy scent, practically tasting it on your tongue. In your excitement to see Azriel, to pick him a bouquet, you had forgotten to eat anything other than a piece of fruit you had taken with you out the door. You were practically salivating at the scent.

“Get your own.”

“I didn’t think to prepare food.” You expected to meet Azriel here, for him to prepare the two of you food. Which would get a bit complicated with the mating bond, you supposed. You regret not grabbing some granola or more fruit.

“Then I guess you should leave or forage in the woods. Maybe get lost or maimed by pigeons while you’re at it.” You’re not sure why this is what set you off - he had said much worse to you earlier. But something shifted in you, a sudden spike of anger coursing through you. Your mouth started moving before you could even think.

“You are truly insufferable. I could think of a thousand males I’d prefer my mate to be mated to over you.” The words were all bite with no truth behind them. Beneath it all, you truly couldn’t picture any male measuring up to the one before you, aside from the male tethered to your chest who had locked the two of you in here. Eris was insufferable, but something inside of you kept pulling you toward him.

“I could say the same for you. In fact, I could list them out now, list how you fall short compared to them. Maybe then you’ll understand.” He popped a bit of the chocolate in his mouth, the bitter smell heightening your ire.

“You’ve never had a nice word to say in your life, Eris, so why start now?”

Eris’s smirk was equal parts infuriating and maddening. It was criminal how perfect the smirk looked on his face, bringing out a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“You want to hear pretty words from my mouth?”

“Yes, because I’m sure the action would cause your tongue to rot off.”

“You want nice? You can’t handle the harsh edges of me, but they’re the reality. You want the soft, round edges Azriel wants you to see, not the jagged edges he truly is.”

His words pricked at you, gnawing on your bones and unrelenting as the pain radiated through you. Maybe it was instinct, the bond deep inside of you growing frustrated at the idea that Azriel wasn’t yours, but something inside of you snapped. Some dam burst, all of your pent up rage and anger spewing out in the hopes of catching Eris in the floodwaters.

“You think that’s nice?”

He only shrugged, unbothered by your sharp tone.

“It had to be said.”

“Yes, well for things that had to be said, my very existence threatens your mating because you’re too insecure to try to get to know me. You worry about Azriel wanting me because I’m more likeable and palatable as a mate than you are. And if you had to get to know me, you couldn’t write me off any longer.” You gave him a withering stare, watching to see how your words would affect him. He didn’t even flinch, but somehow you knew your words struck a chord with him.

“I know you well enough, I don’t have to see more.”

“Really? Tell me anything about me.”

“You taste like raspberry and mint.”

“I do not.” His only response was a quirked eyebrow. “A past lover once told me I tasted like chocolate and the sea.”

“They lied to you, whoever it was. The sea? Ridiculous. I’d tell you the truth.” Eris had a more jovial tone, something with a slight competitive edge to it. The air had shifted, some levity to the air.

“You’ve lied to me before.”

He was closer now, looking down at you over his button nose. It should have intimated you, should have made you want to cower or put your head in the sand.

“Have I?” You stared at each other, neither of you backing down. Eris made your head spin, conversing with him like a tornado you easily got swept up in.

“I bet you taste like deceit and smoke.” His lips were millimeters from your own, his nose nearly brushing against yours. The scent of chocolate mingled in the air in between you two.

“Want to find out why Azriel would prefer the taste of me?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me to find out your tongue is why Azriel has stood at your side for so long.”

Those words set Eris off, his hips making the first contact, pressing you into the counter. His lips followed quickly, meeting yours in a flare of passion you had never experienced before.

He was warm and tender, the kiss full of need. He bit your bottom lip, quickly swiping his tongue across as a soothing balm. It was much easier than you wanted to admit to get lost in his touch. He was intoxicating and all consuming.

You understood now why Azriel wrote journal after journal about him. The Vanserra was insufferable, annoying, arrogant, and a whole list of adjectives curated to drive you mad. But his hands were holding your hips into place, clutching as if he never wanted to let go.

Eris pulled away, a soft whine coming from you as he did so. He didn’t part far - just an inch or two, but it felt like a mountain separated the two of you.

“Feels strange. You’re much smaller than he is with no wings to accommodate for.”

“I’d imagine they can be quite annoying.”

He pulled further away from you, a trail of spit connecting the two of you that he didn’t seem to notice following him. He was too concentrated on analyzing your face, looking over every inch of it.

“You’ve never touched his wings? It’s his favorite part. Surely he would have asked you.”

“Eris, Azriel and I haven’t done anything yet.”

His brows furrowed, your words something too complex for him to understand. One of your hands clutched at his shirt, wanting him to kiss you again.

“What do you mean?” Heat crept your cheeks remembering how close you and Azriel had been that night, how it felt to have him in the room as you bathed. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the male clutching you was your mate, finishing what you had started in the bathroom all those weeks ago.

“We almost kissed a few weeks ago, but he said no.”

Eris straightened, his hands gripping your face. Amber eyes were searching for something in the features of your face, but you’re not sure if he found it. The scent in the room shifted, something new that smelled smokey and like fresh rain. It practically had your mouth watering, feeling heat pool between your thighs.

“Tell me that again.” Eris’s voice was stern, sounding on the last legs of restraint, his hands tightening their grip around you.

“Um, Azriel drew me a bath and afterward we were sitting around, talking, and we almost kissed but he pulled away. He said he couldn’t do that without your permission.”

Some form of realization struck Eris, his face relaxing before turning up into a smirk. His fingers dug further into your skin, feeling like a marking of his own.

“You kissed me before kissing your own mate.”

His smirk became feline, his eyes alight with some joy you hadn’t yet seen from him. You hadn’t made the realization until the words left his mouth.

