#i suddenly remembered this snippet

[pachu09]

Wherein as a high caliber Sensor, Tobirama developed the ability to pinpoint out people who became psychopathic when it comes to their romantic partner/prospect.

Tobirama had first realized that something had been added to his Sensing ability.

And it all started with his Mother. Back then when all is well and good, he recalled he was only five years old when he felt the first time the spine tingling terror that shot through him when his Mother blankly stared at a civilian woman who dared to be friendly with his Father.

Mother and Father had fit to travel with him and Anija to the Capital to be introduced to the Daimyo. At the end of the week of their stay, Tobirama had vaguely recalled that the noble woman who giggles whenever Father was near her was found dead in her room. As a child it didn't really register to him that something was amiss when it happened because he was busy playing with Anija and training at that time.

But now that Tobirama is an Adult. He can now confirmed with utmost confidence that his Sensing includes knowing who becomes a Psychopath when it comes to their romantic partner.

Tobirama grimaces internally. He was loath to admit it, but his Mother is his first hard evidence of people with such extreme tendencies. He glances down at his scribbled notes with hidden codes sparsely written so no one would know of his rather personal investigation.....

Tobirama frowns deeply. Anija had been jotted down in his notes too..because he had also started to display his psychopathic tendencies. He hates to admit that he felt stupid and that it took so long for him to notice Anija's blank eyed stares when someone talks to Mito–neesan.

He shuddered in fright.

He doesn't dare to tell Mito-neesan about his speculation. Anija would probably bury him alive without killing him if he tried to warn Mito-neesan....

Tobirama bit his lips. He warily eyed the next names written underneath Anija's. Madara and Izuna had surprised him about their psychopathic tendencies. He doesn't know who are their prospects but Tobirama found himself under threatening looks whenever the Uchiha Brothers are near him. He had checked again and again with the people he had interacted with but so far as he found out... none of them had been the lover of the Uchiha Brothers...

So why is he getting hounded, furiously glared at and feeling like he's about to be killed whenever the Brothers circled around him?...

Tobirama rubbed his aching temples. Should he just hide for a month in his lab then?. So that whatever offensive thing he did would make The Uchiha Brothers forget if they can't see him?...

A single eerie knock on his lab door made Tobirama sit up in fright. His eyes nervously darted at his sealed door.

He cleared his throat and shook his head to get rid of his rattled nerves. " Who is it?. "

" Tobirama. Why are you hiding in your lab?. "

Tobirama felt the spine chilling fear shooting down his spine at hearing Izuna’s ominous question. He just knew, that it'll be an enormous mistake if he were to open his lab door.

" Uchiha. It has only been a day since I took an absence. I do not know what you need me for but just recruit Anija to help you or something. " Tobirama grimaced at his impatient tone. He didn't mean to sound dismissive but he really, really didn't want to talk to Izuna this day....preferably for a month even.

" Won't you invite us in then, Tobirama?. " Tobirama quickly stood up from his seat as he heard Madara’s voice behind the door. What in the world?...he was so sure, Izuna was the only person that was standing in front of his lab door. So where did the Elder Uchiha had come from?.

Tobirama with a dry throat swallowed nervously. " No Uchiha. I don't want the two of you entering my lab. Who knows what the two of you would accidentally destroy if you bumble around here. " he sneered in anger.

Ominous silence greeted his hateful answer.

Tobirama warily eyed his lab door. He cannot sense Madara and Izuna’s chakra behind it perhaps the Brothers had given up in pestering him?.

He decided to sit for a minute to rest his trembling legs but before he could do so...the spike of combine furious Chakra lashing out at his sensitive Sensing made him stumble on his feet and he crashes onto the ground with a hard thump. He felt dizzy and in pain as he accidentally bashed his head on his lab table when he crashed down.

He clutches his head as he wheezes painfully. The oppressive Chakra felt like it was burning him alive....

He tried to stand up, but his shaking limbs won't support him. He only had a second to realize that his doorknob had slowly rotated and an ominous click of it signified that it had been unlocked.

Tobirama stared terrified at the sandal clad feet that step over his lab barrier without any difficulty.

He slowly looked up at the Brother's furiously blazing Sharingan.

" That's not nice of you, Tobirama. " he tried to crawl away when the Elder Uchiha crouch down in front of him. But the suffocating grip on his neck made him freeze in his tracks.

" Guess its really time for him to be trained then?. What say you Aniki?. " Tobirama was instantly confused at that remark. What in the world was Izuna talking about?. What training?.

" For such a genius man. You are rather oblivious to our romantic intentions, Tobirama. " The blank eyed looks of both Uchiha Brothers made Tobirama gobsmacked that he forgot to even fight his way out of his impending doom.

With his aching head and spinning thoughts it took a second too late for him to avoid two sets of Sharingan that bulldozed its influence inside his mind like a roaring Tsunami crashing and devouring everything in its path.

And then.... Tobirama knew nothing anymore...

[unfinishedslurs]

GRAPPLING WITH CRIPPLING INSOMNIA QUICK POST BATMAN FANFIC

(Reverse Robins, with Tim as the red hood)

“You kill,” Cass hisses. “Like him.”

“I’m not doing anything that they haven’t done to someone else.” Hood’s voice is hard, unrepentant.

She strides forward to jab him in the chest. “Is that supposed to make it okay? Am I supposed to forgive you?” She sounds almost heartbroken. “You remember Batman. Is this better?”

Jason doesn’t know what she means, but Hood clearly does. His lips thin. “You can’t seriously be comparing this to that. He killed me.”

“Two wrongs do not make a right.”

“I don’t care about being right. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You used to be so sweet, big brother.” She reaches up to touch his face, and Jason watches him lean into it before he realizes what he’s doing and wrenches away from her.

“Yeah, well, things change. People change.”

“Not that much.” It’s sad, quiet. “You know I can’t forgive this.”

“I really don’t care.”

“You do.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning away to make his escape. She starts to follow but instead is tackled by three bodies, and has to turn to fight them. Jason tries to help, but she’s pretty much got it on her own. When it’s clear they’re losing the assassins fall back, and Jason tries to chase them, but Cass snags him by the cape and holds him back. When they turn around the Red Hood is long gone.

Cass has her fists clenched, and her shoulders are shaking. Jason doesn’t know whether it’s anger or sadness, but he steps forward to offer her comfort.

She steps away and shakes her head.

He’s always known Tim and Cass were close, but it was a distant thought to him, something he never thought he’d witness. Seeing the two of them in person was like looking through a funhouse mirror, warped and twisted until all that was left was a huge, grinning shadow.

There’s laughter in his nightmares that night.

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Yes, in those days we both needed each other...

[seventh-district]

tfw you're trying to write a Genshin fic but ur memory is shit so u have to leave urself [REMINDERS] to come back and correct your spelling/figure out NPC names/scour the wiki to double-check character and story lore, because if u even so much as glance away from the google doc in the moment you'll lose all of your writing momentum

coughs [link to some other (better) excerpts from the fic since the post didn't make it into the tags and i'm too lazy to remake it]

[cookie-dough-writes]

They should make a support group for kids who had too much unrestricted internet access as a kid because it is just so complex. I also do not want to bring up pony.MOV in an expensive therapy session.

[pompoenwolkjes]

As it turns (hah) out, I like to use the word turn a lot so I had like 6 different snippest for @ficwip word of the week but managed to narrrow it down to two: yacht au (again) and finally also calypso au!!

"Hyune," he says more firmly and the hands in his hair still. Chan turns around to look at him. It’s still the same Hyunjin but Chan nearly cries when he notices the look in Hyunjin’s eyes. He looks scared, like he expects Chan to dismiss him after he got what he wanted. Like he did before. And still, Hyunjin is letting him be vulnerable. For Chan. Because he likes him. They like him. He’s been staring for so long, he can visibly see Hyunjin looking more unsure, worrying his lip between his teeth. “Chan," Jeongin whispers. And for the first time tonight, even he sounds uncertain.

——————————

Jaehwan moves so carefully around him, like the shattered pieces of Hongbin’s heart are lying there, hidden between the sand; and what he previously thought was Jaewhan trying to weave between the sharp shards in fear of hurting himself, slowly turns into realising he’s being cautious to not step on them to avoid hurting Hongbin. Trying to take care of him, in any way Hongbin will let him. Even if Hongbin hasn’t done anything worthy of his kindness.

[yaminerua]

can my brain hold onto a stream of perfect dialogue long enough for me to write it down for once in my life ffs why must the perfect string of words decide to pass spontaneously through my brain and spark my desperation to get it recorded only for the memory of how it was phrased to slip away like a forgotten dream as quickly as it came

[werewolfcave]

tags by @bumblebeerror

"Cinderpelt should've been a warrior, cats can function perfectly fine with 3 legs" "Jayfeather could've been a warrior, blind cats navigate well with their other senses" "Briarlight could've gone on patrols, have you seen how well cats with paralyzed legs get around?" OK but that's not the point at all. Let's stop talking about that. It doesn't matter if it's technically true. The books present us with these situations where we, as readers, are meant to understand that these characters are unable to fulfill the same duties that their able bodied Clanmates can, regardless of the accuracy to real cat biology. The lens we need to use to examine disability in Warriors isn't "can they function like abled cats?" It's "If they can't function like abled cats, what are their choices and what does their quality of life look like? How are they treated?" Because that's where the real issues are.

[mahalachives]

Part 8: Everything I Am, Everything I Will Be

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

Azriel had first noticed you in Velaris, long before fate had decided to intervene.

It had been an ordinary afternoon in the Rainbow.

Azriel had been returning from a briefing with Rhys, his shadows trailing behind him like gentle wisps of midnight.

Most people gave him a wide berth—the Shadowsinger’s reputation ensuring his solitude even in crowded streets.

She’s coming, his shadows whispered suddenly, their tone unusually bright, almost melodic. The one who speaks to plants.

Azriel tilted his head slightly, curious.

His shadows often brought him snippets of information about the residents of Velaris, but rarely with such… delight.

That’s when he saw you.

You were hurrying along with an armful of ancient scrolls, humming softly to yourself about deadlines and temperamental flora.

Before he could step aside, a particularly ornate scroll adorned with painted lilies slipped from your grasp, rolling toward his feet.

Catch it, his shadows urged eagerly, already curling toward the falling parchment.

He caught it before it could unravel completely, his gloved hand gentle with the delicate parchment, careful not to damage the exquisite illustrations of rare night-blooming plants.

“Oh! Thank you,” you’d gasped, “These are absolutely irreplaceable botanical records, and my supervisor would have my head if—”

You froze mid-sentence as you finally looked up, eyes widening in recognition, a small pressed flower falling from between the pages of your notebook.

“You’re Azriel,” you whispered. “The Shadowsinger.”

He’d simply nodded, extending the recovered scroll with one hand while quietly retrieving the fallen flower with the other.

Her heartbeat sounds like hummingbird wings, his shadows observed, sounding almost… enchanted. She smells like lavender and old books.

Your fingers brushed as you took both items, a fleeting touch that sent an unexpected warmth shooting up his arm like gentle sparks.

His throat tightened pleasantly, a subtle flutter spreading across his chest as his shadows curled briefly toward you like morning mist reaching for sunlight.

Warm, they murmured happily. Bright. Remember her forever.

“Thank you,” you’d said again, softer this time, a small smile lighting your features.

He'd inclined his head in silent acknowledgment before continuing on his way, gently quieting his shadows when they tried to urge him to follow you, to learn more about the female who’d caused such a stir among them.

We’ll see her again, they whispered confidently as he walked away. She matters to us.

Azriel had dismissed their unusual behavior with fond exasperation.

His shadows could be fanciful at times, prone to innocent fixations that often proved meaningless.

Besides, his heart had belonged to Mor then.

Had for centuries. Would for centuries more, he'd thought.

He was wonderfully wrong.

Five centuries of life had prepared Azriel for many things.

Torture. War.

The darkest corners of Prythian's courts. The weight of secrets that would break lesser males.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared him for the paralyzing uncertainty of preparing for his first date with his mate.

"You look like you're planning an assassination, not a romantic evening," Cassian drawled from where he lounged against the doorframe of Azriel's private chambers in the House of Wind. He eyed Azriel’s fourth—or was it fifth?—tunic choice of the evening. "I mean, if you’re aiming to impress her with murder skills, go for it. But I’d suggest toning down the ‘serial killer’ energy at least a notch."

Azriel didn't respond, busy adjusting the collar of his tunic for the fourteenth time.

The fabric embroidered with silver stars seemed simultaneously too formal and not formal enough.

He'd never cared about his appearance beyond functionality before.

But tonight... tonight mattered.

You mattered.

"I've never seen you this rattled," Cassian continued, his grin widening. "Not even when we infiltrated the Winter Court during the Frost Solstice and you got cornered by that deranged—"

Azriel shot him a warning look, shadows coiling tightly around his scarred hands. "I'm not rattled."

Liar, his oldest shadow whispered in his ear. Your heart races at the mere thought of her.

His shadows had been insufferable since the day you'd fallen on him in the archives—growing more vocal, more insistent with each passing day.

They'd recognized the mate bond before he had, whispering your name when he tried to sleep, urging him toward you at every opportunity.

Centuries of perfect control, undone by one female with a talent for calamity and eyes that saw straight through his carefully constructed walls.

