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elikajinnie · 4 months ago

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Shadowed Desires - S.J

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

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

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

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

heeseungs vers sunghoon vers jay vers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

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

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

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

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

Oh no.

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

You froze.

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

And then it turned.

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

You gasped.

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

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

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

You didn’t wait to find out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meg nodded. “Run.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The soft clink of a shuriken spinning through the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t stop.

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

But you couldn’t keep running. Not anymore.

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

And then, something shifted.

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

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

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

Then you heard it.

A sharp, quiet gasp from behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How are you… different?"

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be back for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something had changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It felt pretty good, honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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p0orbaby · 5 months ago

Text

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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aventurineswife · 5 months ago

Note

Can I request Ratio, Moze, Aventurine, Sunday, Dan heng, Argenti and Jing Yuan involving their s/o or spouse in their exercise? Ill leave it up to creative freedom fr u but like the kisses when doing push ups or somehow practicing their attacks on their s/o in wholesome ways (just an idea but Churin doing the coin drop attack while his partner holds an umbrella above their head or something more wholesome)

-🍮♠

Love Is The Most Dangerous Strategy Of All

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Moze x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Fluff, Romantic Moments, Established Relationship, Playful Banter, Combat Training, Sweet Gestures, Slow Dancing, Quiet Moments.

Warnings: Mild Violence (in sparring and training sequences), Themes of Emotional Vulnerability(?), Light Suggestive Content (kisses and teasing moments), Mentions of Intense Training Practices.

Ratio sat at his desk, papers scattered around him in an organized chaos. His long hours of intellectual pursuit often left him longing for an outlet, and today, he had come up with an idea. He glanced toward you, lounging on the couch, your eyes glimmering with curiosity.

"Would you like to join me in a mental exercise?" Ratio asked, the usual sarcasm in his tone replaced by something more playful.

You raised an eyebrow. "Mental exercise? What kind of game are we playing?"

Ratio’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. He stood, stepping to a corner of the room, and retrieved a sleek board game filled with complex patterns and symbols, designed to challenge even the sharpest minds. "A game of logic and strategy. You will need to anticipate my every move—much like our relationship."

You laughed. "That sounds... dangerous."

"Only for those unprepared." Ratio smiled, his usual arrogance softened by the lightheartedness of the moment.

The game began, and Ratio’s mind whirred at full speed, trying to anticipate your every move. You were quick to catch on, forcing Ratio to keep up. At one point, after a particularly sharp maneuver, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, catching him off guard.

"Consider that a victory." you teased.

Ratio smirked, adjusting his glasses. "Such tactics will not deter me. But... they may motivate me to work even harder."

The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of distant winds. Moze stood in the middle of a training ground, his blade drawn, eyes focused. You watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, concerned but intrigued.

"You’re being too hard on yourself." you called out softly.

Moze’s eyes flickered briefly, but his expression remained cold, impassive. He was practicing his shadow strikes—silent, swift, and deadly. You stepped forward, offering a gentle suggestion. "What if you let me help?"

Without a word, Moze nodded, moving toward you with eerie grace. He signaled for you to stand in the middle of the training area. “I won’t hurt you.” he said, though it sounded more like a command than a reassurance.

The training began. Moze’s strikes were fast, but he purposefully slowed them down, practicing his precision. You stood still and calm, evading each strike with fluid motion, barely moving a muscle.

After several attempts, Moze finally approached, his blade hovering near your neck. Instead of striking, he lowered his weapon, looking into your eyes.

"Perfect. You’re becoming as swift as shadows themselves."

He didn’t need to say more. You smiled, taking a brief pause to kiss him gently on the lips before stepping back. "And you’re finally letting go of the shadows, aren’t you?"

Aventurine grinned mischievously, twirling a coin between his fingers. You stood beneath a large, intricately designed umbrella, a slight frown tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Are you certain this is safe?" you asked, shifting your weight to one side as you adjusted the umbrella.

"Of course!" Aventurine said with a wink. "It’s all about the thrill of the game."

He took a deep breath and dropped the coin. With a fluid motion, he twirled his body, hands outstretched. The coin landed perfectly in his palm as he spun, effortlessly dodging the shower of raindrops that fell on you both.

You laughed, but it was a laugh filled with admiration, your gaze following his every move.

"Impressive," you said, watching him strike a dramatic pose with the umbrella still held above you. "Maybe I should take a gamble with you sometime."

Aventurine, ever the charmer, closed the distance between you and kissed you gently on the lips. "The best bet I’ve ever made is the one on you."