You had kissed Eris. And it felt good.

“And I got to kiss my mate’s mate before him.” He continued on, pure delight at the situation coming through his voice.

“Surely a kiss hasn’t changed your world, or are you so inexperienced?” His gaze had wandered off, looking somewhere in the distance, but your words brought him back to you. His eyebrows raised up, a predatory look in his eyes.

“No, but it has been a while since I’ve experienced someone that wasn’t Azriel. He is quite the lover, hard to even consider another once you’ve had him.”

Eris caught your lips once again in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. The bitter taste of chocolate was all consuming. He moved with purpose, as if he could mark every inch of you, explore every inch of you. To gloat perhaps? To mark you as his before Azriel could? You should have stopped it, should have wanted it to end. But you couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the burning desire for the male.

“You haven’t gotten to see all that is Azriel, hm?”

His words were taunting as his fingers quickly pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his pale chest. Freckles littered his skin, dotting him with constellations. You reached a hand out lightly, wanting to lay in bed for hours mapping out every one of them. Your hand gently caressed his skin, wanting to wander down to the waistband of his pants.

Standing in front of you shirtless, he was a gorgeous creature. Some deep part of you knew that seeing him fully nude would be even more divine, a sight reserved for only those truly deserving of such beauty.

“Haven’t gotten to see his cock?”

You moaned into Eris’s mouth as he kissed you again, the only confirmation he needed to keep going. His mouth quirked into an arrogant smirk, his hands gripping tighter. He was certainly leaving bruises, but you didn’t care, you just need more.

“He’s quite pretty undressed. Have you imagined it?” You had seen Azriel shirtless plenty of times - training, in the heat of summer, when he was injured. A few months ago though, he had a cut across his chest and he allowed you to stand in between his legs while you patched it up. Being so close to him had ignited something in you. It made it easier to imagine him in the dead of night, sharing the warmth of his body beneath blankets.

“Do you touch yourself at night, thinking about my mate? Thinking about his cock inside of you?” You didn’t even try to answer him as he pressed his hips into yours, the hard press of his cock through his pants making you speechless. It nearly short circuited your brain, making thinking a luxury you couldn’t afford.

Eris’s hands traveled up your legs, lifting your skirts to the cold air. His long fingers traced the line where skin met fabric, your head dizzy from his touch. His hands gripped your ass, sitting you up on the kitchen counter before standing in between your legs.

“He’s very well endowed, are you sure you could handle it?”

Eris’s hand dipped into your underwear, his finger trailing through your folds as you grinded down onto it, desperate for the friction. His mouth was hot as it kissed down your neck, his teeth baring down eliciting a moan from you. He took his time, his mouth and finger working in tandem to tantalize you.

“Wanna find out?” He tutted at how easily his finger slid inside of you, dripping yet at the mention of your shared mate. He slipped a second finger in amidst your moans, delighting in the arch of your back.

“Think you could take him at his full height? You’ve seen his wing span.”

He sped up his ministrations, his fingers going deep inside you, all the way to his ring, the cold of the metal making you jerk. It was too much, too fast. If you had half your mind with you, you’d be embarrassed by how quickly his words and touch were sending you over the edge. It felt like mere moments since he first kissed you and now the orgasm ripped through you, fast and unexpected. Eris kept the cocky grin on his face as he untied his pants, leaving his fingers inside to let you ride out the wave of pleasure.

The air had now shifted. It felt like this was some sort of race - if he stopped or slowed down he would lose. Flames snuck up your body, their heat fast as they warmed every part of you. He yanked you off the counter, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist before he threw you onto the bed in the next room.

This room smelled of nothing but Azriel and Eris, their commingled scent nearly suffocating. Your hips started bucking involuntarily at it, and Eris chuckled.

“Have you felt the cold of his shadows?” A new heat pooled as he slid the pants to his ankles, his cock springing free, so angry and red you knew he needed you just as badly as you needed him.

“He’s quite fond of using them to his advantage. He likes having bound partners. Would you like that? Being tied up for him to play with?”

You nodded, but Eris’s hand wrapped around your throat as he lined his cock up to your entrance. You whined, rocking your hips, desperate for him to slide inside you. But he only brushed the head of his cock through your folds, not giving you what you needed.

“Use your words. No need to be coy with me.”

You kept eye contact as he applied light pressure around your neck. The look of arrogance he showed you was nothing more than a mask, his eyes giving away the deep desire buried within him.

“I’d like it.”

“Good.” Eris sheathed himself inside of you, the stretch delicious, like soothing an ache. He pinned your legs to his chest, pressing the two of you impossibly close together. You moaned at how quick he was, the hastiness heightening your desire.

“I despise you, and you despise me. But wouldn’t it kill Azriel to know we were together first?”

His cock felt so good it was hard to make out his words, but you were trying. You were certain he had some retort about being cock stupid on his tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when it felt like this to be in his sheets.

“He’s kept us in the dark this whole time. About time he got his comeuppance.”

Yes. That’s all this was. Revenge. Azriel had wronged the both of you by keeping secrets.

This was nothing more than a ploy to get back at your shared mate. And that’s why each thrust felt incredible.

You nodded, but your eyes stayed on his lips, practically pouting as he looked down at you. It only took a few more thrusts before he grabbed your face again, roughly bringing your lips together.

Eris was so warm. He was the sun, Azriel his moon.

And you were caught during the eclipse.

Having Eris’s undivided attention was intoxicating, you couldn’t even fathom what it would be like to be between the two of them. Moaning into each other’s mouths, Eris grabbed your ass hard enough to leave bruises, bringing you closer to him.

He pushed you further into the bed, Azriel’s scent getting stronger with each thrust. The scent intensified every feeling, heightening that bond in your chest. You waited for any form of guilt to hit you, but it never did.

