#except replace gaming with studying

[builders-league-daily]

day 56

[kannady]

do you remember me too?

pairing: sylus x mc reader

synopsis: love and deepspace was a newfound obsession of yours. you installed the game shortly after sylus was released as a love interest. it'd be safe to say he was the reason you installed the app. however, finals week was approaching and you had to say goodbye to your favourite game. not for long, ofcourse. but you decide to login for the last time to check the new event.

word count: 2k

a/n: hey everyone! honestly im loving this ffc so much! its great to see people liking it, it really encourages me to go on. ive been doing tons research on the game before adding characters and im falling in love all over again 😭. please leave your thoughts, id love to know what you think of the story so far!

check out all chapters here

Chapter Three

Badum! Badum!

Could someone's heart burst from their chest from excitement, ecstasy, and confusion? Because yours was about to. Either your eyes were deceiving you, or you had gone insane. There was no other possible explanation. Your mind bombarded you with relentless questions.

The man before you was Zayne. His freshly trimmed black hair glistened under the clinic lights, framing hazel-green eyes that sparkled like gemstones. His sharp nose and chiseled features completed that signature stoic expression. Had you died and gone to heaven?

You gulped, taking hesitant steps toward him. Even now, you couldn't fully believe you stood in the presence of THE Zayne Li. Who could?

What should you do? You'd already resolved not to ask him to prove his existence—he clearly existed, standing right before you. Nor would you show any confusion. While your family might excuse odd behavior, someone of his caliber would diagnose it as delirium—the last thing you wanted.

He scribbled in a file as you approached. Sensing your presence, he glanced up, meeting your gaze over his glasses. Is this how I die? Your heart skipped several beats as your breath caught. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe entirely. Your chest constricted while your palms grew clammy. Maybe your body was overreacting. Unconsciously, you pressed a hand to your chest, forcing a slow inhale.

"Look who finally decided to show up. Take a seat."

Holy shit. He talks!

You weren't mentally prepared for this. The truth was undeniable now—you were inside Love & Deepspace! How else could this be explained? Your stare remained locked on him. He mirrored his game counterpart perfectly, except he was flesh and blood—his ethereal mannerisms and striking features somehow more breathtaking in reality. How was someone like him just a doctor? Under these circumstances, that seemed the only sane question to ask.

"H-hi, sorry I'm late. Traffic, you know," you chuckled nervously, omitting the real reasons.

"Yes, I know. I also know you staged that whole disbelief act to avoid your fate." He gestured around the office.

"Who can escape the Master of Fate?" you muttered under your breath.

"What was that?" His expression, if possible, grew more impassive. He'd definitely heard something—but how much?

"Nothing!" Play it cool. "So, the appointment..." You gestured for him to proceed, eager to escape this suffocating situation. Just an hour ago, you'd been studying for exams—now you conversed with Zayne. Not something that happens everyday.

"Yes, I was supposed to review your test results from last month." He emphasized "last month." Apparently, you—or whoever you'd replaced—had avoided this appointment for thirty days.

"Oh. Am I okay?"

"(Reader), you should've come weeks ago. These results"—he indicated the scattered papers—"are outdated." His displeasure was evident, though it wasn't your fault. You were just inheriting someone else's consequences.

"We can redo the tests." Your suggestion worked instantly. His stern demeanor shifted to bewilderment. "We will. And this time, I'll ensure we get same-day results so you can't flee." His narrowed eyes felt like drills boring into your skull. What had your predecessor done?

Without warning, he stood and headed for the door. "Follow me."

You practically jogged to keep up with his long strides. "S-slow down, Zayne..."

He halted abruptly, making you collide with his rock-solid back. As your eyes met again, the reality of interacting with Zayne still felt surreal. He stepped aside, holding the door open. "We're here." The Pathology Department sign loomed overhead.

For what felt like hours, you followed him through various tests—exhausting but painless. Why would anyone avoid this? Finally, he asked you to wait while processing results, giving you precious time to process your situation. Zayne was real. You'd touched him, confirming this wasn't a dream. Yet your parents and sister existed here too—non-game characters. Unless...you weren't the protagonist. That would explain the discrepancies. But if Zayne was real, then so was—

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Your heart raced painfully fast, breath hitching. Icy fingers clenched as conflicting emotions brewed within you—ecstasy, terror, bewilderment. You needed to see him. Sylus.

"Your results are ready." Zayne's voice snapped you back. Following him blindly, you crashed into him again when he stopped at his office. "God! What do you eat?" You rubbed your forehead.

"It's not dietary. Spinal rigidity can stem from muscle tension, spasms, poor posture, injuries, trauma, sedentary lifestyle, fibromyalgia, chronic pain syndromes, dehydration, or nutrient deficiencies."

"You do realise you just diagnosed yourself, right? Go see a doctor." The corners of his lips quirked briefly—a fleeting smile. Barely visible, but it was there. You’d always remember you had made him smile.

Seated across from him, he frowned at the reports. "These show drastic changes."

"Well, there's a month's gap."

"Drastic changes," he reiterated.

Shit. Does he know?

"Excellent progress. You've followed my advice." He nodded approvingly. Advice? Whatever—you were safe. As he handed you a discharge form, his stare became uncomfortable.

"Why are you staring?"

"Assessing my patient."

"That's weird."

"It's my job."

"Look over there instead." You pointed randomly, hastily completing the form. Amusingly, he actually kept gazing where directed. Beautiful and literal—just like in-game. If Zayne affected you this much, imagining Sylus might stop your heart.

"All done." You stood to leave.

"Wait." Zayne's voice halted you. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"You seem...different."

That was the understatement of the century. You were an imposter, clueless about your predecessor. Before you could respond, he added, "Your handwriting has improved."

My escape route! "I practiced. Anyway, bye!" You bolted.

Outside, reality sank in. Zayne was real. This world was real. But unasnwered questions remained. Who were you here? What was your life? What did you do? There was no one you could ask without seeming like a lunatic. Defeated, you headed home.