Sunday stood in a garden bathed in the soft glow of twilight, his coat flowing behind him like a royal cape. You stood nearby, watching him with admiration. Today, Sunday had chosen a more gentle form of exercise—a slow dance, a symbolic gesture for peace, a reflection of his own philosophy.

"Shall we begin?" he asked, extending his hand.

You smiled, taking it without hesitation, your fingers intertwining. As the music started, you moved in tandem, each step purposeful and elegant. Sunday’s eyes met yours with a quiet intensity, his every movement controlled, graceful.

"Feel the rhythm," Sunday whispered, spinning you under his arm. "Life, like dance, is about harmony."

The dance flowed seamlessly, your movements as one, until Sunday pulled you close, his lips brushing against your ear. "You are the perfect partner, in every way."

You smiled, your heart full, and kissed him back tenderly. "And you are the dream I never want to wake from."

Dan Heng stood at the training grounds, the spear in his hands. He was practicing a series of swift thrusts and spins, each movement calculated, precise. You stood by, leaning casually against a tree, watching with a mix of admiration and concern.

"Don’t overdo it!" you called out after a particularly powerful strike that sent a gust of wind rippling through the air.

Dan Heng paused, his stoic expression unchanged. He glanced at you, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I’m fine." he replied softly.

However, it wasn’t long before he offered to let you join in. "Would you like to try?"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. "With the spear?"

Dan Heng nodded. "It’s about control, not strength. Let me guide you."

With a gentle hand on your waist, Dan Heng showed you the proper stance, your bodies aligning in perfect symmetry. As you practiced together, Dan Heng’s stoic demeanor softened, the quiet moments filled with shared trust. After a few successful strikes, you smiled up at him.

"Not bad for someone who’s all about silence," you teased.

Dan Heng chuckled, albeit quietly. "It’s not about what’s said. It’s about what’s felt."

He kissed you lightly on the forehead, grateful for the peace you brought to his turbulent heart.

Argenti stood, his sword gleaming in the sunlight, the red fabric of his attire flowing in the breeze. You sat nearby, watching him intently. His expression was one of perfect concentration as he practiced his swings, each movement a deliberate attempt to maintain his sense of purity.

He turned to face you, his expression noble yet inviting. "Would you honor me by joining my exercises today? A bout of sparring, if it pleases you?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to fight me?"

Argenti's lips curved into a resolute smile, his eyes gleaming with unyielding determination. "Fear not, for I seek not to harm you, but to temper my resolve. It is the sanctity of honorable combat that stirs my soul."

With a gentle nod, you agreed, standing and grabbing a sparring sword. The match began, and Argenti’s movements were swift and graceful, the perfect blend of honor and beauty. Despite the intensity of the fight, he ensured every blow was controlled, never too harsh.

As you crossed blades, you suddenly spun and caught him off guard, knocking the sword from his hand. You stepped close, your breath mingling, before pressing a quick, teasing kiss to his lips.

"Seems like you need more practice," you teased.

Argenti inclined his head, his voice brimming with pride and humility. "I shall redouble my efforts and train with greater fervor to earn my place in our next match."

Jing Yuan stood in the training hall, his hands poised on the reins of his strategy. You stood before him, the subject of his training today.

"Shall we begin?" Jing Yuan asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You nodded, gripping the training blade he’d given you. As Jing Yuan moved through the motions, his calm demeanor was evident, but there was a playful undertone to his every move. His strikes were light but precise, testing your reflexes and balance.

At one point, as he parried an attack, Jing Yuan swept you into a spin and caught you in a gentle embrace, pulling you close.

"You are growing stronger," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But I still hold the advantage in speed."

You grinned, your arms winding around him as you kissed him back. "We’ll see about that."

Jing Yuan’s laugh rumbled softly in his chest as he kissed you again, the warmth of the moment eclipsing the training. "I always look forward to our challenges."

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luluthespectator · 3 months ago

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A new era

The galactic council has decided for the first time to put more than two different species in the same spaceship.

Many debated on what to put, how many, why. It went on for months. Then the council settled on three species, just above the maximum. They chose one individual of each so that if things turned sour, the casualties would be minimal. They chose the individual of each species carefully for the crew to be balanced.

A Kerox for its strategy and strength. They are a proud people, and not for nothing. They always had an advantage in wars thanks to their cleverness and ferocity. The council secretly hoped it would become the leader to preserve the truce with its species.