Instead you felt stronger, bolder, braver with each thrust. The air shifted as you rolled Eris off of you, sitting down onto his cock. As you switched the two of you, you pulled the strop from Eris’s hair, his long hair flowing in a red river on the pillows. Pressing your hands into his chest, you grinded down onto him, delighting in the surprise on his face. It was gone quickly, but you saw it. One of his hands gripped your waist, pushing you down harder. The other hand held your breast, twisting and pinching your nipple. Your back arched, desperate for more of his touch.

Eris’s long hair splayed out on the pillow beneath you, the first time you had ever seen it so disheveled. You grabbed a fistful of his hair at the back of his head, bringing his face up to meet yours. This kiss was more urgent, full of need. You presumed Eris was putting everything he felt towards Azriel into it because you had never felt passion nor urgency like this in bed.

It felt incredible - every thrust of Eris’s cock better than the last, every touch from him heightening your desire. His thrusts started speeding up, the pit in your stomach tightening as you got closer.

You didn’t release his face, kept his mouth on yours as each thrust got sloppier until he moaned into your mouth, finishing inside of you. Hearing his moan was the last push you needed, falling off the precipice into bliss.

You fell off of Eris’s lap, disconnecting your bodies before you laid next to him panting. Air felt like a commodity in the cabin, neither of you getting enough. If you were conscious enough, you would have noticed the movement in the shadows, the soft flick of darkness in the corner by the door. Eventually words came to you, the only thought coming to you from a conversation a few days ago.

“Nesta told me she thought you would be a selfish lover.”

“Am I not?” You looked over at him, the nonchalance of his words and his posture confusing you. Certainly he’d feel some type of way about having sex with someone who wasn’t his mate.

You didn’t even know mated couples could do that. Some naive notion from your childhood perhaps - that mates were all consuming, no one else even registering.

Eris laying next to you was proof enough that that wasn’t true.

“I don’t know.”

Your heart rate started evening out, the world feeling back on its axis, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t bring yourself to get up. The only thing you could do was grab the sheet and put it over yourself.

“What happens when you heal someone?”

His question threw you off guard. A brief flicker of reminder to get more contraceptive tea is filed away in your brain for later.

“They get better.” He scoffed, turning on his side to look at you. He looked genuinely curious, and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

“What happens to you? Can you feel their pain when you do it?”

No one had ever asked you that before. Other fae knew what healers were, but they didn’t really question what it was like to actually use magic to stitch people back together.

“A little.”

“So you felt Azriel’s pain?” Just the reminder of it sent tingles through your body, a ricochet of sympathetic pain. Those arrows had penetrated his chest, slicing multiple organs. Your insides squirmed, the memory a shock for them.

“A little. It lets me know the body. I feel aches and pains, scars tell a story, all that.” It was difficult to explain to someone who had never done it before - weaving skin and tissue back together, as if you were some deity, able to undo the damage inflicted.

“Have you ever tried inflicting pain?”

Now that surprised you. The thought had never crossed your mind, but it’s not surprising it would cross his.

“Like fighting? Not really-“

“No. Your magic heals, but I’ve always wondered if healers could also channel that damage onto someone.”

“Oh!” It was such an interesting idea. If Eris weren’t here, you’d certainly chastise yourself for not thinking of it first, never even considering you could use your magic offensively. “I’ve never tried.”

Eris held out his hand in offering, the fingers that had been inside of you moments ago now stretched out. Your scent was all over them, and you wondered if it would seep into his skin, how long he would smell like the most intimate parts of yourself.

“Is your version of pillow talk just about destruction?”

“Most of the time.”

You didn’t believe him. The thought surprised you - perhaps you’ve spent enough time with Eris, or being mated by proxy, to know when he’s lying. It was such an easy read - how did the others not know, not see?

“Does everything have to be some means to an end or part of a plot?”

“Azriel wasn’t.”

Eris’s voice was full of forlorn and melancholy, as he looked toward the bouquet, lost in some memory or thought. His hand slowly furled into a fist before unfurling, still reaching out. He spoke like a widow at wartime, confusing you more than anything.

If anything, you were the widow at wartime. Azriel’s devotion to Eris had been unwaveringly loyal. You should be the one that was upset.

“Azriel’s the first thing to ever truly be mine.” Eris looked at you, his amber irises glistening. This close up, his pupils look nearly identical to Azriel’s shadows, as if every part of him held some part of his mate. The darkness was so familiar and comforting to you, it was easy to get dragged into its depths, to believe every word he said. “And now that’s not even true.”

His jaw ticked, snapping him back to the present. His fingers interlocked with yours before he squeezed your hand, urging you to do something. You only watched, not saying anything, too afraid to shatter this fragile moment.

“Now, try to hurt me.”

Banner by @tsunami-of-tears

Only, only one taglist: @paleidiot @becstersworld @seasonallyapril @buttermilktea11 @wolfbc97 @carmenadkins78 @shadowsingercassia @abysshaven @myromanempiree @snatched-bubblegum-bitch @chaos-on-stand-bi @moonlwghts @witchymomfrien @awkwardnerd @ssmay123 @scarsandallaz @meritxellao @saltedcoffeescotch @2ooopenbook @wintersquirrel @manicmanuscription @wavegirl @thisishwrworld @tempermentalbookworm @romantasyreader28 @marina468 @i-know-i-can @rcarbo1 @lifesdisasters @tele86 @ireneisbored @yazzzmints @azysmate @bsenpai @curiosandcourioser @elisha-chloe @yasmin-oviedo @that-one-little-soybean @azrielslittledove @stormieandateacup @anon1227 @phoenix666stuff @asahinasstuff @acourtofbatboydreams @anainkandpaper @mother-above @sunshinedayz19 @bibliophilr @famousprincesscollector @calamislunafox