"I'm back!" Your mom appeared instantly. "You actually went? How was it?"

"I went! Zayne said I'm fine—following instructions perfectly."

"Wonderful! With the doctor's approval, you're all set!" Her cryptic joy raised more questions, but you feigned exhaustion, retreating upstairs.

Your room stopped you cold. Gone were your familiar belongings—replaced by game merchandise. Honeybee, Succulent Bunny, Comfy Peanut, Snowy Fox plushies. The bookshelf stunned you further: Types and Classes of Wanderers, Ideal Close-Combat Weapons, 50 Wanderer Confrontation Mistakes, Wanderers: Friends or Foes?

Before you could process this, the door flew open. Your sister leaned against the frame, arms crossed, scrutinizing you with a smug expression on her face. After a prolonged silence, she delivered the chilling verdict:

"You're not really you, are you?"

Once again, lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist and share your thoughts!

tags: @zenbutnotreally, @godoffuckedupcats, @noxus123, @madam8, @agustdxjiminx, @liz9898, @lemonn015, @tearydamsel, @diegojeanne, @alyssac9, @dummiebunny

[cowboybabeop]

Vault-Tec Vaults; Game Origin & Location

Hi I'm going to back to my "Fallout Blog" roots. Here is a summary of all of the vaults and experiments (starting with a timeline) because I'm insane ^_^ I had to add a weird break bc I literally hit the tumblr character limit, but I used it to section off the major spoilers for the TV series :)

Timeline

The Great War: October 23rd, 2077

Fallout Bible: Compendium of added lore by the creators.

Fallout 76: 2102

Fallout 1: 2161 

Fallout Tactics: 2197

Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel: 2208

Fallout 2: 2241

Fallout 3: 2277

Fallout: New Vegas: 2281

Fallout 4: 2287

Fallout TV Series: 2296

Corporate Vault - Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel - Texas 

A control group vault meant for Vault-Tec employees to continue research, primarily on FEV (Forced Evolutionary Virus) during the war.

Vault 0 - Fallout Tactics - Colorado 

A control group vault with geniuses kept in cryogenic stasis, with their minds interlinked into an entity called The Calculator.

Vault 3 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

A control vault. Residents ended up opening the vault doors when the lower levels flooded. Eventually the vault was overrun by Fiends.

Vault 4 - Fallout TV series - California 

A test vault that was filled with residents prior to the bombs dropping. Experimentation on human subjects led to most of the original residents being killed in a revolt. In 2296 the vault is still thriving, while kidnapping surface survivors and continuing to experiment on them. The vault offered refuge for many inhabitants of Shady Sands.

Vault 8 (Vault City) - Fallout 2 - Nevada 

A control group vault that remained closed until 2241. Instead of receiving two G.E.C.K. (Garden of Eden Creation Kit) devices, Vault 8 received just one and a replacement water chip that was supposed to go to Vault 13.

Vault 11 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

Every year the residents were told to sacrifice a fellow resident, with the threat of everyone's death if they did not. In reality, the system would praise them for NOT sacrificing an individual and the vault door would be unlocked. This message finally played after only five residents remained.

Vault 12 - Fallout 1 - California 

A seemingly normal, safe vault with an ulterior motive to study the effects of radiation on the inhabitants. The door never fully sealed, and in 2083 the ghoul residents left to found Necropolis.

Vault 13 - Fallout 1 & Fallout 2- California 

Your home vault as the Vault Dweller. A rather normal vault, however due to a shipping mishap Vault 13 received an additional G.E.C.K. device (that was supposed to go to Vault 8) instead of a replacement water chip. Thus, leaving the Vault Dweller to leave the vault in search for a replacement when their only water chip breaks.

Vault 15 - Fallout 1 & Fallout 2 - California 

A vault that experimented with incredibly diverse ideologies and backgrounds. The vault became severely overpopulated in 2097 and the dwellers decided to open the door. Shady Sands was created using Vault 15's G.E.C.K. and the local raider gangs all have origins from this vault.

Vault 17 - Fallout: New Vegas - Mention Only 

Inhabitants were kidnapped and transformed into Super Mutants. Lily originates from this vault.

Vault 19 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

Paranoia was induced by noises, lights, and segregation. The vault was divided into two sections, Red and Blue, with a separate overseer for each sector.

Vault 21 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

An almost normal vault, with the exception of a culture and society built around gambling. All major decisions were made through gambling, with the decision to open the doors and become part of New Vegas being "won" in a game of Blackjack.

Vault 22 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

A vault dedicated to studying agriculture. A fungus designed to kill pests on plants became capable of infected human hosts. Vault 22 is curiously green on the outside by the time The Courier arrives at the location.

Vault 24 - Fallout: New Vegas - Mention Only 

Remnants of a Vault 24 jumpsuit are found in the FNV game files.

Vault 27 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

A vault designed to be deliberately overcrowded with not enough means to sustain the inhabitants.

Vault 29 - Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

Only children younger than 15 were allowed in this vault, with their parents being sent to other vaults. Harold is believed to originate from this vault.

//TV SHOW SPOILERS//

Vault 31 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as cryogenic home for the managers and higher ups of Vault-Tec.

Vault 32 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as a healthy breeding pool for Vault 31 and 33. Somewhere around 2294, Vault 32 failed and the residents resorted to murder, cannibalism, or suicide.

Vault 33 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Lucy MacLean's home vault. Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as a healthy breeding pool for Vault 31 and 32.

//END OF TV SHOW SPOILERS//

Vault 36 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The only food in this vault consisted of thin, watery gruel.

Vault 34 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

The vault was purposefully overstocked with guns with the overseer being able to give/deny access to residents. This inevitably led to it's downfall, and those who revolted and raided the armory relocated above as The Boomers in 2231.

Vault 42 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

No lightbulbs over 40W were provided.

Vault 43 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

A vault containing 20 men, 10 women, and one panther.