"Have you decided where you're taking her?" Rhys asked, materializing from the shadows of the hallway. The High Lord's violet eyes gleamed with barely suppressed amusement.

Azriel nodded once. "The oak grove."

Cassian raised an eyebrow. "The treehouse? No one knows about that place."

"Exactly," Azriel replied, finally turning away from the mirror. He didn't need to explain further.

Both males understood the significance—he was sharing something private, something he'd kept hidden for centuries.

Rhys's expression shifted, something knowing gleaming in his eyes. "Interesting choice," he said, the words weighted with meaning Azriel couldn't quite decipher. "There's something... fitting about it."

Before Azriel could respond, Cassian clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make lesser males stagger. "Well, don't keep the lady waiting. And remember—" he winked "—I've got a favorite blade riding on you sealing the bond by the full moon."

Azriel growled low in his throat. "Get out."

Both males laughed as they retreated, though Rhys paused at the doorway.

"Az," he said softly, all humor gone from his voice. "You both deserve this. Remember that."

The words struck deeper than Azriel wanted to admit.

Five centuries of darkness and solitude had convinced him he deserved nothing but shadows.

And then you had crashed into his life—literally—upending everything he thought he knew about himself.

She is your light, his shadow whispered. Your starlight. Your home.

He had one final thing to retrieve before leaving.

From his desk, he took a small wooden box containing the gift he'd spent hours carving.

A ridiculous gesture, perhaps, but one he hoped would make you smile.

That smile.

It haunted him.

Brightened corners of his soul he'd thought long dead.

With a deep breath, he unfurled his wings and stepped to the balcony.

Before launching into the evening sky, he allowed himself one moment of vulnerability, one whispered confession to the sunset.

"I am terrified."

You had faced many terrifying things in your life.

Cave-dwelling monsters with too many teeth.

That one particularly aggressive goose on the mountain trail.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared you for the sheer, overwhelming panic of getting ready for your first official date with Azriel.

"I have nothing to wear," you wailed, flinging another dress onto the growing pile on your bed. "Nothing."

Lira, sprawled on your one comfortable chair, didn't even look up from inspecting her nails. "You have approximately seventeen outfits on that bed alone. Not to mention the three I brought over. And the one Mor sent with a note that said—and I quote—'wear this if you want to see a shadowsinger blush.'"

"None of them are right!" You held up a midnight blue gown with silver accents. "Too formal."

A casual tunic and pants. "Too boring."

A revealing red number that had somehow found its way into your closet. "Too... Mor."

Lira sighed dramatically. "He's seen you with bedhead, covered in mud, drenched in the Sidra, and tripping over literally nothing. If you showed up in a flour sack, he'd probably still look at you like you hung the stars."

"That doesn't help!"

"Fine." Lira finally stood, sifting through the fabric mountain with expert precision. "Wear this. It's pretty but comfortable, and the color brings out your eyes."

She held up a simple but elegant dress in a deep violet hue with subtle silver detailing.

The fabric was light and flowy, perfect for a summer evening in Velaris, yet structured enough to look intentional rather than haphazard—something you desperately needed help with.

"Are you sure?" you asked, taking the garment with reverent hands.

"Positive. Now..." She gestured vaguely at the disaster that was your hair. "Let's tackle that next catastrophe."

An hour later, you stood before your mirror, barely recognizing yourself.

The dress fit perfectly, highlighting curves you didn't know you had. Your hair was pinned in an elegant-but-not-too-fussy style that somehow made you look like you belonged in the Night Court's fashionable circles.

"See?" Lira said smugly, adjusting one final pin. "You clean up nicely when you're not falling into things."

"Don't jinx it," you muttered, nervously touching the moonbloom pendant that hung around your neck.

The delicate flower seemed to pulse with life in the fading evening light, a constant reminder of Azriel's feelings.

Gregory bubbled energetically from his bowl, performing what looked suspiciously like approval laps.

"Even Gregory thinks you look good," Lira commented, tossing a pinch of fish food into the bowl. "And he has very high standards. Don't you, Gregory?"

A loud knock interrupted your nervous fidgeting.

"He's early," you hissed, panic rising again. "He said sunset! It's not sunset yet!"

"It's close enough," Lira pushed you toward the door. "Now go. Be awkward. Be romantic. Be yourself. And for Cauldron's sake, try not to fall into the Sidra again."

With one final glare at your so-called friend, you took a deep breath and opened the door.

And promptly forgot how to breathe.

Azriel stood there, not in his usual Illyrian fighting leathers, but in formal Night Court attire—well-fitted black pants and a deep blue tunic that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. His wings were meticulously groomed, the membranous material almost glowing in the late afternoon light.

But it was his face that caught you off guard.

The usual carefully controlled mask had slipped, revealing raw appreciation as his hazel eyes swept over you.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words coming out rougher than usual, like he hadn't meant to speak them aloud.

Your cheeks heated.

"You too." You winced immediately. "I mean, not beautiful—well, yes, beautiful, but handsome. You look handsome. Good. Nice. I'm going to stop talking now."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "I brought you something."

From behind his back, he produced not flowers—which would have been the conventional choice—but a small, intricate wooden box.

"For the menace," he said, gesturing toward Gregory's bowl. "From one guard to another."

You opened it to find a tiny, perfectly carved castle tower—a fish hideout for Gregory's bowl.

"You got my fish a present," you said, staring at the delicate woodwork, complete with miniature windows and a tiny door. "Did you... did you make this?"

A rare flush crept along Azriel's cheekbones. "I had time."

The image of the Night Court's most feared spymaster whittling a tiny castle for your emotional support fish was almost too much to bear.

"Gregory appreciates your dedication to home security," you managed, placing the tower carefully in the fish bowl. Gregory immediately swam through the tiny doorway, clearly approving of his new quarters.

"Shall we?" Azriel offered his arm—a formal, courtly gesture that somehow seemed both foreign and perfectly natural coming from him.

"Where are we going?" you asked, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow and trying not to focus on the firm muscle beneath your fingertips.

His shadows curled playfully around your wrist. "It's a surprise."

Your eyes widen with wonder as you take in the treehouse, your lips parting in surprise.

You can't believe Azriel has brought you here—to a place he built with Cassian centuries ago and maintained alone for three hundred years.

"You're taking me to your secret hideout?" The words tumble from your mouth, wonder filling your voice.

Azriel's hand moves to adjust the moonbloom pendant at your throat, his fingers lingering against your skin.

The touch sends a flutter through your chest, your pulse quickening beneath his fingertips.

"I wanted to share something with you," he says, his voice rougher than usual. "Something private. Something no female has ever seen."

The weight of his admission isn't lost on you.

Five centuries of guarding his privacy, his secrets—and here he is, offering a piece of himself so willingly.

"I'm honored," you say, meaning every word.

"You should be," he replies, a rare lightness in his tone. "Cassian doesn't even know I still come here." He pauses before adding, "The wards only recognize my blood... and now yours."

Your heart skips a beat at the revelation that he'd altered ancient wards for you.

As you climb the stairs, your foot catches on the lip of a step—your usual gracelessness making an appearance at the worst possible moment. Before you can tumble backward, Azriel's hand snaps out to steady you. Instead of a polite rescue, he pulls you flush against him, his palm splayed across the curve of your lower back, fingers edging just a little lower than strictly necessary.

Heat floods your body at the contact.

The thin fabric of your dress does nothing to hide the firmness of his chest against yours, and you can't help the quiet gasp that escapes your lips as you look up at him through half-lowered lashes.

His shadows coil around your legs, bold and hungry.

You can feel them reaching for you, as though they want to slip under your dress and map every inch of your skin.

"Careful," he murmurs, but his dropped voice makes the warning sound more like an invitation.

When you try to straighten, he doesn't let you go immediately.

Instead, his fingers flex over your lower back, pressing you firmly against him. Your breath hitches as something pulses between you—an unspoken promise of what could happen if you just gave in.

With visible effort, he loosens his grip, drawing a shaky breath as he eases you upright. But his thumb grazes the curve of your hip in a final caress that feels like a claim.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Try not to fall again," he teases softly, his tone laced with sin. "Next time, I might not let go."

"Sorry," you murmur, your cheeks flushing. "Gravity and I have a complicated relationship."

"So I've noticed," he replies, fondness warming his voice.

As you enter the treehouse, you're struck by the beautiful details—floating faelights, a moving star map, a low table set with foods that somehow match exactly what you like.

But it's the walls that truly capture your attention.

Maps, notes, sketches—centuries of observations, thoughts, a private world spread out for you to see.

"What is all this?" you ask, moving closer to examine a map of the Night Court.

"Records," he answers, standing close enough that his wing brushes against your back. A small shiver runs through you at the contact. "Observations. Memories."

You realize what you're looking at—his personal history, his private sanctuary where he keeps the parts of himself he shows to no one.

"Why did you bring me here?" The question comes as a whisper, vulnerability plain in your voice.

"Because you deserve to know me. All of me. Not just what others see."

For a male who has spent centuries in shadows, who has built his life around secrets and silence, the offering is monumental. He is giving you the power to truly know him—and with it, the power to truly hurt him.

"I don't know what to say," you admit.

"You don't have to say anything," he assures you, guiding you to the table with his hand at the small of your back. "Just... be here. With me."

As you sit across from each other, Azriel's shadows refuse to stay contained. They reach for you, wrapping around your wrists, tracing the line of your neck with a boldness that makes your skin heat.

"Your shadows are very... hands-on," you observe, watching as they caress you like living extensions of his desire.

You notice the heat creeping up Azriel's neck. "They've grown fond of you," he says, clearly understating. "They've never... responded to anyone like this before."

"Just the shadows?" you ask, surprising yourself with your boldness.

His eyes drop to your lips, and you can almost feel the phantom touch of his mouth on yours.

"No," he says, his voice dropping to a register that reveals his desire. "No, starlight. Not just the shadows."

The endearment sends warmth blooming in your chest.

Throughout dinner, you watch Azriel relax in a way you've never seen before.

He tells you stories he's never shared with others—mishaps and adventures with the Inner Circle, lighter moments that few would associate with the fearsome shadowsinger.

You laugh freely, entranced by the way he watches you, the way his lips curve when you throw your head back in amusement. Around him, you feel lighter, brighter, more than you've felt in a long time.

Your peaceful dinner is interrupted by a faint sound outside—one that Azriel's trained ears catch immediately.

"Was that...?" you ask, peering into the darkness.

"Ignore it," he sighs.

"But it looked like—"

"Cassian," he confirms, caught between exasperation and amusement. "And if my shadows aren't misleading me, Mor is with him."

Your eyes widen. "Are they spying on us?"

"They're attempting to," he corrects dryly. "Rather poorly."

You burst into laughter at their friends' antics, finding humor where others might find irritation.

"We could give them something to spy on," you suggest, mischief dancing in your eyes.

Azriel arches a brow, heat visible in his gaze. "What did you have in mind?"

The idea of acting out an exaggerated romantic scene to scandalize your friends delights you.

"Oh, Azriel," you exclaim in an exaggerated breathy voice. "I had no idea you could do that with shadows!"

He plays along with surprising enthusiasm, his voice dropping deliberately lower. "It's a rare talent. One I've been saving for the right person. For you."

His shadows put on a dramatic display, swirling around the room with theatrical flair. But some use the opportunity to touch you in more intimate ways—tracing down your arm, caressing your collarbone, stealing touches that make your breath catch.

"The right...angle?" you continue, your tone deliberately suggestive. "Or the right... position?"

When Cassian crashes outside, you have to bite back your laughter. But beneath the amusement is a rising heat, a dangerous awareness of Azriel—of how beautiful he looks with rare humor in his eyes, of how much you want to turn this playacting into reality.

"Both," he says solemnly. "It requires... flexibility. And endurance." He leans forward, dropping his voice to a husky whisper. "Fortunately, I have centuries of practice."

One bold shadow caresses your neck.

You break into laughter, the tension momentarily diffused. "That," you gasp between laughs, "was the most fun I've ever had fully clothed."

When your laughter subsides, you find Azriel studying your face with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"I've existed for over five hundred years," he admits quietly. "And I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."

The vulnerability in his admission touches something deep within you.

"Well, I'm happy to make a fool of myself anytime if it makes you laugh," you say with a warm smile.

"You weren't the fool," he counters, rising and moving to the window. "Come. There's something I want to show you."

When you join him at the window, his wing brushes against your back—a casual touch that sends a shiver down your spine. The view of Velaris at night stretches before you, a tapestry of lights and shadows.

"It's beautiful," you whisper.

"This is how I see the city," he tells you, his voice an intimate murmur. "From above. In shadows and light."

When you turn to face him, he's already watching you—his hazel eyes reflecting the faelight, turning them to liquid gold.

"What are you thinking?" you ask.

"That I never thought I'd have this. That for centuries, I accepted solitude as my due. And then you—" He shakes his head, wonder in his expression. "You fell into my life. Literally."

You reach for his scarred hand, tracing the ancient burns with gentle fingers. The tissue is rough beneath your touch, but you don't hesitate or flinch. These marks are part of him, as essential as his shadows or his wings.

"These are part of you," you say softly. "Just like your shadows. Just like your wings. Parts I wouldn't change." You pause, realizing something. "You haven't worn your gloves since the library incident."

The observation seems to startle him, as if he hadn't realized it himself.