Author’s note: what are we thinking, how are we feeling about the man of the hour 👀

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel x eris x reader #azriel x reader x eris #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #eris x reader #eris vanserra fanfiction #eris x you

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mahi-wayy · 4 months ago

Text

𝐈 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝...

summary : butcher - a friend of your friend hughie - calls in a favor to watch ben. the timing was a little bad when you consider ben and his ability to charm any woman into his bed.

warnings : p in v sex, creampie, unprotected sex ( guys no! bad! use protection!! ) dirty talk ( it's ben guys ) overstimulation, mention of drugs (?) mention of multiple orgasms, yet another one of clumsy attempt at smut, not proofread.

library

In hindsight you should've known Butcher calling in a favor will end up in some kind of mess. Trouble followed that man like a loyal dog refusing to leave its master but the man has saved your best friend Hughie's life more than once so you had said. Only this once.

The second warning should've been your own damn body that went into some sort of lust triggered shut down the minute you saw Ben. As if locking him as a man of choice to mate or shit.

The century something old supe was stretched lazily on the motel bed like he owned the damn place in a blue shirt and sweats, sipping on his beer and the sight went straight to your high on hormone body making you feel all sorts of things.

You should've known you'll end up in that bed.

▪︎ ☆ ▪︎

Ben was old. He doesn't look it but he is. The man has lived through century worth of time all while sticking to his prime and all those years came with experience.

Experience in combat, in languages, in strategies but most importantly. It came with experience in women. He knew women and what they wanted just like he knew how to roll a joint with his eyes closed.

So when Butcher's rather pretty friend gave him a once over she thought he didn't catch he can't help but smirk behind the mouth of beer he was drinking. Like he said he knew what women want and this one?

This one wanted him.

▪︎ ☆ ▪︎

So like you were saying you should've known you'll end up in a bed with Ben when the supe smirked. But you can't give it much thought right now - not when all you can manage is how good Ben felt.

On your knees on the bed with the only thing that held you upright was Ben's grip on your chin. His cock spearing your post orgasm sensitive pussy open again and again.

“That's a good girl, takin’ me so well.”

He rasped right in your ear and all you could manage was a whine-ish moan in reply.

“Aren't you all pretty with no thoughts whatsoever.”

He chuckled in that deep gruff which just made your walls clench tighter around his dick making the man groan. The hand around your chin moves away and without it your upper body flops down on the mattress like a string cut puppet.

“Gonna shape your walls for my dick doll, just for me.”

Ben growled before his hand clasped your waist and pulled your hips back on his brutal thrusts making you scream and hold onto the bedsheets for dear life.

The sound of skin slapping mixed with groans from Ben and whines and moans from you filled the motel room for a while before the man grabbed your hair and pulled your head up.

“Gonna cum in you babygirl, gonna fill ya up good. You wan’ that yeah?”

He drawled with an underlying tone of loosening restraint. You moan louder when his dick hits that one spot for the nth time sending your eyes rolling back in your head while your walls clamp down milking Ben of all he was worth.

You hear Ben curse rather colorfully before he lets your drop on the mattress again - panting and well fucked - it was barely fifteen minutes before he was flipping you to be your back his thumb swipping at the drool on your chin before pressing against your tongue.

“This ain't over yet.”

You should've known.

a/n : your welcome

tags : @bluemerakis @deansbeer @daylighted @soldiersgirl @h8aaz @samslovebug @littlesoulshine @titsout4jackles let me know if you wanna be added or removed!!!

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy smut #jensen ackles #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles x reader #mahi writes ☆

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sweetpeaaquarius · 1 month ago

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The Healer

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Healer f!reader

Summary: Eris never expected to find his mate in the middle of a war, kneeling over a dying Illyrian soldier dressed in Night Court robes. With a single look, the mating bond snapped into place like fate had been holding its breath.

Warnings: mentions of blood and battlefield aftermath, hypervigilance, insomnia, emotional detachment, references to physical injuries and past violence, mating bond dynamics, emotional intensity, internalised resistance, power imbalance.

Strong emotional themes: trauma, vulnerability and reluctant intimacy (not sexual)

Word count: 2,132

Series: The Healer - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Their eyes met across a war-torn tent, over the gurgling gasp of a dying soldier.

Her hands were pressed against the Illyrian’s chest, soaked in blood. Healing light flickered at her fingertips, silver and faint. Eris knew that magic. Knew the sigils etched into her navy robes. Night Court. Stitched in silver moon thread along the sleeves.

He felt the bond snap into place like a blade unsheathed.

No. No. No. No.

His chest clenched. He stared at her, memorising every detail in a single sharp breath, the blood on her arms, the tremor in her fingers, the way her mouth parted in quiet horror as recognition struck. He saw it in her eyes.

She knew.

Outside the tent: screaming. Wingbeats. Smoke.

Another stretcher was dragged toward her, carried by a soldier missing most of his armour.

It happened in a blink. The moment shattered. Her face closed off. She turned from him.

She whispered an incantation, her magic flaring once more. Her hands were steady now. Professional. Detached. She moved with the others as the wounded male was lifted from the cot, her moonlight trailing behind her.

Then she was gone.

He didn’t breathe until she was.

Eris stood there alone, surrounded by the scents of burned flesh, sweat, and her magic, as well as moonflowers and starlight. The tent reeked of blood and loss, yet he remained frozen, staring at the place where she had stood.

His mate.

The Cauldron had lost its damn mind.

The war had already bled him dry, his court fracturing at the seams, his father whispering with vipers. Now this, a healer in Night Court colours. Likely beloved by Rhysand. Loyal. Untouchable.