Vault 51 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with a supercomputer as the overseer. Interference from the computer led to most of the residents being murdered by other residents.

Vault 53 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only  

Most equipment was designed to break down every few months in order to stress out inhabitants.

Vault 55 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

No entertainment tapes were provided.

Vault 56 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The only entertainment tapes provided were of one terrible comedian.

Vault 63 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

The inside of the vault remains sealed, with the outside door being all that is accessible to the player character. Other parts of the vault are revealed through cut content.

Vault 65 - Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

Remnants of the vault remain in Fallout 76 cut content.

Vault 68 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The vault contained 999 men and 1 woman.

Vault 69 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The vault contained 999 women and 1 man.

Vault 75 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

A secret experimenting in refining human genetics through selective breeding, genetic modification, and hormonal treatments. The vault's concept was made by Stanislaus Braun.

Vault 76 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

The home vault of the player character in 76. It was a control vault, set to open after 25 years. This is when the player character leaves the vault.

Vault 77 - Fallout 3 - Mention Only 

Mentioned by slavers in Paradise Falls, this vault was rumored to only contain one man and a box of puppets.

Vault 79 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault dedicated to hoarding the country's gold reserves.

Vault 81 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

Designed to develop a cure for every possible sickness or ailment. Residents were unknowingly sprayed with diseases by nozzles hidden in their rooms. The first vault overseer had thought this to be cruel, cut off the scientists from the rest of the vault and cut the nozzles from spraying residents before the experiments could begin.

Vault 87 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The original vault experiment for 87 was scrapped, and it became a research center for FEV, leaving the vault wildly radioactive and inhabited only by super mutants by the time you access it as the Lone Wanderer.

Vault 88 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

An unfinished vault inhabited by ghouls.

Vault 92 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The best musicians were sent to this vault to "preserve musical talent", but truthfully residents were subjected to subliminal messages mixed into white noise. Eventually some of the musicians went into random, murderous, psychotic rages that led to the end of the experiment.

 Vault 94 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with non-violent faith-centric inhabitants. The vault opened one year later to search for survivors. The vault became overrun by wastelanders and raiders that destroyed their G.E.C.K. and their nuclear reactor. The vault was swarmed with radiation and is now overrun by mirelurks.

Vault 95 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

A vault designed to get people clean and sober. After a successful 5 years, a Vault-Tec agent brought out a hidden stash of drugs for other residents to find.

Vault 96 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with a focus on agriculture, animals, genetics, and mutations. The original residents were killed in a failed escape attempt, and the vault was then used by West-Tek scientist Edgar Blackburn to continue research on FEV.

Vault 100 - Fallout 3 - Mention Only 

Remnants of Vault 100 can be found in game files and cut content.

Vault 101 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The home vault for the Lone Wanderer. This vault was meant to never open and Vault 101 did not receive a G.E.C.K. However, the overseer of the vault pretty quickly broke this rule and occasional survey teams were sent to the surface. Several residents of Megaton are the result of these survey teams. Daddy James found the vault after the birth of the Lone Wanderer and negotiated his doctoral services in exchange for shelter.

Vault 106 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

Psychoactive drugs slowly released into the air of Vault 106, causing the vault to be filled with psychotic survivors by the time the Lone Wanderer visits.

Vault 108 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

A slew of experiments occurred in this vault. The elected overseer was dying of cancer, the primary power supply of the vault was scheduled to fail after 20 years, the backup power supply would not be enough to power ALL of the vault, the vault was given three times the normal amount of weapons, and the vault was not given entertainment. With a majority of scientists, one of the inner experiments involved repeatedly cloning the same man... Gary.

Vault 111 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

Your home vault as the Sole Survivor. All residents were meant to unknowingly stay in cryostasis, with scientists overlooking them. However, conflicts arose among those unfrozen, leading to the vault door eventually being opened.

Vault 112 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

Residents lived in a virtual reality simulation to create their "perfect life" with their overseer, Stanislaus Braun, a scientist who proceeded to use the residents as playthings. Braun continuously murdered residents, then wiped their memories and reset the simulation.

Vault 114 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

 An unfinished vault meant for only the wealthy. Vault-Tec exaggerated the luxury of the vault, gave residents very small rooms, communal bathing and dining areas, and a homeless drug-addicted overseer named Soup Can Harry.

Vault 118 - Fallout 4 - Maine 

An Unfinished Vault meant to house both a handful of ultra-rich and hundreds of working class individuals to observe how they would interact within the same space.

Vault 120 - Fallout 4 & Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

The vault itself was meant to mimic the underwater atmosphere of Bioshock. The game was cut from Fallout 4, but remnants can be found in Fallout 76 game files.

[voxslays]

CLOSE TO YOU — THE SALESMAN

PART TWO — OTHER WAYS OF PERSUASION. PAIRINGS: The Salesman (Gong Yoo) x Reader. WARNINGS: Mentions of kidnapping (sort of), not proofread. A/N: I wrote this at 2 am… sorry for any mistakes lol

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Why don’t we play a game?”

Was this man insane? Yes, yes he was considering everything that Gi-hun had told you. It was obvious this man had no good intentions. You chuckle. “You’re funny.” You say with a deep sarcasm. “That won’t work on us.” You smile brightly. There was no way any of you would fall for any of his old tricks. He threw Ddakji with strangers on the subway for a living—how smart could he really be?

“Are you sure, miss?” The recruiter says, his deep charcoal eyes looking into your soul. It unsettled you. How could a living person have eyes that looked so dead inside? You paused, your gaze lingering on his for a moment too long. “That’s enough.” Gi-hun says, sensing the obvious tension as he stares down the recruiter. “Where’s the island?” The recruiter just chuckles to himself. “Why would I tell you?”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Jun-ho adds. “And what will you do? Kill me, Mr. Seong Gi-hun? I thought you were better than that.” He pouts mockingly. Gi-hun nearly bursts a vein from the intensity of his clenched jaw. “You’d rather die than admit you’re their pathetic little dog that they’ll replace the moment your pulse dies.”