"Why?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His shadows curl closer as vulnerability passes over his face.

"Because I've spent centuries hiding these scars." His scarred fingers intertwine with yours, the contrast between his damaged skin and your softness both stark and beautiful. "But after you fell on me that day, after you touched me without flinching... I found myself yearning to feel your skin against mine, even if by accident."

He moves closer, the bond between you drawing taut. "Do you know what it's like? To want something so badly you can hardly breathe with it? To have your skin ache for a touch you've convinced yourself you'll never deserve?"

The raw emotion in his voice makes your heart ache.

"Most people avoid touching them," he says, his voice rough as you continue to trace his scars.

"I'm not most people," you remind him, your tone dropping to match his. "I'm your mate."

The word hangs between you—mate—sacred and true. The bond between you flares at the acknowledgment, a rush of warmth that suffuses your entire being.

"Yes," he agrees, his voice rough with possessiveness. "Mine."

He reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip in a touch that makes you tremble. His scarred hand against your skin feels right—as if you were made to complement each other, to balance his darkness with your light.

"In Illyrian tradition," he says, barely above a whisper, "the first kiss between mates is a sacred vow. A promise more binding than any words." His shadows embrace you both, creating a cocoon of privacy. "I do not make such promises lightly."

Your heart pounds as you understand the weight of the moment.

"What are you promising me, shadowsinger?" you ask, the title feeling right on your lips.

His eyes meet yours, centuries of loneliness and newfound hope converging in his gaze. "Everything I am. Everything I will be."

The words feel ancient, powerful, true.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he declares, the words both a warning and a vow.

"Good," you reply, unable to resist lightening the moment. "Because my knees are about to give out, and I'd hate to fall again."

A smile touches his lips, tender and full of promise. "I'll catch you," he promises. "I always do. I always will."

And then he's leaning in, his eyes never leaving yours. Finding no hesitation, he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours.

The first touch is gentle, reverent—a question, an offering of his heart. His shadows engulf you both, creating a world where only the two of you exist. He cradles your face like you're something precious, something to be cherished.

The mate bond explodes between you, a surge of sensation so intense it nearly buckles your knees. Colors, scents, feelings—all sharper, brighter, more vivid than you've ever experienced. You can feel his heartbeat as if it were your own, can sense his emotions mingling with yours in a tapestry of wonder and desire and rightness.

You slide your fingers into his hair and pull him closer, wanting more. A growl rumbles in his chest as he backs you against the window, his body pressing against yours with an urgency that matches your own. The feeling of him against you is more intoxicating than anything you've ever known.

"Azriel," you gasp against his mouth, unable to contain the emotion swelling within you.

"I can feel it too," he murmurs, wonder threading through his words as the mate bond flares between you. "The bond. It's singing."

Kissing him is like finding a home you never knew you were missing. His taste, his scent, the way he responds to you—it's intoxicating, overwhelming, perfect. His wings curve around you both, shielding you from the world in the most ancient Illyrian tradition.

Your scent and his mingle—your parchment and lavender now blended with his night-chilled cedar, marking you as his. Every nerve ending in your body feels alive, hypersensitive, attuned to each small movement.

You slide your tongue along the seam of his lips, drawing a feral sound from his chest that sends heat pooling low in your belly. He answers with a rough, devouring kiss that makes you moan softly into the quiet space around you.

His shadows take on a life of their own, swirling in a dizzying dance over your shoulders, skimming down your arms and waist—touching, tasting, exploring in ways that make you shiver with need.

The moonbloom pendant at your throat suddenly flares with bright, shimmering light, bathing you both in ethereal glow. You clutch at him, fingers threading into his hair and tugging just hard enough to make him groan.

When you finally pull apart, you're both panting. His eyes gleam possessively, making your breath catch. Your hair is mussed from his restless fingers; your lips feel swollen, tingling with the evidence of his kisses.

"Well," you manage, voice quivering with excitement, "as far as first kisses go, that was…"

"Insufficient," he growls, low and ragged, already leaning back in. He drags his thumb across your lower lip, collecting the lingering taste of your kiss. His wings flare behind him in a display that screams possession. "We should try again. For thoroughness."

Your laugh comes out breathy. "Thoroughness? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

His eyes narrow in challenge, the corners of his lips tilting into a predatory smirk. "I'm over five hundred years old," he reminds you, his voice decadently deep. "I'm no kid. And I'm very, very thorough."

A delicious tension crackles between you, heightened by the knowledge of just how far that promise could go. The mate bond pulses like a physical tether, tightening around your souls.

"Thank the Cauldron for that," you whisper, already tipping your head for another kiss. "Think of all the practice you've had."

His shadows flare, enveloping you both in a cocoon of midnight.

They skim across every curve, every hollow, every dip of your body they can reach, impatient for him to join them in full exploration.

Azriel swallows a groan, every muscle tensing as he fights for control. But one look at your parted lips and the flush darkening your cheeks, and you see the moment he decides to let go, to show you exactly how long he's waited, how desperately he's craved this moment.

"Practice," he echoes roughly, his breath skating across your mouth. "You have no idea."

Then he bends his head and captures your lips again, the kiss far from soft—raw and hungry, a promise that the thoroughness has only just begun.

You practically skip into the Botanical Archives, a goofy smile plastered on your face as you clutch a small bag of pastries in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other.

The memory of last night—Azriel’s treehouse, that kiss (kisses!)—still swirls in your mind like a flock of delighted starlings, making your heart flutter every time you replay it.

The Archives are quiet at this hour, mostly hushed librarians and scholars drifting between shelves.

But one voice shatters the hush the moment you step inside.

“Well, well, look who decided to waltz in here like she’s the High Lady of Good Moods,” Lira crows from behind the reception desk. “Did someone have a fun night, perhaps?”

You try to tamp down your giddy grin—but fail spectacularly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, setting your tea down and carefully ignoring the fact that you nearly trip over a stack of dusty tomes.

Lira narrows her eyes. “That’s not your I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about face. That’s your oh-mother-above-I-think-I’m-in-love face.”

Heat floods your cheeks. “Shh! Keep your voice down or the entire Archive will know I have…a reason to be happy.”

She laughs, straightening. “Please. The entire Archive already suspects you have some reason to be happy. You’re glowing like a star under a Cauldron-blessed spotlight.”

You roll your eyes, though the corners of your mouth curl upward anyway. “Anyway, are we cataloging the new Day Court scrolls this morning? Or are you just going to stand there and harass me?”

“Bit of both, probably,” Lira says brightly.

She taps a wooden crate with her foot. “We got a new delivery—again—like those Day Courtiers have nothing better to do than bury us in half-translated manuscripts. Go forth and sort.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, picking up the top scroll. “Ah yes, I shall valiantly bury myself in dusty documents for the sake of botanical advancement.”

Lira pretends to salute. “What a trooper. Let me know if you start missing that shadowsinger so much you can’t function.”

You open your mouth for a scathing retort, but she wiggles her fingers in a sassy goodbye and flounces away, leaving you alone with your scrolls, your warm tea, and approximately one million butterflies in your stomach.

You set to work at a large wooden table in a back alcove, where the morning sun filters through high, arched windows.

The gentle hush of the Archives usually soothes you, but today you’re too antsy—your mind keeps wandering to Azriel.

To the feel of his lips against yours, the warmth of his scarred palms, the way he promised to catch you if you fell. (And, to be fair, you are pretty inclined to falling.)

A silly grin curls your lips.

You find yourself humming a jaunty tune, tapping your quill on the table.

At one point, you even spin in a small circle, the skirt of your lilac day-dress flaring around your legs. If any of your coworkers see, you’ll deny it.

Forever.

“Snap out of it,” you mutter, unrolling a parchment with care.

The Day Court has included a thorough treatise on cacti. Instantly, your mind conjures Azriel’s shadows swirling around spiky succulents, and you stifle a giggle.

You’re so lost in daydreams that you almost miss the moment the alcove falls too silent.

A cool draft brushes the back of your neck, sending a ripple of unease across your skin.

Your humming halts.

You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see Lira or one of the other scholars.

But there’s no one—just row upon row of towering shelves and the gentle flicker of faelights.

Maybe it’s just a draft, you think, trying to steady your heartbeat.

You turn back to the Day Court scroll, pressing its corners flat against the table.

Then you hear it—a voice so soft it barely registers over the faint rustle of parchment.

“Hello…”

Your entire body goes rigid.

Slowly, you set your quill down, dread curling in your stomach.

The fine hairs at your nape prickle as a memory stirs—one you can’t quite place.

“Lira?” you call softly, forcing a calm you don’t feel.

No answer. Just eerie silence.

You let out a forced laugh. “I’m hearing things. Perfect.”

You try—try—to read the neat calligraphy on the scroll. But your eyes keep flicking to the edge of your vision, half expecting some lurking figure to emerge.

“She’s here…” another whisper comes, colder this time. “She’s back.”

Your blood runs cold.

The timbre of that voice claws at something old inside your head.

Your hands tremble as you half-rise from your seat.

You open your mouth, intending to speak—but the words never come.

Because suddenly, the hush around you fills with whispers, overlapping voices, some trembling with desperation, others echoing with a cruel, mocking tone.

“Do you remember us…” “You left us…”

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, and a jolt of raw terror streaks down your spine.

Flashes of old nightmares rise in your mind, a dark corridor, flickering torches, voices that taunted you in the corners of your dreams.

“She hears us again...” “Help us…let us out…” “You never should have run.”

Your vision shivers, the edges going hazy.

This isn’t real, you tell yourself.

Except it feels so real, the air turning frigid, your lungs refusing to draw breath properly.

You clutch your ledger like a shield. “W-who’s there?”

You hate how shaky your voice sounds.

No answer, just a chorus of nearly soundless laughter—both sorrowful and cruel.

It wraps around you like cold fingers.

And in that overlapping cacophony, you catch snippets of an old plea, your plea, from long ago.

“Leave me alone—please—go away!”

You slap your free hand over your ear, as though you can block them out.

“Stop,” you manage, voice cracking.

A chilling breeze seems to swirl around you, rustling the edges of the scroll. The ghosts’ voices crescendo.

“She fears us still…” “She remembers nothing…” “Don’t forget the blood…”

Tears prick your eyes, your throat tight with panic.

You don’t know what they’re talking about—you don’t recall any promise, any them.

“Stop,” you beg again, tears threatening to spill. “Please—”

A hand seizes your shoulder.

You yelp, spinning with your ledger raised defensively—only to find Lira, her face etched with alarm.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, hands up in surrender. “Easy! I come in peace!”

You blink rapidly, tears and panic making everything blur.

The voices vanish as if yanked away by an unseen thread.

Suddenly, you’re in the quiet Archives again, the morning sunlight streaming like nothing’s wrong.

Lira lowers her arms, stepping closer. “You okay? You look like you just saw the Bogge itself.”

“I—” You struggle to breathe normally.

Your pulse still pounds, and your ears ring with phantom echoes. You never should have run. “I thought I heard…” You shake your head, shame creeping in. “It’s nothing. I’m just—tired.”

She lifts a brow, unconvinced. “That was more than just tired. You were talking to someone, or something.”

You swallow, gaze darting to the corner of the alcove.

The weight of old nightmares lingers in the air, but the ghosts are silent now—lurking behind the veil, waiting.

“Maybe I… dozed off for a second,” you finally mumble, the excuse tasting sour in your mouth. “I’m really not sleeping well lately.”

Lira’s expression softens. “Then let’s get you some air. Trust me, inhaling stale parchment fumes isn’t gonna help if you’re feeling faint.”

Normally, you’d protest.

But the thought of staying here, alone, at this table—where those voices might return—makes your stomach churn.

So you nod, following her toward the exit, your heart still hammering.

As you pass through the high-arched doorway, Lira chatters about random Archive gossip, clearly trying to distract you.

You manage a weak smile here and there, but your thoughts remain fixed on those voices, how they echoed the nightmares you once had, how they accused you of leaving them behind.

Leaving who behind?

You can’t remember.

A final chill scutters down your spine as you glance over your shoulder.

In the alcove’s corner, the shadows are thicker than they should be, almost shaped like hunched figures.

Watching. Waiting.

A faint echo flickers in your mind, too familiar—childish whimpers, fear overwhelming your small body as you clung to blankets at night, wishing the voices would go away.

As you hurry after Lira, the rasping whispers claw at your memory.

“Don’t forget the blood… She’s still ours…”

Azriel appears so suddenly you nearly drop your ledger—one moment it’s just you and Lira in the corridor, and the next, the spymaster stands at your side, wings half-flared, shadows swirling restlessly.

His hazel eyes flick over you in a swift, razor-sharp sweep, cataloging every inch as if looking for injuries or signs of distress.

“Az,” you whisper, your voice still shaky from the lingering terror.

Lira startles, almost dropping the scrolls in her arms. “Cauldron,” she mutters, stepping back to give him space. “I’ll just…yeah.” She shoots you a worried look, then disappears around a corner, leaving you alone with Azriel’s intense gaze.

He doesn’t move for a beat—just stares, tension radiating from every line of his body.

The hush of the Archives thickens.

His expression is pure spymaster: unreadable, assessing, tinged with lethal calm.

Finally, in a voice carved from steel, he asks, “What happened?”

A wave of guilt crashes over you. You attempt a weak, tremulous grin. “Nothing. Just—library chaos. You know how it is.”