He felt the bond deep in his bones. Not soft. Not sacred.

Agonizing.

A tether pulled tight beneath his skin, dragging something old and feral to the surface.

A voice behind him said, “Commander. Your High Lord requests you at the western perimeter.”

Eris didn’t respond. Didn’t move.

Eventually, his boots carried him forward, out of the tent, into the cold, to his father. He sat through a strategy meeting, healing later with Autumn Court medics, though all he wanted were her delicate, steady hands.

Somehow, daylight faded. The evening revealed a sky sharp with stars, the moon casting its pale light over tents and bloodied snow. The camp resembled a sacred graveyard.

He waited for her. In the same place he’d last seen her.

He saw no one but tired healers and injured soldiers limping back to their camps.

Finally, she appeared.

She stepped out of the tent, covered in blood, pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She was shaking, and he didn’t know if it was from exhaustion or the bond. Maybe both. Her eyes met his the moment she stepped into the starlight.

For a heartbeat, neither of them looked away.

“You’re covered in blood,” he said, quieter than he meant to. His voice came out sharper, but there was panic at its edges.

“It’s not mine,” she murmured, turning her head.

“You haven’t eaten.”

“Don’t.” She snapped, trembling.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend you care,” she said, her voice cracking.

A pause. His jaw ticked.

“I don’t pretend.”

She didn’t look back. The tension between them throbbed, raw and unbearable.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered.

“You think I did?” he asked, his voice lower now, rough. “The Cauldron gave me a gift wrapped in thorns. You’re on the wrong side of this war.”

She spun toward him, grief and fury blazing across her face. “You don’t know me.”

“I know your hands are shaking.”

Her breath hitched. She tucked them into her sleeves. He hated how quickly shame followed her anger.

“You should be resting,” he said. The words felt strange in his mouth.

“And you should be anywhere but here,” she snapped.

That made him sigh, cold and bitter. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Something in her expression shifted. Not softening, just… understanding, maybe, or the bond twisting just as tightly around her.

“I didn’t come to hurt you,” he said, quieter now.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

Eris inhaled deeply. The instincts clawed at him—ancient, relentless. Every part of him demanded he claim her, protect her, hold her. However, he was not ruled by instinct and had never been.

Still, the words came before he could stop them.

“Please. Come with me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Just for tonight,” he said, voice taut. “To my tent. Nothing more than quiet and warmth. You’re shaking. You’re exhausted. And I…” He cut himself off. Swallowed. “I can’t walk away. Not from you.”

The silence stretched.

Her eyes flicked over his face like she was looking for a lie, but Eris Vanserra didn’t beg.

He waited.

“If I say no?” she asked.

“Then I’ll walk away,” he said. “I’ll let you be.”

He didn’t say he’d still think of her. Still feel the bond humming through every breath. But the truth hung between them, unspoken.

Fae did not meet their mates and forget.

Not ever.

She didn’t speak.

For a moment, he thought she might run. Her fingers twitched at her sides. Her eyes flicked to the forest, to the stars—anywhere but him.

Then she nodded, just once.

A reluctant, aching motion, like every part of her rebelled against it.

Eris said nothing. He simply turned and began walking.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t need to.

He could feel her behind him, each step cautious and unsure, echoing through the bond like ripples in still water.

When they reached his tent, set further from the others near the edge of camp, he paused. With a flick of his fingers, magic shimmered across the canvas, sealing it. Wards tightened. No spies. No soldiers. No one watching.

Inside, the space was larger than most, more luxurious. Autumn Court rugs softened the floor. A wide bed sat in the centre, simple but inviting. A desk stood in one corner, scattered with war maps and reports. Across the tent, a second partitioned area held a bathtub, already filling with steaming water. The floral scent of oils drifted through the space.

He lit a lantern. Golden light spilled across the room.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly.

“I told you,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “Nothing… happens.”

He turned toward her, one brow arching. “Do you think I drag females back here like some rutting brute?”

Her jaw tightened. “I don’t know what to think. But from what I’ve heard of you… yes. That’s exactly what I think.”

Rage flickered across his face. Not fury at her, never that, but at the image she had of him. The version of him others had carved.

He let the silence stretch, then spoke evenly. “Let me be clear. I brought you here because the thought of you out there, cold and bleeding, makes me want to tear this camp apart.”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the bath.

“Clean the blood from your hands. Then take the bed.”

“And you?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve slept in mud and ash. A chair will do.” He peeled off his crimson cloak and crossed to the desk, tension coiling tight through his spine. Her presence felt like a second heartbeat in the room.

Behind him, silence.

Then: “You feel it too.”

He turned slightly. She wasn’t looking at him—only at the flickering lantern flame.

“Yes,” he said. “Like a rope around my throat.”

Her exhaled trembled. “It doesn’t feel like fate. It feels like a trap.”

He approached slowly, careful not to step too close. “It’s both.”

Her eyes lifted to his—and in them, he let her see everything: the frustration, the restraint, the longing. Resentment braided with something dangerously close to hope.

“I didn’t want this,” she whispered.

“I didn’t want a mate from the Night Court,” he replied, voice quieter now. “And yet… here you are.”

Her mouth parted, unreadable. Anger? Relief? He couldn’t tell.

“I won’t dishonour the bond,” he said. “Even if it kills me. You’re mine now. And I would rather burn than harm you.”

She didn’t move.

He ran a hand through his hair and stepped back, giving her space.

“I won’t touch you. I won’t speak unless you want me to. Bathe. Sleep. That’s all. The bond will do what it will. But I won’t rush it. You have my word.”

At last, she moved past him, slow and cautious, like a doe stepping into a clearing.

“Clothes,” she said simply.