The recruiter’s eyes narrow. “And what about you? You’re just trash that got lucky enough to escape the dumpster.” He slicks back his hair again, his other hand still handcuffed to the rail on the side of the cream colored bathtub.

“I’m going to stop these games once and for all.” You carefully study Gi-hun’s concentrated expression. “I’m going to stop your superior, whoever the may be.” You shift uncomfortably on the balls of your feet, the tension floating through the air. “Good luck with that, Player 456.”

You hear the creak of a door opening. You slowly turn your head, only to be met with Woo-Seok standing in the doorway completely nude except for his navy blue boxers. Gross. “What happened to you?” You ask mockingly. “You look like shit.” Woo-Seok takes a deep breath. “Mr. Kim is dead.” He pauses again, carrying an invisible burden you only wish you could lighten.

“He was-” Woo-Seok looks behind you into the thin stained glass walls separating the rest of the room from the bathroom—straight into the eyes of the recruiter, who was still being questioned by Gi-hun. “That asshole!” Woo-Seok yells, abruptly running into the bathroom, leaving you all alone in the main entrance.

Whatever was coming next, it wasn’t good

[arcadia-smith]

Note: Gonna be like 4 or 5 parts of this one. I've had this planned for so long.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: I think the title speaks for itself.

TW: idk, angst, fem!reader is a traitor, Simon Riley is pissed. Mention of blood, torture. Let me know if I've missed anything.

Flashback—Two Years Ago

The campfire crackled, casting flickering orange light over the small clearing. It was one of those rare nights—no mission, no gunfire in the distance, no orders barking through comms. Just a handful of them out in the open, the cold air nipping at their skin while smoke curled into the dark sky.

Ghost sat across from you, mask off, but the skull-painted balaclava still hung around his neck. A rare sight, one not many got to see. His face was all sharp angles, tired eyes shadowed by the weight of too many sleepless nights.

“You keep staring like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’re in love with me,” you teased, poking at the fire with a stick.

He huffed, shaking his head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

Ghost leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. The firelight made his eyes glow, sharp and unreadable. “You always like playing games?”

Something in his voice made you pause. The teasing between you was common, but there was something different about tonight. The air was heavier. Charged.

“Depends on the game,” you murmured.

He studied you for a long moment, the quiet stretching between you. Around you, the others had already begun turning in for the night, leaving just the two of you with the fire and the dark.

Ghost’s voice was quieter when he finally spoke again.

“You ever think about leaving?”

You frowned. “Leaving what?”

“This life. The missions. The constant fightin’.” His fingers flexed, curling into loose fists. “Ever think about just... walking away?”

You exhaled slowly, considering him. “No,” you lied.

Ghost gave a short, knowing laugh. “Bullshit.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. The thought had crossed your mind before—more than once. The weight of it all, the things you'd done, the blood staining your hands. There were nights you dreamed of just disappearing.

But you never thought he did.

You watched him carefully. “Why are you asking?”

His gaze flickered to the fire, jaw tight. “No reason.”

You nudged his boot with yours. “Liar.”

Something passed over his expression—something raw, something real. It made your stomach twist, made you want to reach for him, to—

“I just…” He hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. Then, softer, “There’s gotta be more than this. More than just killin’ and losin’ people and waiting for the next fight.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Because, in the end, that was all you knew, wasn’t it?

You forced a smile. “You planning on running off, Riley?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Not without you.”

The words hit you harder than expected.

Not without you.

You swallowed, the fire crackling between you, the world feeling too small all of a sudden.

If things had been different...

Maybe.

You nudged his boot again, this time softer. “Better be careful, Ghost. Someone might think you actually care about me.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke.

Instead, he just held your gaze and said, “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

And for the first time in a long time—you didn’t have anything clever to say back.

Present

Your wrists are bound. Ankles too. The cold steel of the chair presses against your spine, the weight of your capture sinking in. But you don't beg. You don't cry. You simply watch him.

Ghost stands before you, arms crossed, the balaclava masking everything except those sharp, piercing eyes. Eyes that had once softened around you. That softness is gone now. Replaced by something colder. Something lethal.

“You gonna start talking?” His voice is rough, scraped raw from battle, from betrayal. From you.

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “About what?”

His gloved fingers curl into fists at his sides. He’s not stupid. You knows that. He’s watching, waiting, searching for the lie before it even leaves your lips.

“Don’t pretend you’re some meek, pathetic little girl,” he growls, stepping closer, the weight of him suffocating. “Not when I can see that vicious mind working behind your eyes.”

Your lips twitch—half amusement, half something else. “You always did see too much.”

“And yet, not enough,” he spits. His hands slam down on the arms of the chair, caging you in. “I trusted you.”

Something flickers in your expression, something so quick that most wouldn’t have caught it. But Ghost does. Regret? Guilt? No. It’s not that simple, is it?

“You shouldn’t have,” you murmur.

His fingers twitch like he wants to grab you, shake you, make you tell him why you did it. Why you sold them out. Why you left him picking up the bodies of men who should still be alive.

Instead, he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his mask like it might help steady him.

“You don’t get to sit there and act like this wasn’t your choice.” His voice is lower now, dangerous in a different way. “You chose this. Chose to lie. Chose to betray us. Betray me.”

Your gaze drops to his chest, the black combat vest littered with dirt, dust, blood—none of it his. You wonder how much of that blood is because of you.

When you speak again, your voice is quiet. Almost regretful.

“If you were in my position, you would have done the same.”

Ghost goes still. His entire body. Like a predator moments before the kill.

“I’d never be in your position.”

You smile then—small, sad. “That’s what you think.”

For the first time, uncertainty flickers in those dark eyes of his. And you know you're still in his head, whether he wants you there or not.

But Ghost is nothing if not relentless. And he’s going to get his answers. One way or another.