A Primavix for its natural scientific and medical abilities, as well as their extended knowledge of the world. The council wanted its inherent strength to be able to outbalance the Kerox if it turned too arrogant and obviously knew that the crew needed a medic.

A human for its adaptability. They would hope that it would become the link to tie the other two together and that it would learn fast in times of need. They chose one that could pilot and repair a ship, one that knew how to fight to not get taken down by the Kerox.

All those three species could breathe the same air and lived in groups. They could all be bipedal which would help with cohesion. They were generally all willing to find solutions to their problems when they arose.

On paper, it was perfect. But the council knew, reality was quite different. Their main concern was the Kerox. It was allowed on this mission to “make it feel special”, it had a great influence on its other members. They hoped this would keep the truce holding.

——

It was the day, the day where the Three Pillars of a new era would meet. The streets of the Capital were bustling with agitation. In each sector, anticipation could be felt from everywhere. In their own ways, everyone was impatient to see the beginning of a new era.

There was one clear path to the new vessel waiting for its inhabitants. The aliens sat on both sides, each stayed in their people’s designated spot. Everyone was here. They knew who was supposed to come, but they wanted to see, to smell, to listen, to feel them even if only from afar.

Then, they came.

First, there was the Kerox. Everyone knew about him, he was Scozar, The Scorching Sun. He was recognisable by his golden spear with sunny patterns on it.

He slithered his way on the path, his four powerful and muscular limbs propelling him forward. His grey scales took a tinted emerald hue under the powerful rays of moonlight. To the species that used infrared visions, he was cold, barely visible.

He stopped as naturally as he would jump and got on his two bottom legs. He stood tall and proud with his spear held high in a hand, his claws on the other one were usable. His sharp gaze passed on the crowd, like he was choosing which one he was going to eat.

The crowd fell silent. A low grumble could be felt through their bodies. His golden eyes were glowing with satisfaction. He was preparing something, wasn’t he?

That’s when the blue indigo feathers on his head, spine all the way to the tip of his tail, rose up. A few species backed down. He was even taller that way. There were black dots on each of his feathers. It was unnerving to have the feeling of being watched by so many eyes.

When seeing the reaction of the crowd, he somehow stood even taller with his head even higher. His teeth could be seen from there, his sharp, sharp teeth, as sharp as his gaze, as sharp as his claws. It made some species dizzy and terrified. He seemed to bask in the fear of others.

The aliens wondered if the galactic council was right to let a Kerox participate in such an important mission. Most of the species knew the galactic council had no choice but to put a Kerox there, they were too proud not to let them participate in such an event. They were afraid it would fail.

The Kerox went on the podium, naturally, taking the middle spot.

Then the Primavix came, one of the Ancient Ones, they saw the dawn of the intergalactic alliance.

They also made their entry on four legs. This time, it was slower, easier to track, like time had made its way through their body. Their tail balanced as they walked, at the end of it there was an appendage to grab objects.

They had a white cloth on them. It has lived for many years as well. Under the tattered gown, their black exoskeleton blended on their bones. They were thin, some species wondered how something this slim could survive without collapsing from starvation.

They rose up on their bottom legs. Instead of being arched on themselves, they had a straight posture. They put their two hands together in front of them. They raised their head, but instead of looking more aggressive, they radiated with sacred wisdom.

Their head was a mouth with a giant sphere on the top, the rays reverberated on it. A carapace shielded the back of its head. With their smooth black skin and their rugged white robe, they looked like a statue, the statue of an ancient god.

They walked elegantly towards the podium and stayed on their two bottom legs still in the same position.

The aliens were already more confident in the success of the council’s leap in the unknown. With a Primavix, a creature older than the council itself, the Pillars will have all the knowledge they need.

Finally the Human came. She too, was known by the people. She was Maena, The Ghost, captain of corsairs well known for their help for the galactic council.

She arrived on two legs. Her black coat on her shoulders floated behind her. It was held together by a yellow chain. She was bright to those with infrared vision. She advanced solemnly, with her arms behind her back. The crowd shifted, she had something that the other two didn’t have.

She stopped near the crowd. Her two brown eyes seemingly stopped on each one of the species watching every detail. Her expression was one of calm devoid of aggression, like an apex predator with no worries for their survival. Some species went silent again.

Then, her expression cracked. She showed her teeth, a gesture well known as a smile. She waved her hand at the crowd, a friendly movement. She now radiated with confidence and serenity, a quiet strength. The crowd relaxed, some even tried to mimic her.

The mask of danger was replaced, she was now a good friend. A friend to the galaxy, to the aliens present here and to the two other Pillars. Seemingly satisfied, she moved again and got on the podium.