Eris blinked, then strode to a drawer. He pulled out a maroon cotton shirt and loose black sleep pants, too big, but soft and modest. She took them without thanks, disappearing behind the curtain to the bath.

He heard the whispered curse as she fumbled with the knots in her robe. Then the slap of bloodied fabric on the floor.

The sound made him wince.

He heard her sigh as she sank into the water, the soft splash of limbs, the subtle slosh of movement as she washed herself. Her silhouette flickered on the canvas curtain, vague, gentle lines.

He forced his eyes away.

Instead, he focused on the death reports scattered across his desk. Pages of names. Already three sheets long. By morning, there would be six.

But even grief couldn’t hold his attention tonight.

Her scent lingered, a blend of night-blooming jasmine, starlight, and healing magic.

His fists clenched. She would leave soon, returning to Rhysand and the Night Court. The bond stretched thinner each mile she walked away from him.

The fury came quietly, hidden beneath bone-deep ache.

He stepped outside briefly, commanding servants to bring food. She hadn’t eaten. He knew it.

Time passed, minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, before he heard her again.

She emerged from the bath dripping and clean, wearing his oversized clothes. His shirt clung to her damp skin, the collar damp from her hair.

Eris stared, and for a moment, all thoughts of war vanished.

She crossed the tent and sank into the bed without a word, curling under the covers, lightweight but warm, heated gently by his magic.

“Food,” he said, rising. He brought the tray to her. Soup, roasted meats, soft bread, steamed vegetables. Far better than camp rations.

Her stomach growled, and her hands trembled as she began to eat.

He stepped back to the desk, giving her space. Then, realising the blood still dried on his skin, he excused himself to bathe.

Behind the canvas, the water ran again. He peeled off his clothes slowly, wincing at the bruises and cuts painting his body. His face was still marked from battle, a gash crossing his cheekbone. He looked like a mess. Hollow-eyed. Worn thin.

Would she see him as weak? Pathetic? Or did she simply see him as dangerous?

He didn’t know which hurt more.

He sank into the steaming water and let his breath shudder out. Pain bloomed in his chest, a quiet ache sharper than any blade.

When he finally emerged, clean, modestly dressed, he braced himself for the worst, but she hadn’t run.

She was there.

Curled on her side, the food tray was set gently on the floor. Her breaths were soft, steady. Asleep.

Eris didn’t speak. He just stared for a long moment. Then crossed to the chair and sat down.

The shadows danced across the canvas walls. Her scent filled the tent.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

He fell asleep at the desk, quill in hand, ink smudging the corner of his maps.

He woke to a soft hand shaking his shoulder.

“Lord Vanserra,” she whispered.

He startled upright, hand darting for the dagger near his elbow. Steel kissed his palm in a flash of instinct until he met her eyes.

She froze, hands raised in surrender. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He exhaled hard, dropping the blade with a clatter. “God. I’m sorry.”

She took a step back, still wide-eyed. “You didn’t look very comfortable. I thought you might want the other side of the bed.”

Her voice was quiet. Careful.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he murmured, rubbing at his eyes.

“I offered. I’m not afraid of you.” Her voice softened. “But I’ll leave if you prefer. I’m due back with the injured soon.”

He looked up, and something flickered in his eyes: panic, grief, the gutting reality of her leaving.

She must’ve seen it.

“I mean… not yet,” she added quickly. “A few hours still. I just didn’t want you breaking your neck sleeping on that desk.”

Eris nodded, jaw tight. His bruises screamed as he stood.

Together, they crossed the tent.

He slipped beneath the covers on the untouched side of the bed.

Within seconds, without a single word exchanged, Eris Vanserra fell asleep beside his mate.

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moisette · 5 months ago

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I thought it was a stealth Killer or a Trapper xD

I see people do that a lot so I tried it... I didn't realize he had broken the wall already. I guess that's why Windows shows you walls xD;

She has an add-on that makes you have a longer lunge and that was what she had. She also lost her terror radius when she M2'd people. Feels a bit cheap on Nurse but at least she wasn't a cheater.

I felt so bad this match... I ran in the direction I did because I know there's good pallets over there. I was too panicked to use the one next to my gen so I just ran. My teammate got hooked because of that and the Ace picked me up and I had Endurance and I didn't take a hit for him because I didn't see it at first =_= I don't know his perks. He doesn't know my perks. I've been picked up so many times and went back down so that's what I expected to happen xD;

Did he not lunge? That looked fucking weird o_O

I feel like I should not have gotten hit there but maybe it's just his animation. I was dead either way but I thought I made that vault xD

I've used the perk a billion times - I know when a Killer has it. He got the jump on me in our first chase because of it. He also had Trail of Torment but I didn't know his other perks.

#dead by daylight #dbd #deadbydaylight #That Ghost Face kept slugging us after gens got done #It makes sense to slug then #As I see it - he got sent to a map that's not great for him #He ate many pallets and blinds #If he wanted to win - slugging was a good strategy #I tried to run away from my teammates and go into a locker #Just waste his time long enough for them to get out #I was yelling at them to take the 2 out and maybe I get hatch #I did not get hatch xD #Also that Pig let me and Ace live...#I feel like I did nothing to deserve an escape but I took it #I left so he'd have hatch but he went for taking the trap off instead #I told the Pig you can force trapped Survivors to wiggle out if their trap is active #You have to be right on the edge so they get forced into the escape

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imxnotxhere · 2 years ago

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Acotar Men Fic Recs

** Updated 03/07/2024 **

I already made a list for azriel which was actually meant as a list for all the characters I read for but I read a lot more of azriel fics because he's my baby and the list was getting too long. So here are the rest of the characters and I also added some more azzy drabbles sorry

Rhysand

@azsazz

dioxazine part 2 - fluff, smut, modern au, art school au

the lord's work - smut

if you should die before you wake - smut, rhys x cass x azriel x reader

just hold on - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

double duty - smut, rhys x reader x cass

what's mine - smut, rhys x eris x reader

lavender haze - fluff, suggestive

@tadpolesonalgae

mine - smut, check warnings!

knocked up - smut

vampire!rhysand drabble - smut

professor!rhys headcanons part 2 - smut

soothing - fluff, aftercare

@leafsandstarlight

easy like sunday morning - fluff, smut

@azrielbrainrot

my body keeps saying it's yours - smut

all over my skin - smut, rhys x reader x azriel

@writingsbychlo

home to us - fluff

rhys as a pleasure dom - smut - technically a drabble? blurb?