And you?

You're going to make him work for them.

It’s a standoff, a battle not fought with fists or bullets but with patience and will.

He’s waiting for you to break.

You're waiting for him to snap.

The dim light above you flickers, casting shadows that stretch and twist across the cold concrete walls. Somewhere outside this room, soldiers are cleaning up the mess you left behind. Counting bodies. Patching wounds. Cursing your name.

You wonder if any of them are still defending you. If any of them think maybe there’s an explanation.

But Ghost isn’t like them. He doesn’t deal in maybes. He deals in facts. In truths. And right now, the only truth that matters is that you put a bullet in the trust he once had for you.

His fingers twitch at his sides. Small. Almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

He’s angry.

Good.

You tilt your head, pushing against the restraints just enough to test them, to remind him that you're still here. “You gonna hit me, Simon?”

His jaw tightens.

You say his name on purpose, tasting the weight of it. Simon. Not Ghost. Not the soldier. The man.

But the man is gone, buried beneath layers of war and loss and rage.

“You’re not worth the effort,” he mutters.

You chuckle, the sound light despite the situation. “That’s not what you used to think.”

Ghost stiffens.

There it is. The crack.

You lean forward as much as the bindings allow, your voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “Tell me, do you hate me more because of what I did? Or because you didn’t see it coming?”

Ghost’s breath flares through the mask. His shoulders square, tension winding through every muscle like a wire pulled too tight.

Then, suddenly, he moves.

You barely have time to process before his gloved hand grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. It’s not gentle. But it’s not cruel either. It’s something in between, something laced with frustration, with an anger he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

His thumb brushes against your jaw, just for a second. A ghost of something softer.

And then—

“You have no idea how close you are to finding out exactly how much I hate you,” he murmurs, voice dark.

You swallow. Not fear. Something else.

His eyes burn into yours, and you realize with certainty—

Ghost is not here for vengeance. Not yet.

No, he’s here for the truth.

And he’s going to tear you apart to get it.

Ghost steps back, a shadow falling over you as he moves to the table beside you. The clink of metal as he retrieves something—a pair of pliers, a knife, a set of instruments. Tools for precision, for control, for breaking a person in more ways than one.

You don't flinch.

Don't give him the satisfaction of reacting.

“Still playing tough?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.

You don't answer. There’s nothing left to say.

Simon’s fingers linger over the pliers before he sets them down with a soft clink, his eyes still on you. “I should’ve known better. You were always good at hiding what was underneath.”

The words catch in your throat. A memory—of laughter, of something real between you, of trust that now feels like a cruel joke.

Your lips part. "I never lied to you."

Ghost’s eyes flash at the statement, like the very idea of you suggesting any innocence on your part angers him. "You didn’t need to. You betrayed me without saying a word. Without hesitation."

A beat of silence, and then he steps forward again, crouching so he’s eye level with you. The mask hides everything, but his posture speaks volumes. This isn’t just about information anymore. It’s personal.

"Tell me why," he demands, voice raw, "why the hell you did it."

You meet his gaze—cold, calculating. There’s nothing in your eyes now. Not fear, not guilt. Just silence.

The silence eats at him. You know it does.

And he knows that you know.

Simon’s hand snaps out like lightning, grabbing you by the jaw with an iron grip. Your teeth click together, the pressure of his fingers hard enough to make you see stars.

"I won't ask again," he growls.

You don't blink. Don't give him the satisfaction of even a flicker of weakness.

"Then you’ll never get an answer," you retort, voice tight but defiant.

His grip tightens.

"God, you’re stubborn." He lets out a harsh breath, more exasperated than angry now. His fingers leave your jaw, and he steps back. "Fine. You wanna play it like this? You wanna be a goddamn enigma?"

You don't respond.

For a long moment, he stands there, staring at you, calculating. You can see the storm swirling behind his eyes, and for the first time since the betrayal, you wonders if he’s considering breaking you. For good.

Then, to your surprise, he steps back even further, turning his back to you.

A loud clink echoes in the room as he picks up a chair, spinning it around before sitting down, his broad frame leaning into the backrest, arms crossed over his chest.

"Not gonna make it easy, huh?" he mutters, almost to himself. "Thought you might’ve learned something from your time with us."

You lift an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smirk curling your lips. "I’m not your puppet, Simon. Never was."

He narrows his eyes, glaring over his shoulder. "We’ll see about that."

Another long silence.

Then—

Click.

Your head snaps up at the sound of something sharp. Ghost is holding a knife now, just barely out of your line of sight, running it lightly over the edge of the table. The sound alone is enough to send a shiver through you.

"You’ve never been good at waiting, have you?" He tilts his head, his voice softening just a little. It’s the calm before the storm, and you both know it. "You always had to be in control. I gave you control. I trusted you. And now look where we are."

Simon’s eyes narrow dangerously. He leans forward slowly, placing the knife on the table with deliberate precision.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, Simon hesitates. His eyes flicker toward the blade, then back to her.

“Answer me, and I’ll make it quick,” he says, his tone now laced with an edge you haven't heard in years. "Why. Did. You. Do. It?"

You don't answer.

Because the truth is too damn heavy.

And Simon—Ghost—isn’t ready to hear it.

[diamonddaze01]

tarararara my love! for your drabble game i wanna do prompt no. 6 but with a twist-

Do you like me? Check yes or yes

the ball is in your court now bub!

do you like me?

pairing: wonwoo x reader, law school au | wc: 944 prompt: "Do you like me? check yes or yes" | warnings: none a/n: dedicated to both @svtiddiess and @tusswrites bc the greatest minds think alike

The library was quieter than usual, the usual hum of stressed-out law students replaced by the rhythmic scratching of pens and flipping of pages. You and Jeon Wonwoo had somehow claimed a table near the window—a rare truce in the ongoing cold war of your academic rivalry.