His jaw clenches, shadows uncoiling around his wrists like they’re ready to hunt.

“Don’t lie,” he says quietly. “I felt your fear through the bond.”

Your chest tightens at the reminder of how strong your panic must’ve been for him to sense it.

“I—” The words stick in your throat.

This man has faced wars, horrors you can’t fathom; the last thing you want is to burden him with ghost stories you can’t even explain. So you plaster on an overly bright smile. “It’s fine. Seriously, you can relax your wings now.”

He doesn’t.

If anything, they flare wider, as though to shield you from whatever threatened you. “Your hands are still shaking,” he observes grimly, eyes flicking to your trembling grip on the ledger.

A lump forms in your throat.

You force a laugh that comes out sounding like a pathetic squeak. “Must’ve been a dizzy spell. Too much dust. Really, Az, stop worrying.”

His nostrils flare with impatience—he’s clearly not convinced. Before you can protest, he steps forward, gathering you into his arms in one swift motion, ledger and all. The sensation of his firm chest against yours sends a jolt through your system that’s part embarrassment, part relief.

“Az!” you protest, cheeks heating. “We’re in the middle of the—”

He lifts you just enough to curve his arm beneath your knees, his other arm bracing your back. A neat little scoop that leaves you clutching at his shoulders, eyes wide. You can practically feel the hush of the Archives intensify as a few onlookers peek around corners.

But Azriel doesn’t seem to care.

His shadows swirl closer, forming a hazy barrier of privacy.

“You’re pale,” he says simply, as though that justifies everything. “And I’m not putting you down until you stop pretending this is nothing.”

“Az, I—” Heat flutters across your cheeks.

You glance around, mortified to be cradled bridal-style in front of whoever might pass by. But there’s no ignoring the steady thump of his heart against your ear, the secure hold of his arms.

It makes you feel…safe.

He looks down at you, his usually controlled features pulled taut with worry and frustration.

“You terrified me,” he admits low enough that only you can hear. “I’ve felt you anxious before, but never that close to panic.”

Guilt churns in your gut. “I’m sorry,” you manage, voice tight. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

His gaze lingers on the lingering tears clinging to your lashes, and the hardness in his face softens just slightly. “Tell me what scared you.”

“It’s nothing you need to hunt, I swear,” you say quickly, wanting to stave off the spymaster in him. Your voice trembles with the weight of the half-truth. “Please—just stop worrying.”

For a moment, he just studies you.

Then, releasing a sigh that ruffles your hair, he nods toward the nearest reading nook, a cozy alcove by a tall window. “We’re talking. Properly. Somewhere less exposed.”

He moves—with you still in his arms.

Your stomach swoops. “Azriel,” you hiss, mortified, “put me down. I can walk!”

His mouth presses into a stubborn line.

“You’re shaking,” he repeats. “Until I see you steady on your feet, I’m carrying you. You can glare all you want.”

You do glare. Furiously.

But you don’t exactly hate the warmth of his hold, or the reassuring solidity of his body. So with a defeated huff, you bury your face in the soft fabric of his tunic, hoping to hide from the curious glances of passing scholars.

It doesn’t take long for him to reach the alcove, where he sets you gently on a cushioned bench. One of his wings curls protectively around you in a half-shield, blocking out the rest of the Archives. Even as your feet touch the floor, he keeps a hand on your shoulder, as if afraid you might vanish.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, voice firm but edged with a tenderness that tugs at your heart.

Your gaze drops to your ledger, your voice catching.

You can’t bring yourself to explain the whispers, the shadows, the half-buried nightmares you don’t fully understand. “I was just…overwhelmed,” you mumble, blinking rapidly against fresh tears. “I’m so sorry. I know you must have a thousand better things to do than rush here for no reason.”

Azriel’s expression darkens, and you sense that protective fury simmering behind his calm facade. “You are never ‘no reason,’” he says, each word clipped. “I’ll always come if you need me. You know that.”

“But—”

He slides onto the bench beside you, capturing your trembling hands in his. The warmth of his scarred palms steadies your breathing. “I can’t fix what you won’t tell me,” he murmurs, “but I can sit here until you feel safe again.”

The bond pulses gently, your chest loosening. You sniff, nodding gratefully. “I’m okay now,” you whisper, daring to meet his gaze. “Really.”

Azriel’s eyes remain narrowed, but you catch the barest flicker of relief. “If you say so.” His grip tightens just a fraction. “But if I sense that level of fear again, I will tear this place apart until I find the cause.”

The conviction in his voice sends a shiver through you. “Not sure the Head Archivist would appreciate you wrecking her shelves.”

He arches a brow. “Let her try to stop me.”

Despite yourself, a shaky laugh escapes your lips.

The absurd image of Azriel tearing down entire rows of rare scrolls in search of some imaginary threat is enough to dispel a bit of the tension knotting your gut.

“You’re impossible,” you say, but there’s no heat in your words.

He raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Maybe.” Then, more quietly, “I’d rather be impossible than let you face your fear alone.”

The sincerity in his tone nearly breaks you.

Emotion swells behind your eyes, though you manage to keep from crying again. Carefully, he shifts you closer, tucking you against his side. With his free arm, he drapes one dark wing around you like a shield.

Your heart flutters. The pressure of the wing against your back, the lingering hint of his soap-and-leather scent—together, they feel like an unspoken promise of safety.

A heartbeat of silence passes, your pulse steadying in time with his. Then, in a clipped tone that can’t entirely hide his concern, Azriel says, “Next time you sense anything—anything—off, you call me. Immediately.”

You open your mouth to argue—maybe you don’t want to feel like a damsel in distress—but the unyielding determination in his eyes melts your resistance.

“Okay,” you breathe.

He relaxes. Just a fraction, but enough that you feel the tension ebb. “Good.”

For a moment, you sit there in the hush, wrapped in Azriel’s wing, the rustle of his shadows quieting. You can practically hear his mind whirring, but he refrains from interrogating you further. He simply stays, presence unwavering, until the trembling in your limbs finally subsides.

Eventually, Azriel shifts.

You expect another question, another gentle demand for honesty. Instead, he lowers his head, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your forehead. It’s brief—barely more than a brush of his lips—but it speaks volumes.

A silent vow of protection. Of understanding.

Warmth unfolds in your chest, and you lean into him just a little more. Grip the fabric of his tunic a little tighter. Silently thank him for coming.

Even if you can’t tell him everything, even if your nightmares remain locked away, at least he’s here, fierce and unyielding, ready to chase away whatever haunts you.

You might not be entirely free of fear, but in his arms, with his protective wing folded around you, everything feels just a little more bearable.

Author’s Note: Azriel may be the king of quiet brooding, but she is the queen of secrets she doesn’t even know she’s keeping. I adore writing their soft, chaotic romance, and watching the shadows stir as her past begins to claw its way back. Things are only just beginning. 🖤 Tag List: @songbirdpond @tothestarsandwhateverend @lovely-susie @kksbookstuff @ladycaramelswirl @gamarancianne @writtenbypavani @bubybubsters @moonlitscrolls @valyas-corner @iris-lavender @lreadsstuff @nebarious @azrielssgirl @lamimamiii @fantasydreamwalker @dallynjennasgirl @tenshis-cake @lilah-asteria @sweetsugarcoffee @fall-winter-heart97 @lovely-susie @lreadsstuff @sofi03 @songbirdpond @nico707 @justtryingtosurvive02 @yourlocalcancer @saltedcoffeescotch @thatacotargirl @happypeanutstrawberry @theverseoftheblackpearl @tele86 @highladyofhogwarts @fuckingsimp4azriel @thegoddessofnothingness @lovelyflower7777 @stressed-reader @karespocketboyfriends @lreadsstuff @yourdarkroses-blog @plants-w0rld @oldernotwiser26 @ashduv @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @adventure-awaits13 @thegoddessofnothingness @fuckingsimp4azriel @highladyofhogwarts @stainedpomegranatelips @i-am-infinite @arcticfoxxes @hellohauntedturnstudent @yourallaround-simp

[starmocha]

I have no friends that play lads and after the trailer with Caleb my mind is in ruins and all i can think is arranged marriage between Colonel Caleb and his general's daughter. Ughh the tension and the dramaaaaa.

Thats it, thats all i had to say, thank you for coming to my ted talk (i really needed to yap about that to someone) 😂😂😂😂😂

🥹 Anon~ come back. Let's chat some more. I'll entertain all of your Caleb brainrots 🫶 You should also know that I saw this message this afternoon while I was out shopping.......the high-pitched gasp I had let out in public, because why is this right up my alley 😭😭😭 Ok I originally thought out like the whole situation in bullet points, but writing this one scene gotten out of control, because why did I get so into it, so I guess...consider this a snippet of sorts (it's kind of messy, but I was rushing)? 🫣 (or should I polish this up and repost it as an actual fic? I'm really digging this premise, if I'm honest 🤔)

You didn't have a say.

You didn't agree to this marriage. The General—your father, you remind yourself, often feeling emotionally estranged from the man who has never once raised you, viewing you as secondary to his military career—has arranged for you to wed his colonel.

Colonel Caleb. He is young, ambitious, and with a bright future ahead of him. He will rise through the ranks quickly, many believe. No one is surprised that the young man is betrothed to the general's daughter. It seems only right that such an esteemed union should happen, bringing two honorable families together.

You didn't have a say.

The General—your father, you correct yourself again, your nerves getting the best of you—is walking you down the aisle, his arm looped around yours—tightly. The organ is playing the Wedding March. Why does it sound like a dirge?

All eyes are on you, the blushing bride in her beautiful pristine white, lacy long-sleeved demure wedding gown. You didn’t choose this. You didn’t want to wear this dress. You didn’t want to wear this style. This isn’t you.

You didn't have a say.

The guests are all part of the military. You don't know these people. They're the General's—Father's—acquaintances. His peers, his colleagues. Subordinates and superiors. They are all acquaintances of his. Who are these strangers?

"Don't mess this up," he whispers under his breath as you approach your waiting groom, dressed in his most formal uniform for this nuptial. This is his only fatherly advice as he gives his one daughter's hand away—to a man she doesn't even know.

You don't have a say.

The ceremony proceeds without a hitch. You didn't look at your groom, or rather, you barely registered the man in front of you. You had moved through the motion, did everything you were supposed to, just like in the pre-rehersal ceremony, but you weren't there. It was like your mind had slipped away, and your body was just moving along on autopilot.

"You may kiss the bride," the priest declares.

Your mind returns, and you still when he kisses you. There is cheering and applause. You aren't happy. Is he happy?

You close your eyes, just letting this happen. It will be over soon. Just let it happen.

You don't have a say.

His arm loops through yours, leading you back down the aisle. There is more cheering and applause, and as you leave the church, the sun shines brightly on your marriage, and flower petals are tossed in the air, raining down over you and your groom.

There is so much joy and congratulations. Why then does it feel like the end of the world?

You don't respond, your face unwittingly tucking away into his arm as he leads you away for the wedding reception.

You don't even remember the reception. Did it even happen? Did you eat? Danced? Were there speeches or well-wishes? What did the wedding cake taste like?

You don't remember.

It was mid-afternoon when you had left the church, but now suddenly nightfall came without warning. How did that happen?

You exit a car, your hand in his.

This is a hotel. Right. A hotel.

It's your wedding night. A marriage is consummated on the wedding night. That is how it typically goes.

You have to consummate your marriage. You have to...sleep with your newly-wedded husband. Your husband. Caleb.

You didn't want to consummate this marriage. You didn't even want to get married. But you couldn't say no. You couldn't say no to any of this, and now, you know you also couldn't say no to him.

You don't have a say.

His hand is so much bigger than yours, you notice, as he holds yours, silently guiding you to your honeymoon suite.

Every step, every action, brings you closer to that moment. You barely register anything, not even hearing the beep when Caleb swipes the key card on the digital lock of the suite.

You're led into an extravagant suite. There is a vase of red roses and champagne chilling in an ice bucket, all courtesy of the hotel.

Still, you don't feel like you are in the moment, being completely lost in your head. You have to sleep with him. You didn’t want to marry him. You don't want to be married. You don't want to sleep with him. You don't want him.

You don't have a say.

He pours you a glass of champagne. You drink it, hoping it will calm your nerves. It doesn't. You feel like you are slipping, thoughts running haywire.

"You look very beautiful," he says, his hand brushing away the loose strands of hair that framed your face. His hand cups your face, his lips on yours before you even realize what is happening.

He sets the glasses to the side, taking you to bed. You sit on the edge next to him, his lips on yours again. You're not responding. He stills, but just for a moment. Did he notice? He continues, his lips along your neck, his hand reaching behind you for the zipper of your wedding dress.

You feel a chill.

He undresses you, lays you on the bed, completely exposed to him. You're not registering anything, breathing shuddering as he looms over you, slowly undressing himself now.

This is happening. You can't say no. Just go with it. It will all be over soon. Just do your duties. Just drift away, and it will all end soon.

He leans down and kisses you again, and you don't respond. His hands explores you, and you close your eyes, trying to think of anything but this moment. You don't even realize that you are tensing until he stops.

"You're...crying?"

You gasp, eyes opening in shock when he brushes your tears away. He looks hurt. Why?

He kisses your forehead. "We don't have to do this," he reassures you.