She was small, smaller than the two other Pillars, smaller than the average human even. The crowd murmured, what could she do if the Kerox wanted her dead? But she was a human, and a human who knew how to fight.

Everyone had mixed feelings about the crew in front of them. They stood in the emerald light of the moon, side by side, they looked strong. But each one of them was so different, this strength could as well shatter them from the inside.

And they were only three, that wasn’t enough for an entire crew. The ship was small. Big enough for all of them, yes. But so small in comparison to the others. It was like the council wanted to spare the least resources they could, like they themselves didn’t believe in the “new era”.

But everyone cheered. They cheered to not anger the Kerox, they cheered in honour of the ancient Primavix, they cheered because the Human seemed to like it.

Continuation Rough beginning

Link to a drawing

Back to masterlist

#humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #extraterrestrial #alien species #creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #oc #writeblr #science fiction #the pillars #scifi #aliens #space stuff #haso #humans are so strange #original story #story #fiction

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guzgunler · 2 months ago

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viaxslz · 4 months ago

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﹙ ♡` 𓈃 BASEBALL 𓏵⠀

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 f!reader (I think), cw: established relationship, y/n is kinda dense abt baseball,help seungmin, pet name, they kiss like two times, they’re just so lovey dovey in love, not proofread :P, requested, was meant for the 100 event, 2.1k WC

Request: I was thinking a Seungmin fluff just about spending the day at a baseball game together, but the reader lowkey knows nothing about baseball, so he has to explain little things to her during the game, and by the end, she starts to love it as much as he does.

VIA: I have one more request which was meant for the 100 followers event which I cancelled bc (you see the reason right now) so after these, this might be the only time I’ll do request, for the person who requested so sorry it took about hundred years (I’ve had this request since September 💀😭)

Seungmin and Y/N walked hand in hand to the baseball stadium, the warm sun shining down on them. Seungmin was practically bouncing with excitement, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

"I'm so glad we're doing this," he said, squeezing Y/N's hand. "I've been waiting all week for the game."

Y/N smiled and leaned into him. "I'm happy to spend the day with you," she said. "But I have to admit, I don't really get baseball."

Seungmin's face lit up with a grin. "That's okay," he said. "I'll teach you everything you need to know. By the end of the game, you'll be a baseball expert."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "We'll see about that," she teased.

As they found their seats and settled in for the game, Seungmin began to explain the basics of baseball to Y/N. He told her about the different positions, the rules of the game, and the strategies involved.

Y/N listened intently, asking questions and giggling at Seungmin's silly analogies. Seungmin was happy to oblige, enjoying the chance to share his passion with the person he loved.

As the game began, Seungmin and Y/N cheered and clapped along with the rest of the crowd. Y/N was still a bit lost, but Seungmin was always there to guide her, explaining what was happening on the field.

As the game began, Seungmin's excitement was palpable. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed intently on the field.

"Okay, so the pitcher is winding up... and here comes the ball!" Seungmin exclaimed, his voice rising in excitement.

Y/N watched with a smile as Seungmin provided a play-by-play commentary of the game. He explained the different types of pitches, the strategies of the players, and the rules of the game.

At first, Y/N was a bit lost, but Seungmin's enthusiasm was infectious. She found herself getting caught up in the excitement, cheering along with Seungmin as the home team made a great play.

"Baby! Did you see that? The shortstop made an amazing catch!" Seungmin shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

Y/N laughed at Seungmin's antics, feeling happy to see him so carefree and joyful.

As the game continued, Seungmin's commentary became more and more animated. He jumped out of his seat to cheer, spilled popcorn on himself, and even did a little dance in the aisle.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle at Seungmin's silly behavior. She was having the time of her life, and it was all thanks to Seungmin's infectious enthusiasm.

As the game continued, Y/N turned to Seungmin with a curious expression. "Min, why do the players wear those funny pants?" she asked, giggling.

Seungmin chuckled and explained, "Those are baseball pants! They're designed to be comfortable and flexible, so the players can move around easily."

Y/N nodded, taking in the information. "Oh, okay. That makes sense. But why do they have those stripes on the sides?"

Seungmin grinned. "Those are just a design element. Some teams have stripes, while others have different patterns or logos."

Y/N smiled, feeling a bit more knowledgeable about the game. As the innings passed, she found herself getting more and more into the game. She cheered along with Seungmin, asked more questions, and even started to recognize some of the players.