You weren’t entirely sure how it started. Maybe it was the time he answered a question in Contracts class before you could, perfectly articulating the rule of consideration in a way that had the professor beaming. Or maybe it was the time you aced your Civil Procedure exam, and he shot you that unreadable glance as he exited the lecture hall, his graded paper tucked discreetly under his arm. Somewhere along the line, though, it became a thing: Jeon Wonwoo vs. You.

You were loud, unabashed, and utterly relentless in debates. Wonwoo? Quiet, methodical, and terrifyingly sharp. It was as though the universe had handpicked you to be polar opposites, with one mutual goal: finishing top of the class.

It wasn’t just about ego—though you’d never admit how much satisfaction you felt when you won. For you, being at the top meant proving that your voice mattered, that you could command a room even in the cutthroat world of law. For him, you suspected it was different. Wonwoo worked with a quiet precision that seemed to come from something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place. He was impossible to read, and maybe that’s what frustrated you the most.

The rivalry only grew fiercer with time: whispered debates in the hallway after class, stolen glances at each other’s grades, the occasional sarcastic jab when you passed in the library. It had become a fixture of your law school experience.

So why were you here, sitting across from him in the library? That was another story.

It started two weeks ago, when the Professor of Legal Ethics—who clearly took pleasure in student suffering—had paired you two for a moot court assignment. The project was simple: argue a mock case against each other, with grades determined by individual performance.

You’d scoffed at the announcement. “Of course,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

He’d glanced at you, an amused glint in his eyes. “Don’t sound too excited.”

The idea of working with him—of watching him meticulously dismantle your arguments before you even had a chance to deliver them—should have been unbearable. But instead, you’d found yourself suggesting, “We should prep together. You know, scope out the competition.”

Wonwoo had hesitated, his lips twitching in what might have been amusement. “You’re offering to help me beat you?”

“Who said I’m helping you?” you’d shot back, grinning. “I just want to see if you’re as good as everyone says.”

Now here you were, begrudging study partners, buried under stacks of legal texts and sharing a tense but surprisingly comfortable silence. Except you couldn’t focus. Not because of the assignment—your case brief was flawless—but because of him.

Wonwoo, with his quiet determination, his maddening focus, and his infuriating ability to make your heart race with just a glance. You didn’t know when it started—when the rivalry began to feel less like competition and more like curiosity. When his sharp intelligence stopped annoying you and started fascinating you instead.

Maybe it was last week, when he had stayed late after your prep session, walking with you to the parking lot under the glow of the streetlights. The conversation had been light, easy—unexpectedly so. You’d caught him smiling, not his usual smirk but something softer, almost shy. It had lingered with you far longer than it should have.

Or maybe it was the other day, when you’d caught him lost in thought, glasses slipping down his nose as he scribbled something in the margins of his notebook. He had looked up at you then, catching you staring, and raised an eyebrow in question. You had blurted something incoherent about “legal precedents” before burying your face in your notes, your cheeks burning.

You were doomed.

Tonight wasn’t any better. He was scribbling furiously in his textbook, his pen tapping softly against the edge of the page. You should have been working on your counterarguments, but instead, you were folding a piece of notebook paper into an origami crane.

After a few moments, you slid the crane across the table to him. Wonwoo didn’t look up at first, too engrossed in his notes, but when the crane nudged his hand, he paused. His sharp eyes flicked to yours, and you gave him your best innocent smile.

He carefully unfolded the crane. Inside, in your bold handwriting, were the words: “Do you like me? Check yes or yes.” Below, you’d drawn two boxes, both labeled “yes,” along with a winking face for good measure.

Wonwoo blinked at the note, his expression unreadable. But then, his ears turned a shade of red so deep you could practically hear your heart screaming.

You stared, waiting, your pulse thundering in your ears. And then, to your surprise, he smirked.

Pulling out his pen, he checked one of the boxes. Then, with deliberate care, he tore off the bottom half of the paper, scribbled something, and slid it back to you.

You unfolded it, your chest tight with anticipation. Written in his small, neat handwriting was: “Can you quiet down now? I’m trying to focus.” Below it, he’d drawn a tiny, lopsided heart.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible,” you murmured.

Wonwoo didn’t respond, but the pink flush creeping up his neck and the faint twitch of his lips told you everything you needed to know.

Somehow, the rivalry didn’t feel like a competition anymore.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[simkoos]

as a cc creator you often look back at your old creations and think "yea i could've done that so much better lmao". that's kind of been my mindset for the last couple of months. so i decided to clean up and revive (yet again) some of my older cc collections!

meshes have been fixed (some objects didn't even have all lod's or shadowmaps smh) or moderately edited to conform to my current aesthetics

textures have been hugely improved along with better color palettes, neater normals and speculars

please delete all old files before adding these! they will replace in-game but you cannot have the old versions and the new versions installed at the same time. 

~~~

12pm includes 6 items just as the originals. the panda bank is now functional if you have ravasheen's 'in your safe piggy bank' mod installed.

fps includes 3 items. (you can find the originals here) both video game consoles require city living.

home includes 8 items, originally 6. both the shelves and desk have way more slots for extra storage!

liselotte includes 6 items. the original set is still available here if you prefer that instead. not a lot has been changed except for minor edits to the folded towels and a mesh replacement of the toothbrushes. also i've left out the bath robes since i personally don't have a use for them since that one bg recolor update lol.

plant mom includes 11 items. one of my all time fave sets, which can be found here, again if you prefer that.

study group includes 14 items now, 6 more than the originals.  i've added accessory backpacks for all ages except infant and toddler. and now the deco backpacks can be used as storage if you have ravasheen's 'hoarders simnonymous' mod installed.

switch includes 11 items. everything is basically the same as in the original post. only a few minor touches here and there. i added a thermostat, which requires seasons. and a newly added electrical outlet with safety plugs. all light switches are functional if you have the bathroom clutter kit and littledica's functional light switch override.