You don't understand. This is expected. You can't say no. You couldn't say no to any of this. You can't say no to him either.

"We...don't?" You find your voice, as small and scared as it was.

There is so much sadness in his eyes. Why?

He smiles. There is no joy. He smiles and shakes his head.

"But...I...have...to....we have to..."

He is confused. "Says who?"

Is he really expecting an actual response? You feel lost and confused.

"Every...everyone," you answer him.

He huffs and shakes his head again. "We don't have to," he says again. "I won't force myself on you if you're uncomfortable."

"But...we are married—"

"We are married," he says firmly, "You are my wife, and I am your husband. What happens—or doesn't happen—behind closed doors is our business. Not anyone else's."

But people will talk. Time will pass, and people will start wondering why you aren't pregnant yet. That is how it goes, right? First comes marriage and then comes the baby carriage, or however the fuck it's supposed to go. You have to go through with this, the whole nine yards, or people will talk.

The military is full of secrets, but rumors will still snake their way throughout until it reaches your father. If he knows, he will blame you for embarrassing him in front of his colleagues. For being a worthless daughter who couldn't do this one thing right.

You have no say in this. You can rebel all you want, but he will always make you cower in the end and bend to his will, just like how this marriage has happened.

"We have to," you tell Caleb, surprising him, "I'm...I'm okay with this."

You gasp when he pulls you up and into his arms, your face pressed to his chest. His hand is big, you think again, feeling it stroking the back of your head, but you also realize it is so gentle. He is so much bigger than you, can easily overpower and overwhelm you, but he doesn't.

He is so, so gentle with you. Why?

You don't even realize you had started crying, your body trembling against his, until he asks, "Are you scared of me?"

And you pause, breathing still shaky.

He continues to rub the back of your head. He sighs suddenly, and he whispers into your hair, "You don't have to be scared of me. I won't hurt you. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to."

"It’s...not you," you say eventually, still unsure if you were being completely truthful with him. "It’s..."

You falter, unsure of where your fears truly lie. Him? The Gener—Father? Or...everything?

He shushes you again. "Don't worry about anyone else. Just trust me."

You look up hesitantly, your tears blurring your vision. He brushes away those tears.

You're looking at him. Truly looking at him for the first time.

His eyes are violet, you realize suddenly. They are so pretty.

"I'll protect you," he promises, "I'll keep you safe, so please....please don't be scared of me."

[stellar-haikyuu]

word of the day ☆ kageyama tobio x reader

synopsis: due to a conflict in schedule, yachi asks first-year reader to cover for her english tutoring session with a certain volleyball prodigy. details: fluff | mutual friends to lovers | first meeting | ~2.2k words | gn! reader | requested by @wordsofelie as part of my karasuno writing event

From your seat by the window, you catch snippets of Yachi’s anxious voice from the hallway.

“You’re only available this afternoon? Oh dear. Um, okay, I think I can go, but I need to double-check first!”

Leaning forward on your desk, you spot Yachi speaking with a student you don’t recognize. Judging by the neatly labeled folders the student hands her, they’re probably from the first-year project design committee. 

You feel a small wave of pride. You convinced Yachi to sign up after seeing her beautiful volleyball posters.

Moments later, Yachi skitters into the classroom, her steps quick and slightly frantic as she collapses into the seat in front of you. She turns around, clasping her hands together nervously.

“Um…can I ask you for a favor?”

You raise an eyebrow, taken aback by her unusual boldness. “A favor? What happened? I could hear you worrying from all the way here.”

Yachi winces, the tips of her ears turning pink. “Uh, you see…the design committee wants to hold a meeting this afternoon after school. I’ll be excused from club activities, but that’s not the issue.” She sighs, brushing her bangs aside.

“What is it, then?”

“I promised to tutor Kageyama-kun in English,” she explains, voice softening with guilt. “He’s got a test this Friday, and I agreed to help him study for an hour today before practice starts.”

Kageyama? Oh, right. 

You vaguely remember him—one of the two volleyball players who occasionally show up in your classroom to study with Yachi during lunch breaks.

“I see,” you say slowly. “So, you want me to cover for you?”

“If it’s not too much trouble?” Yachi’s hands clasp together as she leans forward slightly. “And…if you have questions about volleyball, this might be a good chance to ask?”

Her hopeful tone makes you pause. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt.

“But if not, I don’t want to bother you!” She shakes her head vigorously. “I can just double my other session with him later this week-”

“Alright. I’ll do it,” you say with a small shrug.

“I- wait, really?!” Her eyes widen in surprise.

“Yup. What time and place?”

Bracing yourself, you knock gently on what you hope is the correct clubroom door. 

“Uh, hello? Is this the volleyball club?”

A voice from the other side calls out, “Yeah, come in!”

Taking a deep breath, you slide the door open, stepping into a room filled with what can only be described as chaos. A group of boys—clearly the team—turns to stare at you in unison, their expressions ranging from curious to outright surprised.

“Um, hello!” You clear your throat, suddenly aware of the weight of their attention. “Is Kageyama-san here?”

Technically, you’ve seen him before, but you’d rather not embarrass yourself by scanning every face in the room.

“That’s me,” a deep voice responds.

You follow the sound to a dark-haired boy seated a few feet away. When you meet his gaze, you’re taken aback by the sheer intensity of his stare.

His eyes look like blueberries…why haven’t I noticed that before?

You chuckle softly at the absurd thought before regaining your composure. 

“Hi! Yachi couldn’t make it today because of a meeting, so she asked me to fill in for her.”

“Oh. Okay,” he says simply, blinking in confusion.

“Wait a second!” A boy with bright orange hair practically bounces up from his seat. “You’re Yachi-san’s classmate, right? You sit behind her during lunch sometimes!”

“That’s me,” you reply with a small smile. 

You introduce yourself to the team formally before settling on the ground beside Kageyama.

“So, your vocabulary test is this Friday, right?”

“Yes,” he replies curtly, handing you a stack of papers and worksheets.

As you skim through the materials, the reason for his struggles becomes glaringly obvious. You suppress a small sigh.

“Hmmm. Okay, let’s start by marking the words you’re completely unfamiliar with. Could you underline them with a pencil?”

Kageyama nods and sets to work, though it doesn’t take long for him to underline more than half the list.

The orange-haired boy—Hinata, you later learn—leans over to peek at the paper. He immediately snorts. “Man, you really suck at this, Kageyama.”

Kageyama whirls to face him, glaring. “As if you’re doing any better!”

“Hinata, could you shut up and work on your proverbs? I don’t have all day.”

“Tsukishima!”

Well, isn’t this interesting…

“This is so hard.” Kageyama huffs in frustration. “I won’t even need this stuff in the future.”

“Yeah, but you need it to go to the next training camp,” Hinata chimes in.

“Also, don’t be rude, King,” Tsukishima adds. “They weren't even supposed to tutor you at all.”

At that, Kageyama immediately straightens and bows his head toward you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s fine, I get it.” You wave your hand dismissively. “I’m not too fond of science because I don’t see how chemistry will help me be a better sports journalist.”

Kageyama stops writing before shooting his head up. “Sports journalist?”

The rest of the members scattered around the room pause too, almost like you’ve dropped the most shocking revelation of the century.

“You like sports?” Kageyama questions.

“Yep! I don’t have a particular favorite at the moment.” You tap your chin thoughtfully. “I’m still trying to explore everything, but-”

“What about volleyball?” Kageyama’s full attention is on you now. He’s leaning forward and the pencil that was once in his hand is now rolling on the floor.

You hear an amused huff from somewhere in the room.

“Uh, volleyball?” You fumble for a response, caught off guard by the sudden shift in focus. “Well, it’s the sport I enjoyed playing the most in physical education.”

“What did you like about it?” He presses, moving a little closer.

“Uh-” 

Yachi wasn’t kidding when she said volleyball was his life. 

“Relax, Kageyama. They're not going anywhere, give them some space,” a gray-haired senior advises him.

“Oh, sorry,” Kageyama mumbles, leaning back a bit.

“It’s fine.” You smile, finding his passion quite endearing. 

“I guess I like that I don’t have to handle the ball for a long time. Plus, your entire team just stays on one side of the court. When it comes to basketball or soccer, I look like a fool because I can’t dribble the ball well. It always gets away from me, and the other teams snatch it before I know what’s going on.”

You pause mid-ramble, momentarily embarrassed, but Kageyama doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks even more engaged.

“Also, I find volleyball unpredictable and thrilling. The rallies always keep me on the edge of my seat. I’m sure you understand what I mean?”

“Yes. I do.” Something in his eyes shifts. “Thrilling…”

“Yeah-”

“Thrilling. Causing a feeling of great excitement or happiness,” Kageyama recites from memory.

The atmosphere in the room lightens instantly. Everyone attempts to hold back a laugh, including you. A few of his team members fail to do so, but he pays them no mind.

“That’s right, Kageyama-san. Volleyball is thrilling,” you nod at him with a shaky smile.

“Yes!” He cheers to himself silently, pumping his fists in genuine excitement.

Cute.

An idea suddenly pops into your head.

“Speaking of volleyball, do you have plans to play professionally?”

“Of course!” He answers with absolute confidence. “I don’t plan on doing anything else.”

“Ah, I see. And you plan on playing on international teams one day?”

“Definitely,” he responds without missing a beat.

“Great. You know what I think, Kageyama-san?”

“What?” He looks at you expectantly.

“Maybe learning some basic English could help you play better with foreign teammates.”

Kageyama tilts his head. “English can…help?”

“You don’t need to be a fluent speaker, but teamwork improves when you can understand each other more, right?”

“That’s…” He stops to think about it carefully. You wait, hoping that it motivates him to study a bit more.

“But, wouldn’t there be translators and everything?” Hinata pipes up.

“That’s true, but they won’t always be there,” you respond in a steady tone. “I believe it’s always better to be prepared. It helps to have a common language at times.”

“A common language…” Hinata repeats.

“Well, for instance, I plan on being a sports journalist here,” you continue, “but there’s a chance I’ll need to interview foreign players. It could help to know a bit of what they’re saying so that it doesn’t get very awkward. But, that’s just my perspective.”

Kageyama looks up, and to your surprise, he speaks before anyone else can.

“You’re right.”

The room goes silent. For a moment, you’re sure you didn’t hear him correctly.

“You’re right,” he repeats, more firmly this time. “How good should I be?” 

“I—huh?” You blink again, confused by the sudden shift.

“How good should I be?” he asks, clearly serious, his intense gaze fixed on you.

“Oh, I heard you the first time,” you clarify, still trying to make sense of the situation. “I just don’t understand what you mean.”

“What should my goal be? How many words should I start memorizing?”

“Your goal?” You blink at him. “Your goal now for high school is to pass your English classes.”

Kageyama pouts. “I know, but you said it was important for volleyball. I need to be good enough at it then.”

You scramble your brain for a possible answer. “So…we’re talking about many years from now?”

He nods, patiently waiting for your verdict. 

“Okay, fine,” you sigh. “If I get the chance to interview you in the future, we’ll do it in basic English. How does that sound?”

“I’ll do it,” he replies immediately, eyes lighting up. 

Did he even process what I said?

“Please continue to teach me.” Kageyama bows before you, causing everyone to startle.

“Look at that! The King’s actually asking?”

“Shut up!” Kageyama grumbles at his teammate before turning back to you.

You’re flustered by his unexpected gesture, but can’t help the tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Alright. Now come on, we’ve got thirty more minutes before you guys start practice.”

Yachi calls you later that evening in total disbelief. “Kageyama-kun just told me you guys went through his entire vocabulary list today.”

“Yes.”

“I couldn’t believe it at first!” Yachi exclaims, her tone rising in excitement. “Sometimes we barely get through half the list after an hour.”

You think back to his progress before you found a way to motivate him. “Well, it seemed that way at first-”

“Then he says that learning English is important for his future after all! He even wants to dedicate extra time to study for it. He never would have done that before!”

“Ah-”

“And here’s the thing,” she continues, “he asked if you could tutor him again on other days! What exactly did you do?”

“Well, I-”

“Or is it something that I didn’t do? Did he say anything about me being a bad teacher or-”

“Yachi-san!” You cut her off before she spirals any further. “Don’t worry, he didn’t say anything about you. I think this is all because I may have challenged him to do a basic English interview with me in the future.”

Yachi blows a fuse. “You challenged- wait, what? In the future? What do you-”

“Wait, is that a bad thing?”

“No! I mean, it’s good, I suppose?” Yachi’s voice softens as she carefully chooses her words. “Um, it actually explains something he asked me for help with earlier.”

“What is it?”

“You told him to write down one word every day and use it in a meaningful sentence, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, you see, his sentence, um…”

“What’s wrong?”

“He asked me how to write, ‘Meeting Yachi-san’s friend was thrilling.’”

You freeze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in.

“Wait- what?”

“He said meeting you was thrilling.”

“Oh...”

The silence on the line stretches, your mind racing. Something electric runs through your veins, and you can almost feel your heart thumping faster.

“What about you?” Yachi asks, her voice hesitant but curious.

“Me?”

“Was meeting Kageyama-kun thrilling too?” 

You think back to that afternoon and it’s easy to respond with certainty.

“Yes.”

A week later, Kageyama walks into your classroom during lunch. He shows you a test paper with what he says is the highest score he’s ever gotten on an English test. 