Seungmin noticed Y/N's growing enthusiasm and smiled. "You're getting into it, aren't you?" he asked, nudging her playfully.

Y/N nodded, her eyes shining with excitement. "Yeah, I am! This is actually really fun."

Seungmin beamed with pride. "I told you it would be! Baseball is an amazing sport."

As the game neared its climax, Y/N found herself on the edge of her seat, cheering and chanting along with the rest of the crowd. She was having the time of her life, and it was all thanks to Seungmin's infectious enthusiasm.

As the game reached the middle innings, Seungmin and Y/N decided to take a break and grab some snacks. They walked to the concourse, hand in hand, and joined the line for the concession stand.

As they waited, Seungmin turned to Y/N and smiled. "I'm so glad you're enjoying the game," he said, his eyes shining with happiness.

Y/N smiled back, feeling a flutter in her chest. "I'm having a great time," she said. "Thanks for explaining everything to me."

Seungmin leaned in, his face inches from Y/N's. "Anytime," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

As they reached the front of the line, Seungmin ordered them a plate of nachos and a couple of drinks. They took their snacks and found a spot to sit, watching the game from a different angle.

As they sat there, Seungmin suddenly stood up and pulled Y/N into a romantic kiss. The crowd around them cheered, thinking it was a kiss cam moment, but Seungmin and Y/N didn't care. They were lost in their own little world.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as Seungmin's lips touched hers. She felt a rush of excitement and happiness, knowing that this was a moment she would never forget.

As they pulled back from the kiss, Seungmin grinned at Y/N. "I love you," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/N's heart melted at his words. "I love you too," she replied, smiling up at him.

The rest of the game was a blur for Y/N. She was too busy basking in the glow of Seungmin's love to pay attention to the score. But she knew that this was a day she would always treasure, a day that would stay with her forever.

After the kiss, Seungmin and Y/N were both grinning from ear to ear. They decided to take a break from the game and explore the stadium.

They walked around the concourse, taking in the sights and sounds of the ballpark. They played a few games at the interactive exhibits, with Seungmin showing off his baseball trivia skills.

Y/N laughed and teased him good-naturedly, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere. They took silly photos together, making funny faces and poses in front of the ballpark's iconic signs.

As they walked, they stumbled upon a stall selling all sorts of baseball-themed treats. Seungmin's eyes widened as he scanned the menu, and he promptly ordered them a plate of loaded fries, a giant pretzel, and a couple of churros.

Y/N giggled at Seungmin's enthusiasm, happy to indulge in the tasty snacks with him. They sat down at a table, munching away and people-watching as the crowd bustled by.

As they ate, Seungmin turned to Y/N with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Want to try something really adventurous?" he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Seungmin grinned. "I'll show you," he said, pulling Y/N to her feet and leading her off towards the next adventure.

Seungmin grinned mischievously as he led Y/N to a small food stall tucked away in a corner of the concourse. "I want to try something new," he said, his eyes scanning the menu.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she read the options. "Fried crickets?" she asked, her voice skeptical.

Seungmin nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I've heard they're really good! And we can't leave the stadium without trying something adventurous."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but Seungmin's infectious enthusiasm eventually won her over. "Okay, fine," she said, laughing. "But if I start to gag, it's on you."

Seungmin chuckled and ordered them a plate of fried crickets, along with a side of spicy sauce. They sat down at a nearby table, and Seungmin picked up a cricket and dipped it in the sauce.

"Here goes nothing," he said, popping the cricket into his mouth.

Y/N watched in amazement as Seungmin chewed and swallowed, a look of surprise on his face. "Wow, that's actually really good!" he exclaimed.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really?" she asked, picking up a cricket and dipping it in the sauce.

She took a tentative bite, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, this is actually pretty tasty!" she said, laughing.

Seungmin grinned, happy to have shared the experience with Y/N. "I told you it would be good!" he said, high-fiving her.

As they finished their snack, Y/N turned to Seungmin with a smile. "You know, I never would have tried that if it wasn't for you," she said.

Seungmin's face lit up with a warm smile. "That's what I'm here for," he said, taking her hand in his.

As the game entered its final innings, the energy in the stadium began to build. Seungmin's favorite team, the home team, was trailing by a run, but they were determined to make a comeback.

Seungmin and Y/N were on the edge of their seats, cheering and chanting along with the rest of the crowd. The tension was palpable as the home team's batter stepped up to the plate.

"Come on, come on!" Seungmin shouted, his voice hoarse from cheering. "You can do it!"