~~~

download (always free on patreon)

[alltimecharlo]

luvvv ur rookie!will vet!mack au !! i think there's sm potential for jealous rookie!will freaking out when a new rookie starts clearly trying to compete w/ him for mack's attention... except mack literally doesn't care to entertain anyone besides will :P

thank you!!! it’s an au that’s particularly dear to me <3 and yes!!! hehe i love this idea 🩵 fic under the cut!!

Will knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows. He tells himself that five times before breakfast and ten times during morning skate, and again when he sees Mack at the end of practice, stretched out on the bench in the locker room like he owns the place, sweaty hair pushed off his forehead, untaping his stick like it’s the most important thing in the world.

And okay, yeah, he probably does own the place. He’s the captain. He’s a legend. He’s Macklin Celebrini, for God’s sake. First overall almost a decade ago. Franchise cornerstone. Still plays like he’s twenty even though he’s pushing thirty.

And he’s Will’s. Kind of. At least, Will thinks so.

Which is why the new guy—some hotshot rookie winger they just called up from the AHL—is driving Will absolutely insane.

Cade fucking Morgan.

Cade is all sharp jawlines and too-loud laughs and hey Cap, you ever played in Calgary in February? like he wants Mack to personally write him a memoir about his career. He’s been glued to Mack’s side since he arrived, peppering him with questions, bumping his shoulder in the gym, and making comments like, "Damn, you’re still the fastest out there. Unreal."

Mack takes it all in stride, polite and composed, but never overly warm. Just enough to not be a dick. Just enough to keep things team-friendly.

But Will sees it. The way Cade watches Mack. The way he hovers. And it lights something hot and ugly inside Will’s chest.

“You good?” Toff asks from the stall next to him. Will startles. He hadn’t realized he was gripping the bench so hard.

“Yeah,” he lies. “Just tired.”

Toff looks unconvinced. “You’ve been glowering at Morgs all day.”

“I have not.”

“You look like you’re planning his funeral.”

Will huffs. “He’s annoying.”

Toff shrugs. “You’re annoying. Mack doesn’t seem to mind.”

Will doesn’t answer. Because the thing is—Mack doesn’t mind. Will can be annoying and clingy and way too obvious, and Mack still picks him out of the crowd every single time. He still texts him late at night just to send him Instagram Reels. He still makes Will his linemate. He still knocks on Will’s door after road games like he can’t sleep without seeing him.

So why does Will feel like he’s being replaced?

He’s sulking in his room that night when there’s a knock at the door.

It opens without him saying anything, because Mack never waits.

“Hey,” Mack says, stepping inside with his usual confidence, tossing a granola bar at Will’s bed. “You didn’t come to team dinner.”

“Wasn’t hungry.”

Mack raises a brow. “You’re always hungry.”

Will shrugs. He’s trying to look disaffected, but his face is probably doing that thing where it betrays every single feeling he’s ever had.

Mack studies him for a second. “Is this about Cade?”

Will’s eyes snap up. “What? No.”

Mack smiles. It’s small and infuriating. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not jealous,” Will says, way too fast.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You were thinking it.”

Mack walks closer, stopping at the edge of the bed. “Will. Come on. You really think I’d pick anyone over you?”

Will doesn’t answer. Not right away. Then, finally, in a quiet voice: “He’s good. And he’s… into you.”

Mack laughs, surprised. “Into me?”

Will scowls. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“Will,” Mack says again, softer now. “You’re my favorite rookie. That hasn’t changed. It’s not going to change.”

Will looks up at him, heart pounding. “Yeah?”

Mack sits on the bed beside him, close enough their knees touch. “Yeah. You think I’d sneak into Cade’s room after lights out?”

Will flushes. “No.”

“Exactly.” Mack bumps his shoulder. “Now quit sulking. You’re cute when you’re jealous but it’s a little tragic.”

Will groans and flops back on the bed. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“…Shut up.”

Mack just grins and leans over him, bracing himself with a hand on either side of Will’s face. Then he kisses him. Once, twice—slow and sure. Then again and again, sweet, quick little kisses pressed to his cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. Will giggles, breathless, a flush creeping up his neck.

Mack beams at him, full and soft and impossibly fond. “See?” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the corner of Will’s mouth. “Only you.”

Will’s still grinning, still warm all over. “Okay,” he says, because it’s the only word left in his brain.

Mack settles in next to him like he’s never planning to leave.

Will guesses he can live with that.

♡

[snowmoonwrites]

Hare - Hunting

Tokyo Debunker: Taiga x MC/Reader Tags: Smut, Oral Sex, Biting Kink, Dub-con, Slight blood, PIV Sex

It had been an uninteresting day. The most that happened were the boring classes, which you took together with Luca and Kaito. Thus, you didn’t think your night would be any more thrilling. Your totally boring night started with your usual nightly routine, followed by falling asleep in your usual bed. Totally boring night, except somehow your bed wasn’t the one where you woke up as you tried to roll to your other side. 

The reason you noticed all this was the handcuffs on you, limiting your movements. The sheets were also different, the room wasn’t your own. Alarm bells started to go off in your brain as you tried to rationalize your situation. You probably were still on school grounds, given the Academy’s surveillance system. So, somewhere on Campus. Great. Just great. You somehow managed to get kidnapped by someone.

“Hello?” You tentatively called out when you heard rustling from the dark. 

A laugh echoed through the dark. You knew that voice. Everything clicked. All the flirting the two of you have done in its slightly deranged way culminated in this. In being handcuffed in his bed in the middle of the night.

“Taiga?”

“Is my new lucky charm awake?” Came his voice from the dark. As your eyes started to get used to the dark you could take out his silhouette, sitting in his damn chair. His elbows rested on his spread legs, leaning forward to study his captive.

“Do you know why you are here?” 

“No?”

A bullet flew into the headboard. Clearly, tonight this is not the mostly sane Taiga you have to deal with. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to be the completely deranged one either. You might just get out of this alive.