You can hear Hinata grumbling to Yachi about how unfair it is that Kageyama got extra help, but all you can focus on is Kageyama’s smile. It’s the most genuine, beautiful one you’ve ever seen.

I want to see it more.

I want to be around him more.

I want to achieve our goals together.

“Dream.”

Kageyama’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What?”

He points to the bottom of his test paper, where he was asked to write a sentence in English using any of the provided vocabulary words. You attempt to read his messy handwriting, but he reads it out for you anyway.

“Their dream is to be a sports journalist.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. 

He wrote about me?

Hinata squawks, reaching for the test paper and reviewing it with Yachi.

“Oh my gosh, he actually got all the grammar right,” she gasps in awe. “Good job, Kageyama-kun!”

He thanks her briefly before fixing his gaze on you once more.

“Dream. That was the word of the day.”

masterlist

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕾UBTLE & SECRET

Daniela Avanzini x fem!reader

summary: snippets of dann/n moments here and there from katseye content eyekons have pointed out…

warnings: none, just fluffy moments

pt. 2

DANI & Y/N ROLLING W THE LGBT FOR 11 MINUTES GAY (FT. THE KATZ BEING OVER THEIR GAY SHYT)

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Video of Katseye doing the gingerbread house competition. Megan and Yoonchae are fighting over decorating the walls while Dani and Lara are scheming about stealing the maknaes’ strawberries. Sophia, Y/N and Manon—as the older line—were asked to do their house on a similar set next door.

“No, because why is Yoonchae such a snitch,” Dani joked, licking the frosting from her fingers as Lara cackled with the front of their house clutched between her fingers. “I swear, this girl was definitely a teacher’s pet growing up in school.”

The latter gasped in faux outrage at the Latina’s teasing, shooting her the biggest side-eye.

“Oh my God,” Megan suddenly burst into hysteria, catching the three members beside her off guard. “Remember—Remember that time Dani stole Y/N’s shirt. Like the one she got in Greece—the one she cut, so it was off shouldered?”

Dani immediately screamed once she realized what incident Megan was recollecting. She stood from her seat, leaning over a retreating Yoonchae to place a hand over Megan’s mouth. Lara’s eyes widened at her teammate’s antic, hands grabbing the older’s hips so she wouldn’t fall into the table of food.

The camera cut to Sophia, Y/N and Manon next door, their actions halting as they stared off screen at a muffled screech. The three glanced at each other, their hands hovering over the parts of the house they were making.

Manon eyed Y/N, elbowing the younger. “Sounds like Dani’s having a little too much fun, baby, if y’know what I mean.”

Sophia shot her a grimace, “Nobody ever knows what you mean, Manon. Oh my God, you’re ruining the—!”

The shot cut back to the younger line of Katseye members. The camera zoomed in on Dani’s fluster, her pale cheeks burning a faint shade of pink as she desperately tried to cease Megan from sharing the embarrassing encounter.

“Megan, I swear to God—!”

“Wait, I remember this,” Yoonchae chimed.

Megan’s devious cackle echoed around the room, leaning back and away from Daniela’s grasp. The whisker dimples etched under her eyes, they curled into thin curves from how hard she was laughing. “Dani snuck into Y/N and Manon’s room at night and stole her shirt while she was showering. And—and, when Y/N came out, she spent like twenty minutes looking for this stupid shirt because she lives in that graphic tee.”

Daniela knocked her chair back abruptly with the back of her thigh, storming off screen with red cheeks as Lara shouted insincere assurance that the story wasn’t as embarrassing as she had recalled.

Now Yoonchae was laughing, pointing off screen at Daniela, who was hiding her face in her hands behind a scattered crowd of their filming crew members.

“Dani begged Yoonchae not to tell Y/N she had her shirt and she was hiding in her closet, pretending to look for something the whole time before Yoonchae ratted her out.” Megan leant back in her chair, almost tipping backwards—if not for Yoonchae holding her upright—at how hard she was laughing. “Oh my God, Dani was so embarrassed, her face got all red and she like refused to leave her room. Y/N caved and just gave her the shirt, and Dani just wears it around the house 24/7.”

“Yeah, it’s Dani’s like, designated pjs.” Lara added.

“It was so funny because Dani thought she was so slick with it.” Megan sighed, her laughter dying down. “Anyway, if Y/N wasn’t the nice, good girl she was, she would’ve filed a creepy perv report against Dani, I swear on all the moms.”

Their manager ushered Dani back onset, plopping back down beside Lara in defeat. Her hair was a little tousled and her cheeks were flushed, the tip of her ears radiating heat as she stared down and fought the small smile creeping its way onto her lips. Her dimples evident.

“I have never, in twenty years of life ever been violated like this.” The Latina murmured, eyeing the three cameras around them respectively as Lara rubbed her back up and down. “For the record, I got Y/N that shirt because I had one. I wanted us to match in Greece when we were shooting that video and I swear I thought it was mine.”

“Mhm, whatever you need to tell yourself.” Lara chuckled. “Y/N’s one was cut, but okay…”

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Cut to a Weverse live in Manon and Y/N’s room. Manon was sitting on the floor, fixing her hair in the camera as Y/N read comments over her shoulder. The collar of Manon’s striped button-up was flared and the V line hung a little too low. Y/N, in a beanie with the hood on, her make-up still on from the day and big hoop earrings skimmed the comments Eyekons were making of the eldest member’s outfit.

“They’re saying you’re looking too seductive,” Y/N joked, looking down at Manon’s chest from over her shoulder. She grabbed the collar, fixing it and smoothing it out to cover a bit more skin Manon was flashing the camera. The younger smirked, her eyes hooded as she eyed Manon through her long, fluttering lashes. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, jokingly sliding a hand over Manon’s shoulder. “Save the show for me tonight when the camera turns off.”

The older seemed to return the same level of freakiness as she raised a knowing eyebrow. Her hand found Y/N’s neck, grabbing it as she leant in and turned her head dramatically over to cover both their faces. Their giggles could be heard before they pulled apart, glancing back at the camera at the amount of frantic comments flooding their live.

A particular verified user seemed to catch Manon’s eye.

“Well, I didn’t know Dani was watching.” She leant closer towards the camera, reading what the girl had typed into their chat. There were a couple of comments with an exaggerated amount of capitalized yelling and angry emojis. “‘Stop flirting before you make me gag’ and ‘I can hear you guys from the living room please shut up’. Dani’s on a call with her family downstairs right now, so she can’t join us. Bad girl, she’s tuning into this live instead of talking to her parents.”

user01 Probably needed to make sure Y/N was behaving

user02 DANI COME GET YO GIRL

user03 Guys Y/N’s looking a little too fine in that fit

user04 At least we know who the dom is between them

Y/N giggled to herself at the comments on Dani’s reaction to their dynamic. Her ringed hands come up to adjust the hood over her beanie, running her slender fingers through her hair as she wet her lips. “Dani, be good and talk to your mami y papi, yeah? You can come and join us when you’re done.”

[ SHES SO FUCKING HOT FOR THIS ]

Manon rolled her eyes at the younger’s statement. What was supposed to be an innocent sentence definitely had Daniela kicking her feet with a finger between her teeth downstairs.

“‘Yes ma’am’,” Manon read out, “Okay, Miss Ma’am, walk her like a dog, N/N. Maybe Sophia should step aside and let you be the leader, you’re like the only one who can keep Dani in line.”

user05 “BE GOOD”??? OMG ID FOLD

user06 dani’s so real cuz if y/n asked me to be good, i’d immediately be on my knees too

user07 BOTH lips smiled

user08 she def talks you through it…

“Somebody asked who your celebrity crush is.” Manon announced. She chuckled to herself, brushing her hair back into a pony with her hands. “Girl, ya’ll should pull a chair out for this one, Y/N has a whole tier list.”

Y/N gasped in excitement, readjusting her sitting position. She whipped her hand out, holding up an open palm.

She rambled, “I made a list because Lara and I wanted to make a hear me out cake. Okay, so basically we had a men’s and women’s version. But the men’s one is so short, so we’re doing the women’s one, okay? Hear me out.”

[ Y/N we know what you are ]

Manon slapped her in the arm, shooting her a warning glare. Reminding her they had certain rules they needed to follow on live, to not say anything that would get them in trouble.

“Okay, so basically I’ve been watching these sisters on youtube and they’re hilarious. The Kalogeras sisters? I am absolutely in love with Demitra, she’s so funny and so good at singing.” Y/N bit her lip, “Dani got so mad at me when I was watching them the other day between rehearsal. She said if I was gonna watch someone with curls, it should be her.”

user09 so Y/N has a type; girls with curls

user10 Y/N basically just confirmed Dani’s THAT kinda gf

user11 my two worlds just collided

Nearly immediately, as if on cue, Daniela bursted through their door and into their room. She was sporting a beige jacket, her hair tied into a bun as she tackled Y/N to the ground.

“Stop! They’re gonna think I’m crazy.” Daniela squealed, her arms wrapped around the older’s face as they wrestled off screen. Manon side-eyed them in disgust as she continued reading the comments about Daniela’s affectionate nature when it came to Y/N. They always seemed to be touching in some way when they were together, as if they couldn’t stand being away from each other for too long. “And literally take her off that hear me out list, I should be the only curly-haired person you love!”

[ What’s more gay; Actually being gay or whatever this is? ]

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Cuts to the Katseye house-warming video, where they all sat around on a couch and table. The girls were just talking with pizza in their hands and occasionally argued about a silly topic.

Daniela noticed Y/N sitting alone beside her. The older was just staring intently at Sophia and Manon debating whether or not the best tiktok idea collector was each other.

The Latina’s hands crept towards Y/N’s under the table, which the video zoomed into. [ The way they thought they were slick ] Daniela laced their fingers together loosely, tugging her closer until her back was pressed against her front. Daniela’s arm laid over Y/N’s shoulder, her hand playing with the ends of her hair. Y/N didn’t seem to mind, used to the Latina’s need for physical intimacy as her hand rested on Daniela’s thigh.

Across the group, Lara and Y/N shared a glance. The Indian dancer raised an eyebrow, throwing the older a smirk at their positioning. She nodded off towards the camera, almost like she was reminding the older of their duties.

Y/N peeled away from Daniela just the tiniest bit, feeling the younger sigh in protest.

The video zoomed in on a blurry image of the two still cuddling as Sophia squealed in disbelief at something Manon said. They were so obviously affectionate with each other, Yoonchae and Megan were whispering and eyeing them in teasing irritant.

“Dani, y’know you won’t die if you just sat normally beside Y/N for once, right?” Manon snorted, earning a harsh punch in the arm from the Latina in response as Y/N laughed.

“Yeah, ain’t nobody tryna pry the poor girl from your hands, babe. Y/N can’t even eat her pizza cuz you’re all over her.” Lara collapsed into a laughing fit as Daniela hid her face behind Y/N’s neck. The older stroked her hair in comfort, laughing at their members’ teasing. “See, Dani needs her mommy to come save her from embarrassment.”

“We just moved in and Dani’s already tryna steal my roommate,” Manon joked, “Such a thief, Lord.”

For the rest of the live, with a light atmosphere of just talking and being together, Daniela and Y/N stayed cuddling together as they fell into the rhythm of conversation with their friends.

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Cuts to an interview Katseye is doing a live Q&A for their band’s new album release, and Daniela and Y/N are sitting side by side at the end of a line of Katseye members. The host, a fan favorite for being playful and cheeky, is known for asking light-hearted and sometimes embarrassing questions.

"Alright, now, we’ve seen how close all of you are, but we want to know more about the dynamics between Daniela and Y/N. You two are always together, always laughing and making jokes. So, here’s a question: is there any moment when one of you just absolutely flusters the other?"

The fans immediately begin to chant “Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” as they anticipate something fun, and Daniela looks at YN nervously, already blushing slightly.

Y/N giggled at the audience’s fanfare, holding her mic up to her lips. “Oh, I think we both have our moments, right, Dani?"

Daniela gives a nervous laugh and tries to play it off, but she’s clearly getting more flustered. Y/N, noticing, decides to tease her a little more. The other members share knowing looks at Daniela’s reaction, knowing their favourite Cuban was terrible at hiding the physical reactions her body had to teasing—especially their fellow Katseye member, Y/N’s.

“Remember that time last week when we were rehearsing, and I said, ‘I think you look really cute today,’ and you literally froze and couldn’t finish the choreography for the next five minutes? Like, it was so funny ‘cuz Roy was getting so frustrated that our best dancer was completely messing up the sequence.”

Daniela’s eyes widen, and she immediately turns bright red. The fans erupt in laughter, knowing exactly what moment YN is talking about from a vlog that was uploaded a couple days ago on a day in the life of Katseye. Daniela quickly covers her face with her hands in embarrassment.

"I—I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that, okay?! You just... you just looked at me and said that so casually! How was I supposed to focus after that?!"

Y/N pouts, pursing her glossy lips at Daniela. "Aww, come on, Dani. You looked so cute, so I had to tell you! But it’s okay, I won’t tease you too much... unless you want me to."

Daniela stammers, still covering her face, and the fans are loving the playful interaction between the two. YN leans in a little closer, her voice softening.

Y/N chuckled, leaning over to rest an assuring hand on Daniela’s thigh. "But seriously, Dani, you always look amazing. Don’t be embarrassed."