Y/N laughed and joined in, cheering and clapping along with Seungmin. The batter swung his bat, and the crowd erupted into cheers as the ball soared through the air.

"It's going, it's going, it's going!" Seungmin shouted, his eyes fixed on the ball.

Y/N watched in amazement as the ball sailed over the outfield wall, scoring a home run and tying the game. The crowd went wild, cheering and chanting as the home team's players celebrated on the field.

Seungmin and Y/N were hugging each other, screaming with excitement. They were both jumping up and down, waving their arms in the air.

This was it, the moment they had been waiting for. The home team was going to win the game, and Seungmin and Y/N were going to celebrate together.

As the home team's closer took the mound, Seungmin and Y/N were on the edge of their seats, cheering and chanting along with the rest of the crowd. The tension was palpable as the closer wound up and threw the final pitch.

The batter swung and missed, and the umpire shouted "Strike three!" as the crowd erupted into cheers. The home team's players rushed the field, celebrating their victory as Seungmin and Y/N hugged each other, screaming with excitement.

As they celebrated, Seungmin turned to Y/N and pulled her into a romantic kiss. The crowd around them cheered and whistled, but Seungmin and Y/N didn't notice. They were lost in their own little world, basking in the excitement and joy of the moment.

As they pulled back from the kiss, Seungmin grinned at Y/N, his eyes shining with happiness. "I'm so glad we got to experience this together," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/N smiled back, her heart full of love for Seungmin. "Me too," she said, snuggling into his side. "This has been the perfect day."

Seungmin wrapped his arms around Y/N, holding her close as they watched the home team celebrate their victory. They stood there for a long time, basking in the joy and excitement of the moment, their love for each other shining brighter than the brightest stadium lights.

As the celebration died down and the crowd began to file out of the stadium, Seungmin and Y/N reluctantly said their goodbyes to the ballpark. They walked hand in hand out of the stadium, already making plans for their next adventure together.

The sun was setting over the horizon as they walked, casting a warm golden light over the city. Seungmin and Y/N walked in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company as they basked in the glow of their perfect day.

After a while, Seungmin turned to Y/N and smiled. "You know, I think this has been one of the best days of my life," he said, his eyes shining with happiness.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she looked at Seungmin, her love for him overflowing from her heart. "Mine too," she said, smiling back at him.

Seungmin's face lit up with a warm smile, and he pulled Y/N into another romantic kiss. As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Y/N knew that this was just the beginning of their perfect adventure together.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor @intartaruginha

#stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids soft hours #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids fanfic #stray kids seungmin #stray kids imagines #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #seungmin fanfic

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rottenpumpkin13 · 4 months ago

Note

AGSZC Streamer AU - what are their preferred games and what are they most famous for?

Sephiroth: Horror game specialist who gained notoriety for his completely deadpan reactions to jump scares. Famous for treating every horror game like a nature documentary: "Observe the careful arrangement of viscera. The arterial spray pattern suggests this creature has a fascinating understanding of human anatomy." *JUMP SCARE* "How quaint."

Think of him discussing the improbable biology of monsters while they're actively trying to kill him.

Angeal: Specializes in calming, indie games. He even somehow makes indie horror games soothing. He became famous for his unintentionally ASMR-like voice that has viewers falling asleep mid-stream. His chat is full of "I use your streams to fall asleep" and "Your voice could calm a raging behemoth." Even when he's fighting the hardest bosses his commentary sounds like a relaxation tape. Unless he's playing a cooking simulator. Then the stream becomes "WHO DESIGNED THESE PHYSICS?! THE SOUP SHOULDN'T BE DOING THAT!" and "WHO TRAINED THESE DIGITAL SOUS CHEFS!??" and of course "I QUIT. I CAN'T WORK LIKE THIS!"

Zack: Dominates FPS games with pure chaotic energy, but he's not known for being the best, he's famous for having the most fun. His streams are full of "GUYS THIS IS THE BEST GAME EVER" while he's getting absolutely demolished, but his enthusiasm is so genuine that people tune in just to hear him lose his mind over cool weapons and character designs. He treats every match like it's the most exciting thing ever, win or lose.

Genesis: Lives for RPGs and narrative-heavy games. Famous for turning his streams into lore-heavy analysis sessions. He'll pause mid-game to give a 20-minute lecture about how this one side quest parallels Loveless. His viewers come for the games but stay for his deep-dives, obscure plot points, and how attractive he is.