@azrielscrown

mirror mirror - smut

daylight - fluff

@acourtofwhatthefuck

shrinking violet - smut

@shadowdaddies

if i catch you i fuck you - smut

@fieldofdaisiies

rhysand... - drabble, smut

Cassian

@azsazz

mirror mirror - smut

take it - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

@tadpolesonalgae

on the strategy board - smut

pools of sunlight - fluff

@leafsandstarlight

halley's comet - angst, smut

@princess-tulip-writes

drabble - smut - az x cass x reader

@fieldofdaisiies

cassian... - drabble

@illyrianbitch

words of affirmation - fluff

Eris

@acourtofmenandthirst

runaway - angst, smut

fox hunting - smut

closed until further notice - fluff, smut, coffee shop au

smut blurb

smut blurb II

@leafsandstarlight

destiny's battleground - angst, smut

my lovely throne - smut

despite our differences - angst, smut, series

the prince of blood part 2 part 3 - vampire!eris

@tadpolesonalgae

servitude - smut

thumb prints - smut

@serpentandlily

sly fox, dumb bunny - series

@azsazz

the burning of the autumn leaves and the roaring of my yearning heart - angst, smut

soul on fire - smut

a court of four horsemen - smut, part of a series

@azrielbrainrot

fire on fire - angst?

mind over matter - angst?

@gothicbabydollz

riding eris' face - smut, drabble

riding eris' thigh - smut, drabble

@honeybeefae

cauldron fated - angst, smut

@princess-tulip-writes

making out with eris while giving him a handjob - smut, drabble

praise kink eris - smut, drabble

@fieldofdaisiies

eris' hands... - drabble

eris... - drabble

@theostrophywife

like you wanna be loved - fluff

Lucien

@tadpolesonalgae

solecist night - smut

@acourtofwhatthefuck

yell at me again - smut

personal problem - smut

the moon on a string - fluff

@princess-tulip-writes

drabble - smut

drabble - smut, az x lucien x reader (kind of)

@gothicbabydollz

dom lucien - smut, human!reader

@fieldofdaisiies

lucien... - smut

@ceoofyearning

say yes to heaven - fluff

Helion

@leafsandstarlight

a high lord's scholar - fluff

@tadpolesonalgae

new mechanisms - smut

sweet like peaches - smut

#azriel smut #azriel x reader #rhysand smut #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #cassian x reader #cassian smut #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra smut #eris x reader #lucien vanserra smut #lucien vanserra x reader #helion x reader #helion smut

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elikajinnie · 7 months ago

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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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5eraphim · 1 year ago

Note

Okay so this has been stuck in my head for WEEKS and I finally decided to stop bein scared and ask you to write about it lol

So as a DBD player, I got to thinking that it would be kinda cool if survivors could fight the killer even if it was just once per round and then this scenario popped into my head.

How would Killer react to Survivor!Reader biting them as a defense/distraction/etc? My favs are The Shape, The Executioner, and The Mastermind! Headcannons would be amazing but if you could maybe branch out to make one a one-shot kinda deal? Maybe NSFW if you feel spicy?

P.S your writing and fics LITERALLY give me life YOU’RE SO GOOD 😭🧡

My deepest apologies for how long this has been rotting in my inbox, I thought this prompt was a lot of fun, and again, I'm sorry it took forever for me to get around to answering this. Hope you enjoy all the same!

Characters: Michael Meyers, Albert Wesker, Pyramid Head (Dead By Daylight)

Rating: R (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, GO PLAY OUTSIDE!!)

Content Warnings: Yandere, smut, noncon, stalking, choking, violence, sacrificed to the entity, predator/prey dynamics, obsession, sadism and masochism, reader is kept gender neutral

Word Count: 1.6k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

The Shape

It's almost too predictable for a killer like Michael Myers to wind up in a situation like this. As the survivor he brought with him into the entity's realm made physical payback, her signature, Micheal can't help but attract the "feisty" type.

A man hiding behind a mask, Michael competes with fierce determination and an almost primal compulsion to hunt, stalk, and slaughter like no other. Of the three, Myers would be the most likely to anticipate physical retribution from a survivor, according to him, all part of the hunt.

Myers prefers to remain hidden by shadows as long as possible, awaiting his perfect opportunity to go in for a decisive kill. But remaining hidden in the dark is a luxury you don't have at your disposal on account of being Myer's obsession.

You didn't want it to come to this. Even before the match started, you prayed to fight any killer, but Myers, your disappointment only grew as you realized minutes later that you were his obsession.

The idea of fighting back physically was a spur-of-the-moment decision; you knew you only had one chance of pulling this off, and if you missed, your fate would be sealed. You usually weren't one to opt for such a risky strategy, but you were too blinded by your fear of Myers. You would do anything to get away.

Even though you couldn't see him, you could feel Myers' eyes locked in on you, no doubt following and trailing you from behind. The paranoia was torture, but you forced yourself to stay strong and ignore Myers, to focus solely on supporting your team.