Daniela’s heart skips a beat, and she’s now visibly flustered, her face as red as a tomato. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying to hide her smile.

"I’m not embarrassed! I just... I didn’t expect you to say that then on camera, or now on live TV."

YN chuckles and pats Daniela on the back, giving her a smile, while the fans continue to cheer for the adorable interaction between the two.

The host hummed, "Looks like we’ve learned a little more about who keeps who on their toes! Thank you for sharing, Dani. I’m sure YN won’t let you forget this anytime soon."

Daniela, still a bit flustered but laughing along with the rest, glances over at Y/N, who gives her a wink (which the camera and crew fully catches, as an exaggerated edit with a winking sound effect added in post). It’s clear that their close bond and playful teasing are one of the group’s favorite dynamics.

*Loud technical difficulty transition* Cuts to Lara’s live, when somebody asked her, “What are the Katzs’ favourite things to do when they’re not at work?”

“—Sophia’s is definitely cooking. Girl loves just being able to make a big dinner and have us all sit down and eat like a big family. And Dani’s is… Dani loves reading, sometimes she’ll just be reading in Manon and Y/N’s room with whatever book she’s reading that week. Manon will be finding new ways to do her makeup and matching new fits—And Y/N loves just jamming out and making some tunes on her guitar. Oh my God, the tiktok she recently made with the riff to “Me and Your Mama” was so good. I’m pretty sure Dani forced the poor girl into doing that song after she did “Enter Sandman”.”

[ They’re so old married couple omg ]

“Yeah, we’ve been working hard and practicing a lot with the show coming up. But honestly, Sophia’s been doing a lot behind the scenes to keep morale high and make sure we’re resting well… Y/N being Y/N has been stressing about Sophia overworking herself,” Lara said, “Dani gets really upset when Y/N digs herself into this hole of worrying about us. She’ll get extra catty and mean when Y/N’s down.”

[ Dani always defends her girl… they’re so cute ]

“No, Dani got so angry that one time Y/N got shoved accidentally by this photographer on set. She almost got in trouble for saying stuff, it was insane. I mean, Sophia and Manon definitely had some things to say to that guy too, but Dani?” Lara exhaled deeply, flicking her wrist. “Dani was full Latina mami mode. She was yelling in Spanish, she was pointing everywhere, she was ready to throw hands.”

[ This wasn’t even the full live… should I make a pt. 2? ]

[amirasainz]

Can you do driver reader, that is one of the driver that crashes during the Brazil race and causes a red flag. Can she be hurt (broken arm or smth)

I love your blog so much🤌🔥

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Rain

The sound of rain drummed steadily against the asphalt, creating a chaotic symphony that echoed throughout the Interlagos circuit. It was the Brazilian Grand Prix, and the atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and anxiety. Yn, the first female driver for RedBull, sat in her car on the grid, heart racing, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. She glanced at the wet track ahead and could feel the tension in the air, punctuated by the distant rumble of thunder.

“Okay, Yn, focus,” her race engineer JD's voice crackled through the radio, breaking her concentration. “It’s going to be tricky out there. We’ve already seen a couple of red flags, and the conditions are only getting worse. Just take it slow, especially in the first few laps.”

“Got it, JD. I’m just going to keep my head down and stay out of trouble,” she replied, trying to mask the nerves creeping into her voice.

“Remember, we’re in it for the long game. You’re in second, just behind Max. Let’s see how it plays out, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks!” She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The lights went out, and she surged forward, gripping the wheel tightly as she navigated the treacherous turns.

The rain poured relentlessly, causing visibility to plummet. The roar of engines mixed with the sound of rain, creating an overwhelming cacophony. As they completed the first lap, Yn found herself trailing closely behind Max. The two Red Bull cars danced across the slick track, carving their paths through the rain.

“Good job, Yn. Keep up with Max,” JD encouraged as she skillfully maneuvered her way through the corners.

But the rain was unforgiving. A few laps later, a sudden jolt of loss of traction sent her heart into her throat.

“JD! I’m slipping!” she shouted, trying to regain control of the car.

“Stay calm, Yn! Just counter-steer!” JD’s voice was urgent, but Yn could feel the tires struggling for grip on the waterlogged track. Suddenly, the car spun wildly, and before she knew it, her heart sank as the barriers rushed toward her.

BANG!

The impact reverberated throughout her body, and her vision blurred. The world outside turned chaotic; sirens blared, and officials waved red flags frantically.

************************************************

In the hospital, Yn was conscious but barely coherent. Her body ached, and she felt detached from reality as the medical staff worked quickly around her. She heard snippets of conversation, the beeping of machines, and the distant sounds of the race still going on outside.

Meanwhile, the other drivers were huddled in the waiting room, anxiety etched on their faces. Lando paced back and forth, glancing toward the door every few seconds.

“Why isn’t there any news yet?” he asked, running a hand through his damp hair.

“They’re probably just being thorough,” George said, trying to keep his tone light, though his worry was evident. “She’s tough. She’ll pull through.”

“Yeah, but she’s only eighteen,” Carlos added, looking serious. “It shouldn’t have happened. She was doing so well.”

“Max is taking it hard,” Charles mentioned, nodding toward the corner where Max sat silently, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Just then, the door swung open, and a doctor stepped out. “You’re here for Yn Ln, right? She’s stable, but she’s in pretty bad shape. Five broken ribs and a concussion. She’s asleep right now but is being monitored closely. We’ll let you in shortly.”

The relief was palpable, but worry still clouded the room. They exchanged glances, each trying to mask their fear for their young friend and competitor.

***************************************************

After what felt like an eternity, they were finally allowed to see her. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air as they entered the dimly lit room. Yn lay in the hospital bed, her face pale but peaceful, a tangle of wires and machines surrounding her. Flowers adorned the table next to her, a bouquet of vibrant blooms brightening the otherwise stark room.

“Look at her,” Lando whispered, stepping forward. “She looks so small.”

“She’s a fighter,” Max said quietly, his eyes glistening. He stepped closer to the bed, placing a hand on the railing. “I should have told her to back off. I should have been more careful.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Max,” Carlos said gently, joining him. “The conditions were terrible.”

George stepped up, looking around. “We should leave her something. Something to remind her we’re all here for her.”

They began placing little tokens around her bedside: a signed card from Lando, a miniature trophy from George, a chilli plushie from Carlos.

“Hey, Yn,” Charles said softly, leaning down so his face was closer to hers. “We’re all here. Just take your time to heal, okay?” Charles moved a bit to the left, placing the flowers with the rest of the things.

Then, Ollie, Yn’s bets friend and partner in crime, stepped forward, his expression softening. He took her hand gently, brushing back a stray hair from her forehead. “You’re going to be alright. Just rest, and we’ll be right here when you wake up.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment as emotion washed over him.

A moment of silence fell over them as they stood vigil by her bedside. The beeping of the machines was a constant reminder of her fragility, but they knew she was strong.

“Can you believe she’s just eighteen and already racing with us?” Lando finally broke the silence, trying to lighten the mood. “I can’t even imagine what I was doing at that age.”

“Probably playing video games,” Ollie teased lightly, earning a chuckle from the others despite the somber atmosphere.

“She’s got so much talent,” Carlos said, glancing back at Yn. “And she’s got all of us rooting for her. That’s what matters.”

Max nodded, his gaze still locked on Yn. “She’s going to bounce back. I believe that.”

The hours passed slowly, filled with whispered conversations and laughter tinged with worry as they reminisced about the race and their shared moments on the track. They each took turns sharing stories, hoping to fill the room with positivity, so Yn could feel the love surrounding her.

Finally, as the night wore on, exhaustion crept in. One by one, they began to drift off, still seated in their chairs, leaving her surrounded by the warmth of friendship, waiting for her to wake up.

****************************************************

As the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, illuminating the hospital room with a gentle glow, Yn stirred slightly in her sleep. The sound of soft murmurs and familiar laughter filtered through her consciousness.

“Look! I think she’s waking up!” George exclaimed softly, shaking Lando awake.

Max leaned forward, his eyes brightening. “Yn, can you hear us?”

With a small groan, Yn blinked open her eyes, squinting at the faces around her. “Ollie?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes! I'm here,buba! We’re here! You’re safe,” Ollie said, his eyes widening with relief, taking her hand in his, softly stroking her hair from her face.

“Hey, don’t try to move too much, petite,” Charles advised, noticing her attempt to sit up. “You’ve had a rough night.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“You crashed,” Lando said, trying to keep his tone light. “But you’re tough. You’ve got some broken ribs and a concussion, but you’ll be back on track before you know it.”

Yn closed her eyes for a moment, trying to process everything. “I remember slipping… and then nothing.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now,” Carlos reassured her. “We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up. You scared us, hermana.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the reality of her situation washed over her. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to keep up.”

Max stepped forward, his expression softening. “You did great, Yn. You’re going to come back from this even stronger.”

“Yeah, and we’ll all be right behind you,” George added, his voice filled with sincerity.

The warmth of their presence surrounded her, giving her the strength she needed. “Thank you, guys. I—I really appreciate it.”

“Rest now,” Ollie said, squeezing her hand gently. “We’ll be here when you wake up again.”

And as Yn drifted back into a peaceful sleep, she felt the undeniable bond of her paddock family.

[crunchystarz]

Twisted wonderland Self-aware au

Housewardens x GN!Reader

Cw- obsessive and possessive behavior, isolation all that good yandere stuff (remember none of this behavior is healthy nor do I condone it this is purely for entertainment )

A/n: I wrote this while dying of the flu I am not built for the cold weather release me from my chains

You downloaded the game for fun. As any normal person usually does. What you weren't prepared for was when your game started acting weird.

It started small, your characters dialogue wouldn't line up with the videos you've seen. No big deal perhaps they just got changed during an update.

It got a bit weirder whenever you'd start seeing new sprites you haven't seen anywhere else. You tried to shrug it off as you just managed to get a newer version of the game(somehow).

You swore the characters started to address you more directly but you again tried to ignore it. You just thought your brain was playing tricks on you.

It was only until you realized you left your phone at your apartment. You quickly rushed home to retrieve it just to find a very real house warden in your home.

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

REALIZATION:

When Riddle first suddenly became aware of the fact his existence was nothing but code he was unbelievably out of it. All the conversations he had, his harsh upbringing, everything was just part of his character. Were the feelings of anger, confusion and acceptance even real? He went on a bit of a rampage being harsher than usual but he didn't wish to shatter the reality for everyone else (he'd also sound more like a mad hatter If he tried to explain the fact they were just in a game) So no one knew why for the next month Riddle was more on edge than usual.

He came to accept the fact his life was nothing but a path set for him. He instead started to focus on you(or should I say yuu)

He soon realized that the ramshackle perfect was nothing but a hollow shell. No notable personality or backstory. But he soon managed to be aware of your experience. Glitches allowed him to hear snippets of your voice and how you truly felt. He was your favorite and he wanted it to stay that way.

He'd make sure he was always on your home screen. He'd even get risky and start talking to you directly. He'd listen to you ramble as you played the game. His face would flush red not out of anger but embarrassment when you'd change his outfits or get excited when you realized he'd gotten a new card.

He wished there wasn't a screen keeping you away from each other...

BREAKING CODE:

(I like to think this would be similar to an overblot In a way and enough emotion could cause them to lose themselves and eventually overwrite their code)

Riddle was over the moon. He was really in your room. Sevens he never thought a day would come where he'd be standing in your space. It was so you...

It felt weird, in a space that wasn't just there for scenes. It was actually lived in.

When he sees you he feels as if he succeeded in his life's purpose. You're confused and he can see that. He tries to explain to you how he didn't even know how he had gotten where he was.

You let him stay in your apartment because you couldn't really let him out in a world he knows nothing about. You're too kind he says.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Riddle takes care of most of the household chores. While you're gone, he keeps himself busy by tidying up, reading, or researching ways to improve the home environment. As well as constantly making rules for you to follow. He's so used to rules being set in place, it's what he was programmed to do so In the beginning you let it slide.

However he becomes controlling, trying to regulate every aspect of your life to “protect” you. He insists on setting the rules for "safety" and gets visibly distressed if you don't follow them.

Constantly checks if the you're eating properly or following a “schedule” he created for you both. If you don't he'll sometimes scold you harshly like he would in game. He'll apologize later in fear of upsetting you, he just wants you to be safe.

Becomes passive-aggressive if you end up spending too much time with others, interpreting it as rebellion. All he's trying to do is set you on the right path , can't you see that?

-"It’s for your own good [Name],Without guidance, this world will overwhelm you. Let me take care of you."

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

REALIZATION:

When Leona realizes he's in a video game he's surprisingly the calmest. He's upset and disorientated but he doesn't cause a big scene or let it be known he's losing his mind. He's used to concealing how he feels from others; it's in his codeHe's more laid back after this fact. No matter what he did he'd never be able to change his fate, because it was already set for him he had no control over it. So why did it matter what he did?

When you caught his attention the beast man was obsessed with proving himself to you. To him you were the only person who saw him for him. Who understood him. He was your favorite.

He'd never been anyone's number one anything before and the fact you choose him he wasn't going to let anything take that away from him.

The screen was just another obstacle he'll overcome to get what he wants.

BREAKING CODE:

Leona was really in your room...your room. He felt overcome with joy. Genuine joy, something he'd...never felt. Everything he felt up until then was just what the developers wanted him to feel.