Cloud: Queens Blood champion streamer, with regular tournament streams and strategy sessions. Famous for his call-in segment where players present their problems and he solves them while dealing with increasingly frustrated callers: "No, you can't just stack all your powerful cards in one deck. No—listen—no, that's not—*sigh* "Your strategy has more holes than the Sector 5 plate. Okay, we're going to start from the beginning, and this time try to pretend you've actually played a card game before."

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #zack fair #ff7 crisis core #cloud strife #crisis core #headcanons

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milkteabies · 3 months ago

Text

Streaming video games w/ Kenma

a/n: this is supposed to be like friends to lovers coded ok, stay w me on this, and there’s some mutual pining, and it’s steamer Kenma, alright, and also female reader

—————

“You’re really bad at this.” You snicker, sitting in the background off to the side of Kenma’s stream, messing around on your phone as Kenma debuts the game he just got.

“No backseat gaming.” He mumbles, eyes not leaving the screen as he continues to strategically mash the buttons of his controller, taking hit after hit from the boss.

You snicker again at the statement, heaving yourself up from your designated comfy seat in his streaming room, pocketing your phone in the loosely zipped up ‘Kodzuken’ jacket you worse. You stroll over to stand behind his chair, leaning against it to watch his screen as well, the flashes from his attacks reflecting across the matching blue light glasses you both wore.

Eyes glancing over to his second monitor, you see thousands of messages suddenly fly past as his chat greets you, excited to actually see you in frame

“Yes, hi chat. I’ve been here the whole time if you just got here. It’s been… 3 hours since I’ve last been fed.” You giggle as messages of admonishment sprinkle through the comments, causing Kenma to elbow your hip closest to his chair. “Do you see this, chat? This is how he treats me.”

“Quit lying to them, they’re gonna start sounding like children of divorce.” He huffs, shoulders finally relaxing when he dies to the boss again.

“Can’t believe you’d reveal the divorce like that.” You start, pointing to the screen. “Also can’t believe you’d claim to be a pro gamer when you’ve died 4 times now to the same boss.”

Kenma leans back in his chair to look up at you, exasperatedly. “You try if you think I’m so bad.” He says, holding the controller out to you.

Shaking your head, you take the still warmed plastic into your hand, sighing, “You know this isn’t gonna go well.”

Scooting back from his desk, he chuckles, “Should’ve thought about that before you started making comments. I’ll order some food while you fight for your life.”

“I’ll start crying on stream, right now.” You say, hunching over to see the screen, reloading the game at his last save just before the battle.

Kenma chuckles again, already scrolling on his phone, occasionally glancing at the monitors to make sure things are running smoothly. He scans across his video feed and he gets an eyeful of your chest, right on the screen.

Dropping his phone in his lap, he turns and quickly zips the hoodie up to your neck. “Ah! Quit it, you’re gonna mess me up!” You yelp, shouldering his hands off, eyes staying on the screen in the midst of battle, quite literally fighting for your life.

“Yeah, yeah, quit flashing my chat.” He feigns nonchalance, scrolling through the chat to delete any weird comments and ban any especially weird people with his mods.

“Ain’t no one looking at that.” You snicker, furiously mashing every button possible to dodge each attack.

“They better not be.” He mumbles, going back to ordering food, thoroughly assured you weren’t accidentally exposing yourself.

The next few minutes are quiet, only broken by the creaking of the controller from how tightly you grip it, the gentle tapping of Kenma on his phone, and occasional donation announcements. Kenma finally finished ordering the food, knowing your favorites by heart, and he takes to watching your dodge, duck, and run strategy.

“You know you’ve got to actually hit him to win, right?” He chuckles, looking away from the screen to glance at your worried face instead.

“He’s scary, okay! I’m trying to, you know… learn his attack pattern.” You defend weakly, pouting at the screen when your character takes a heavy hit, scooting over to sit on the arm rest of Kenma’s chair to truly lock in.

Kenma hums in agreement, still watching your side profile, eyes tracing the furrow in your brow and the down turn of your lips. He watches as you absentmindedly shake the controller as you attempt to attack, smiling when a piece of hair falls from behind your ear which you huff and blow at, annoyedly.

He reaches over and tucks it carefully back for you, practically melting at the little ‘thank you’ and smile you give him, handing trailing down to hover over the small of your back.

He snaps out of his daze when a donation sounds with the message, “See the way he looks at her, he’s down bad fr y’all.” Deadpanning at his camera, he fails to fight the blush that spreads over his face as you cackle.