When Myers inevitably tracked you down and caught you after getting distracted by something else, you had so much pent-up nervous aggression that you couldn't hold back your body's instinct to fight back.

Fear overtook any lingering traces of rationality as you struggled blindly against Myers, but you had just enough determination reserved to take aim and fire a single punch, aiming for his head, landing against the cheek of the mask; it was just enough to disorient him long enough for you to wriggle free.

Despite the offense, Myers didn't think you had it in you to fight back like that. It excited him! As though you were holding back on him before, and now you were starting to fight back like you really meant it!

After enduring the pressure of being his obsession and succumbing to the fear of it all, you little humanity left to hold onto, almost nothing but your primal fight or flight instincts; it was truly a beautiful sight for him to behold.

The next time he cornered you, Myers decided he ought to follow your lead, only instead of going for your head, he would go for your throat, not with the knife, but with his hand.

And for just a moment, he'd keep you there. Only needing one hand around your throat to keep your entire body pinned into place on the wall behind you. Wood planks made contact with your back at odd angles, the dull pain radiating up and down your spine as you were face to face with Myers, close enough to hear his breathing behind the mask while he observed your face- knowing you believed he was seconds away from slitting your throat.

Likely, as Myers holds you in such a compromising position, he takes out all his own pent-up frustrations on you. Leaving bitemarks all over your neck and shoulders while he quickly shreds the clothes from your body.

Just as you gave into primal fight-or-flight instincts, he was giving into his own primal urges. He'd won the hunt, and now it was time to let his libido take charge. Half-undressed, he ruts against you, and you can hear his heartbeat racing. Maybe even feel his body warming as his blood flows rapidly, but he remains as silent as a corpse.

After having his fun, Myers will take great pleasure in sacrificing you to the entity. Even if he couldn't take down everyone on your team before this, the opportunity to sacrifice his obsession in such a thrilling bloodbath overshadowed any regular trial as a ruthless killer.

The Mastermind

It wouldn't take more than an instance of fighting back physically against him for Wesker to decide to hunt you down right away. He would've never suspected another survivor would be bold enough to try something like this on him. Wesker wants to know what makes you think you're strong enough to try something like this.

His reaction would be determined primarily by what point in the trial you try this.

Albert might think it's insufficient enough to ignore if it's early or if he's doing well.

But given how infamous of a hothead he can be, more often than not, any time you try this, expect to be met with hostility.

Wants to see you go from physically resistant to begging him for mercy. On the outside, he pretends to see brats like you as nothing but a petty annoyance to be dealt with, but on the inside, he absolutely loves doing this; keeping the weak in check is how he stays strong.

Wesker doesn't exactly get any legitimate pleasure from being hurt, but he will tap into the pain when fighting back. He does this partly out of loyalty and obligation to the entity but equally out of a petty vengeance to hurt you back twice as hard as you hurt him.

Wesker waits patiently before fighting back, taking care of those annoying teammates first to give you his undivided attention. As well as strategically lying in wait after the confrontation before striking while your guard is down.

The very first thing Wesker does after tracking you down is wounding you exactly where you hurt him, though he's sure not to let you go until he's drawn blood.

Don't expect him to show you any mercy from here. Might go as far as pushing you down, wiping his shoes against your back as you writhe below, trying to squirm out from under his boot.

It's good foreplay for him, seeing the foolish survivor who dared to fight back, bleeding and barely alive. He won't fuck you in the muck for his own sake, of course. Wesker will push you up against a wall face first while he is taking you from behind.

If he's feeling especially good after sweeping a trial, he might leave you with just enough life to hold onto while you crawl to the hatch. More likely, you won't live long after such a brutal session. But even if you don't die, Wesker will be sure to leave you so beaten and tormented you'll regret trying to fight him like that and won't want to try again. Even if Wesker secretly hopes you will.

The Executioner

While the others welcome the resistance, even if only to crush it, Pyramid Head would likely resent you for trying to physically challenge the killer and disrupt the natural order of things. It was an injustice, and it was imperative to punish you for this.

Imagine playing as a "Gen-Jockey" survivor, the kind of teammate who provides the bare minimum to the rest of the team, putting your own survival above the lives of your teammates, the type of survivor Pyramid Head hated the most. A coward.

All that to say, it was an extreme shock after he cornered you and felt your teeth sinking into the exposed flesh above his glove.

While you were combative and aggressive now, Pyramid Head knew you couldn't keep this up forever. You were, to him, nothing but a coward deep down. Even if you wanted to pretend like you had any real fight of your own, it wouldn't be long before you surrendered to your own exhaustion. Perhaps he was even doing this as his way of offering you a "fair shot" to find your way out before he got his hands on you. Like he would ever let that happen.

Since you tried to bite him earlier, he'd punish you by fucking you from behind, bent over a broken desk crushing your face against the hardwood surface. He was an inescapable force while you were powerless to stop any of this from below.

Would only give into his beastial nature to hurt and fuck you if he's already managed to kill the rest of your team. It's not his style to slaughter his obsession until he's taken care of the others, and he doesn't want to let anyone pass by without judgment.

If he doesn't get this opportunity during the trial, Pyramid Head will fantasize about killing you off last while staying buried inside you, feeling your pathetic body crumbling and going limp beneath him.

Paradoxical feelings of sadism and protectiveness for you as Pyramid Head is obsessed with being the only one alloweed to hurt you, judge your soul, or torture you. But all this cruelty is undermined by his motivation to keep you from getting hurt by others.

He is most likely to let you live after making love because the instant gratification of an orgasm, as well as the satisfaction of punishing you himself, will keep him from sending you up to the entity.

Consider this Pyramid Head's very niche kind of post-nut clarity.

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