Needs to say you were more than confused when you saw a lion hybrid snuggled up in your bed when you came home.

After getting an explanation you offered to let him stay in your apartment; if you didn't you were more than sure he'd be taken for government testing or something. Too bad you now needed a new phone.

DAY TO DAY LIFE :

Leona is still a lion at heart, he frequently loiters around you, draping himself over your furniture or bed like a lion staking a claim.He’s territorial and quick to anger if someone else tries to get too close to you. Despite his gruffness, he seeks constant reassurance that the you won’t leave him.

He's possessive and hates whenever you leave and doesn’t hide his irritation. He often tries to convince you to skip work/school, suggesting you should spend the day relaxing with him instead. (Sometimes he'll go out with you and will send looks to anyone who looks at you too long)

you're just happy everyone thinks that his animal features are crazy prosthetic since he refuses to hide them

When you come home, Leona monopolizes your time, insisting on napping together and getting all your attention.

He'd dislike the smell of other people on you when you come home and will drag you to bed for cuddles. None of these humans deserve your attention, he worked so hard for it not them .The thought angers him.

- "You're mine, I can protect you—provide for you —love you, you don't need anyone else but me those humans can't do what I can"

AZUL ASHHENGROTTO

REALIZATION:

Azul understandably does not take the life altering realization that he's not actually real well. His usually kept together appearance started to slip. He was all over the place. How could he not? This left Floyd and Jade completely confused why their boss was so out of it. It wasn't like him. He couldn't tell anyone else about this, not that they'd believe him anyway.

His interest in you starts as a mix of fascination and suspicion. He’s drawn to your influence but wary of your intentions. It became an obsession .

He saw you as the only real thing in his "life", Azul was your favorite out of all the characters, you picked him. He'd always make sure he looked right on your home screen (it wouldn't matter anyway since his sprite would always look the same)

You became the only thing he could think about, he'd have you no matter how much it took

BREAKING CODE:

Azul at first didn't think him being in your room was real. He thought it was a dream. When it finally set in that it wasn't just him losing his mind he was more than just happy.

He was in his darlings room. Everything felt so perfect. But not as perfect when he saw you for the first time. You were more than confused to see him(now in your living room) looking around.

After explaining the situation you let him stay with you in your apartment. You had no other choice where else would he go? It wouldn't be so bad to have extra help around anyway.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Much like Riddle , Azul takes care of most of the daily tasks. He offers to assist you with your tasks, whether it’s by organizing your work schedule or helping with assignments. However, he might feel a little hurt if you seem too busy for him. Pay attention to him please!

Don't forget that this is a sly sly man. Azul becomes emotionally manipulative, weaving situations that ensure you stays reliant on him. He uses your gratitude and trust to justify his control, often veiling his obsession with charm and just him being a "gentleman".

He'll shower you in gifts and constantly praise you on everything. He'll try and offer you deals just to make sure you have ties with him.

He'll text you at work with encouraging needy messages. He's always in your corner so just rely on him okay? You don't need anyone else.

- "You’d be lost without me. Everything I do is for you. Just let me take care of all your work."

Kalim Al-Asim

REALIZATION:

Kalim was in denial for the longest time about the realization that he was in a program. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He didn't want to bother Jamil more than he already did especially not with something this big. It was hard to not say anything while his mind was going crazy with thoughts as he tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

When he realized yuu wasn't just another side character and in fact the player he became obsessed with knowing more. He'd get so excited whenever the game would glitch and he could hear your voice and you talking as you played around on the home screen.

It made him so happy; Kalim was your favorite character. Others would wonder why he'd be more bubbly than usual whenever he'd hear you compliment him on his newest card. He wanted all your attention onto him.

He'd make your every wish come true. This screen wouldn't stop that.

BREAKING CODE :

Oh wow he was really in your room. It was way smaller than he expected but that didn't matter. It was your room so it made it much better. He doesn't know what he did to deserve this. He was basically bouncing off the walls; touching everything.

When you walked into your room you didn't have time to react before Kalim was pulling you a crushing hug causing you to yelp. He apologized a bit flustered.

After explaining (he could barely keep himself together) you allowed him to stay. He was so sweet how could you let him out into the world?

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Kalim insists on accompanying you everywhere. Wherever you go Kalim is clinging to you. Your neighbors have all taken a liking to him so him being with you isn't so bad.

He isn't good with chores but he tries his best to clean and tidy when you're gone. He tries to cook but has burnt it multiple times so you tell him not to. He buys you gifts you don't even need all the time. He just wants to spoil you.

Kalim’s obsession is rooted in his desire to make you happy at all costs. However, his constant need to please you and keep you close becomes overwhelming, and suffocating. If you tell him this he'll make you feel bad, that he just loves you so much and wants to take care of you; you often cave.

When you return from work or school, Kalim greets you with hugs and insists on spending the rest of the evening together, often talking about what he did while you were gone.

-" [Name]! I missed you sooo much, you should let me go with you to work, you don't even need work I could make all of your wishes come true"

VIL SCHONHEIT

REALIZATION:

Vil did not take it well... He was absolutely losing his mind. His beauty was nothing but pixels. Was everything he worked for was fake? Everything he knew was just controlled by someone else. It was so frustrating. He ended up locking himself away until he could accept the truth.

When he realized yuu was the player he was...angry. However that anger subsided after he started to know you for you. Vil was...your favorite. It boosted his ego more than anything.

He wanted to be in the spotlight at all times. He craved your attention. It was like he became addicted to your praise. He'd smile whenever you'd call him pretty whenever you looked at a card of his.

He wanted to be perfect for you. He'd show you how perfect he could be, you'd see. He just needed to get rid of the screen.

BREAKING CODE:

Vil stood in the middle of your room. Everything was too perfect to touch. He took it all in. everything felt just...right.

He didn't even calculate how he got in your room but he didn't care. He was in your world and sevens he'd never felt better.

When you walked into him looking at himself in your mirror (taking in how he was an actual real person) . You were so confused why this gorgeous man was in your room.

After explaining the situation you agreed to let him stay with you; if you didn't you swear he'd get kidnapped or something to become a big model. It wouldn't be bad to have a pretty face to look at when you got home.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Vil insists on controlling your wardrobe and grooming, often brushing aside whatever protests you have. He discourages you from associating with “lesser” individuals, claiming they tarnish the your image.

He knows what's best for you come on, those other people will only be dragging you down from your true potential. But of course you wouldn't know that he couldn't blame you.

Vil’s obsession honestly manifests in his relentless efforts to “perfect” for you. He'll critique your choices and actions, believing he alone knows what’s best for you. His fixation often leaves you feeling scrutinized and trapped.

He believes you just need him. He'll do everything just as long as he gets praise from you. Tell him he's being a great help won't you?

"You deserve only the best, and I won’t let anyone drag you down—!"

IDIA SHROUD:

REALIZATION:

This is not as exciting as they make it in manga. Idia was having a crisis. Realizing that he was in a video game made him want to hide away even more than he normally would. It didn't matter how hard Ortho tried he just wouldn't budge. He stayed cooped up in his room trying so hard to distract himself from the fact that he was nothing but code just like the ones he's learned to manipulate. Idia is not going to recover from this.

Idia was already wary around yuu but when he realized you were yuu he wanted to know more. He was still too scared to leave his dorm so you didn't see him much other than the homescreen.

He was so taken back when he realized that, he — Idia shroud was your favorite. He'd never been anyone's favorite before. He was just a loser that stayed cooped up in his room all day and you still liked him?

He grew obsessed with that feeling of being seen, he wanted to just use whatever knowledge he had to break past the screen.

BREAKING CODE:

When Idia realized he was actually in your room he damn near fainted. No scratch that he did. He was so overwhelmed. He didn't deserve to be in your room. Oh man how did he even get here? Nevermind that.

He was so incredibly.. happy. He was in the room of the one person who he felt knew him more than anyone. It made him feel bubbly and his hair flashed pink a bit.

He looked for something to do fearing he'd have a panic attack if he thought about this too long. So you ended up finding him tinkering with your computer when you came home. He basically died when he saw you.

After explaining to you what happened, you, now trying to get him to calm down agreed to let him stay. Not that he'd leave anyway he practically already made your bed his sanctuary.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Your room basically became his. He keeps it clean but doesn't really do a lot of the house work other than that.

Idia spends the day gaming, tinkering with gadgets, or monitoring your online activity (just to make sure you're okay, of course!). He reacts the worst to you being away and just does not like it one bit.

Idia struggles with separation anxiety (like a once stray cat)and might try to convince you to work or study from home. If you insist on going out he bombards you with messages . He'll subtly manipulate situations to keep you away from others, convincing you the world is too dangerous.

When you come home, Idia is overly clingy, insisting you spend the rest of the night together and refusing to let you focus on work. He just wants his cuddles and your attention you were out with those normies all day!

-" Can’t you just stay here and binge-watch something with me? It’s way safer—and more fun."

MALLEUS DRACONIA:

When the fae realizes he's nothing but binary code strug together he's more than perplexed. Malleus has dealt with a lot of things in his time but nothing could prepare him for the crushing reality. He's completely disoriented and Sebek nor Silver can figure out why because he won't tell them. He started lacking on work and just overall seemed more spaced out.

He was very quick to put two and two together. Yuu was the player. It was obvious; human without powers manages to get into NRC and some how is involved with almost everything. It wasn't quite hard to figure out.

Malleus idealizes you seeing you as a perfect being. In his eyes, you are kind, compassionate, and the only one who truly understands him. He was your favorite, this confirms you too think you too are meant for each other.

He'd do anything just for you to join him when he takes up the crown, it's just the screen that's not making it possible.

BREAKING CODE:

Once in your room Malleus doesn't look like he cares at all actually but inside he was losing his mind in the most positive way ever.

Nothing was how he imagined. This is how you like your space? Noted. He tidied up your place a bit and sat in the middle of the room as to not mess anything.

When you walked into him just sitting there you were so confused but he just gave you a smile showing off his fangs.

After explaining the situation you let him stay in your apartment; too scared what he'd manage to get into if you didn't.

DAY TO DAY LIFE:

Malleus makes sure everything is perfect for you at all times. Everything is organized and you never have to worry about anything being out of place.

Like Leona Malleus has animalistic tendencies, him being a fae dragon causes him to be well.. possessive, not wanting anyone else to monopolize your attention. He might grow jealous of your coworkers, friends, or even family, viewing them as a threat to your bond.

He. Is.clingy. worse than Kalim and Idia. He insists on escorting you everywhere, even if it’s unnecessary. People recognized him as "[Name's] horned bodyguard!" Gods you hated it. He tries to insert himself into every aspect of your life, wanting to be by your side constantly.

It took him so long to just be okay with letting you leave on your own. Once you're home he's bombarding you with questions about your day.(Secretly snuggling up to you so you can have his scent again)

-" I could just use magic you know, there's no need—I'm simply a better option for this stuff you can rely on me"

MASTERLIST

[bloodrelationsofheavenandearth]

i will plead (satisfaction)

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ desc; case closed. pining, yearning. small moments that fit in.

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ pairing; multi

˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ mlist; !!!!!

is an intimate partner to be with. in the sense that, skin is always touching in some way or another. hands on hips, hands on waist, fingers digging into skin because how dare the world be so cruel to not allow closer contact than skin to skin? how dare the world, in all its intricacies, how could it be so cruel as to keep teeth and tongue from devouring the spirit?

-

argenti. gepard. blade. jing yuan.

breaths shared, head tipped back and throat bared. lips and teeth and tongue, biting and sucking and licking indents over every open space, trying to leave a permanent brand of the current moment, because isn’t that what yearning is?

-

gallagher. boothill. black swan. feixiao. jing yuan.

flesh bunching under warm palms, sweat and spit smeared over smooth skin. fingers dragging down the spine and pressing in- because that place, right there, is home. that place just under the skin, between bone and flesh and braided with the nervous system.

-

sunday. phainon. dan feng. jing yuan.

chest pressed to chest, pulse rocketing into orbit. a voice, words mumbled into skin and causing an almost immediate calm. “i’ve got you. i’ve got you. i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”

-

mydei. robin. dan heng. luocha. jing yuan.

arm curled around neck, hand in hair and locked in place. entirely still, yet impossibly rigid. another breath shared, and then suddenly, movement. “you deserve this. let me take care of you.”

-

kafka. seele. jing yuan.

hazy light through the windows, moon reflecting faintly in the dark and bouncing off of every surface. skin to skin, hands dragging over every surface and freezing, remembering everything in their wake.

-

anaxa. acheron. aglaea. jingliu. jing yuan.

eyes connected, locked in place and hand gripping the other’s face tightly like an anchor. a wave of sleepiness, calmness settling in and it feels like the eye of the storm. “you’re so beautiful.”

-

welt. aventurine. jing yuan.

notes; writing this down so i can finally be released from my hormones. tldr; if i can’t enjoy my love life because it’s messy, ill at least write about snippets of it and hope to GOD the messiness leaves me be :’-) (and no,, im TOTALLY not jing yuan biased at all,, totally,,,)

© bloodrelationsofheavenandearth 2025 ☁︎

[yaminerua]

Oh the writing ideas that enter my head and taunt me by slipping away like water through my fingertips before I can even begin to try to write any of it down