The chat spams with similar messages, various “clipped it”-‘s flashing by as you laugh so hard, you don’t even notice that you stayed still long enough to die to the boss. Giggling, you double over, unzipping your jacket again and leaning against Kenma’s shoulder as his face continues to burn. He refocuses when you lean too far and slip off the arm rest and right into his lap.

It causes another round of laughter from you as you press a hand to Kenma’s chest, almost keeling over and slipping to the floor if he didn’t wrap his arms around your waist.

The chat shoots by a mile-a-minute, full of keyboard smashed, messages of disappointment about their own lives, and jaded comments interspersed with overwhelming excitement about “sailing ships.”

Kenma hides his face into your hair, hands squeezing your waist in embarrassment as you chide the viewers, “C’mon guys, you can’t call him out like that.” You giggle, yelping when Kenma pinches at your side. “Hey! I’m trying to help you!” You huff, turning to face him, but he just hides his face into your neck instead.

You giggle at the feeling of his hair tickling your neck and smooth it back with a free hand, your other wrapping around his neck as you shift to sit more comfortably. “Sorry chat, he’s outta commission.”

Before you can say much more, Kenma’s phone vibrates with the notification of the foods arrival, which he takes as the perfect reason to call it a night. “Alright chat, we made pretty good progress in the game, and our food’s here, so I’ll end the stream here for tonight.” He slips into creator mode, and you offer a giggly goodbye as he ends the stream.

As soon as the video shuts off, you’re pulling out your phone to find the clip of the donation comment. But Kenma knows you, and knows what you’re going to find, and quickly wrestles your phone out of your hand, trapping your wrists in one hand while he holds your phone in the other, far away from you.

“Kenma!” You whine, wriggling in your spot. “I wasn’t doing nothing! You’re so mean.” You glower at him, more joke than anything as your jacket slips off your shoulder from the movement.

Kenma roles his eyes, stuffing your phone into his pocket as he almost presses your foreheads together, mumbling, “I could be meaner.”

Suddenly flustered, you lean back, turning your head away as you stammer, “The cameras are off now, you know, you don’t need to be going that far.”

“You think it’s a joke?” He murmurs, pulling you closer by your still captures wrists, his other hand reaching to cup your cheek.

“It…Isn’t it?”

“Never was.” He whispers, leaning forward to press his lips to your exposed shoulder, making you squeal at the contact.

You can feel Kenma smile against your skin as you squirm more. “You need to be serious with me right now, or I’m going to freak out.”

“I’ve been serious since we met in high school.”

You pull your wrists away from his now relenting grasp and press a hand the bottom half of your face, squealing into your palm. Kenma laughs at the sound, but you press your other hand against his face to block the view of your embarrassment.

Kenma opens his mouth, probably to offer some cheeky comment, but before he can say anything, you cup his cheeks and pull him in to press your lips together. Your eyes fall shut as you lean into him, his reaction buffering slightly before he takes the action in stride, wrapping an arm around your waist and the other splaying his palm in the middle of your upper back to press you as close as possible.

You hardly feel like you’re breathing with how much you’re focused on the feeling of how chapped yet soft Kenma’s lips are.

After what feels like an eternity of being lost in each other, you two finally part, breathing deeply with equally apparent flushes on your cheeks, be it from lack of air or an abundance of excitement.

Your thumb strokes his cheek tenderly as his arm reaches over your hips to pull you closer and higher on his lap. Kenma’s eyes are lidded as he gazes at you adoringly, leaning in again to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Before things can escalate again, you press a hand over his mouth, giggling when he kisses your palm instead. “Before we start again, I really am hungry.” You whisper.

Kenma groans as he wills himself up, leaving both of your phones on his desk, setting you to stand but keeping an arm around your waist to trail closely behind while you go to gather the food. He puts on a movie in the living room as you set up the food, and quickly pulls you back into his lap when you attempt to sit on the couch.

“You’re not going to eat?” You ask as you gather a few items onto your plate, already taking a bite.

“In a minute.” Kenma murmurs, cheek pressed against your shoulder as he curls around you, thoroughly content.

You two spend the rest of the night squished together on the couch, hardly leaving each other’s grasp as you fall asleep to some random movie on auto play. Unknown to either of you, both your phones have been absolutely blowing up with mentions as the clip of ‘calling Kenma out’ started trending all over the internet.

—————

a/n: this is probably wildly ooc, but it’s too cute ok, I’m a sucker for yearning and being down bad

#I’m like going insane fr #why can’t i find a man who’s hopelessly down bad for me #god pls #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kozume kenma #haikyuu kenma #kenma x reader #kenma kozume x reader #x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction

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