“Well, of course it is to gamble! And the bet is none other than you. The game is also you. I think I found my favorite gambling den. My room.” He climbed onto his bed, leaning on one of his hands while running the gun’s muzzle on your naked thigh. Why do you just sleep in panties again? Why did you ever think it is a valid sleepwear? 

You were frozen half in fear, half in arousal as the gun’s path was replaced by Taiga settling between your thighs. As his mouth came closer to your skin, the harsher you breathed in the air around you. His eyes flashed towards you as his sharp teeth sank into your sensitive inner thigh.

You didn’t dare to flinch at the pain, lest his sharklike fangs tear a part out of you. Only a whine left your mouth at the feeling of him nibbling on your thighs. While he didn’t sink his fangs into you enough to tear a chunk out, you could feel the way some blood dripped down as he pierced your skin.

You wondered whether you tasted good. After all, you were slowly becoming an anomaly, weren’t you? Perhaps your blood was already changing. Was it at least as tasty as the Like Dove was? You didn’t dare to ask, just watched as your blood stained his lips.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been aroused at the vision before you, as his lips were red by your blood, as his tongue chased your flavor. Even though you couldn’t move to your heart’s content. Even the way you were left to his whims was hot.

As he unceremoniously got rid of your clothes, meaning the literal tearing of your shirt and panties, you shrieked of the cold air touching your skin. Which were shortly replaced by his body heat and sharp teeth marking you up, making small droplets of blood appear from time to time on your whole body. 

By the time he reached your breasts, and then your neck, sucking bruises into your skin, your tears were running down your face. While slight biting wouldn’t usually disturb you. This was too much already. 

Your tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard you tried to keep them back. Quiet sobs left your throat. You heard Taiga tsk above you and you flinched. You didn’t want to anger him. It wasn’t like you could do anything with your lowish pain tolerance!

He grabbed your chin, making you face him.

“Argh. My lucky charm should be pretty for me without crying. Be a good girl and then I’m gonna reward you later.”

He threaded his fingers through your hair, gently petting you before yanking on it. His other hand found your aroused cunt and started playing with you as if you were some of his gamble chips. 

“How about you put that pretty mouth to work?” He lifted you towards his groin, looking painfully aroused, by your hair, somewhat conscious of your tied hands. Your head landed on his thigh, his hand still playing with you, unbothered by your reactions, whether it was whine as he was too forceful while plunging his fingers into you or a pleasured gasp when he found just the right spots.

You managed to get his fly open. Why was he still in normal pants? Wasn’t he getting ready to sleep before he kidnapped you? Well, it didn’t matter. While your hands lacked some mobility due to the cuffs, you managed to maneuver his erection out of his slacks.

You looked up at him as you slowly licked him, laying kittenish licks at the head. When he grunted encouraging you, you took him deeper. Trying to build a rhythm while not salivating too much was hard in your position. But you tried your best. Sucking gently, alternating small licks with board ones when you came up for air. 

He seemed to be enjoying your attention, but found it lacking, given how he reasserted his grip on your hair and started pulling you around on his cock to his satisfaction. You grunted at his rough treatments, tears not yet dried up started to run down your cheeks again. Your own pleasure was a thing only existing in the back of your mind. His fingers playing you on the razor sharp edge between pleasure and agony were insignificant in front of him. You were here to satisfy his urges, you didn’t even dare to think about demanding anything of him in this mood of his. 

“That is a nice look,” he looked down on you. Pulling you completely onto his cock until you slightly choked on him, making the tears double. He did it again, and again. You didn’t know what was more enjoyable for him. Your debauched look or the actual feeling of your mouth and throat. 

When your teeth accidentally touched his member, he hissed up. At least he did feel pain too. He yanked your head back, pulling you up and into a bruising kiss. His teeth catching on your lower lip, bringing more blood forth and into his mouth. 

“You taste good, don’t ya think?” It was an obvious rhetorical question, but you nodded along to be safe. Not like it mattered. He manhandled you onto your belly, pulling you onto your knees. Gaining easy access to your wet and ready opening.

“Now be a good little lucky charm and sing for me,” he commended as he slammed himself into you. Even if you were ready for him, the speed and roughness tore a scream from your throat. And he wasn’t in a mood to set a languid pace even after that. His thrusts were demanding, hard, and fast. Each and every one aimed to bruise you while giving himself pleasure. 

When all of his thrusts touched your favourite spot, it was never for your sake. He loved the fluttering of your walls around him. The way he could do anything to you and you still came back for more. Wet, ready, and needy for him to play with you.

You didn’t know how long it was since you have started, when he felt you weren’t giving you enough pleasure, he slapped your ass to make you tighten on him. When he was feeling merciful he played with your clit to make you come on his cock, not stopping for a second. Even as you cried from overstimulation while you came down from your high. It didn’t matter how hoarse your voice became, how tired you got. 

As orgasm after orgasm was wretched from you, your energy drained as well. By the time of your fourth one, you were drooling onto the pillow. You didn’t know whether he came already or not. Time was relative by your 6th one. Vision going blurry as you lay there, moaning brokenly, with new bite marks all over your back. 

You remembered the seconds before you blacked out vividly. Taiga pulled your hair, making you arch into every punishing trust. His breath in your ear as he huskily told you “That’s my good toy.” before he bit into your shoulder with strength. 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

When you opened your eyes it was morning. You were lying in your own bed. As if nothing happened at night. But no. As you got up to get ready for another day, your wrists were red. Your body littered in bite marks and bruises. 

Taiga certainly would do this again, you thought while putting up your usual makeup. As you pulled up your shoes you decided to stop by Sinostra today. After all, while you were all in for these night escapades, the most comfortable chair in the Casino was Taiga’s lap. And given your title as his lucky charm, you can walk in, plop yourself down and doze if you wished so. 

It wasn’t your style to let him be satisfied with one night. He will come back for more. He Always Does. Just as he should. If not. Well, he isn’t the only one with handcuffs lying around. You smiled sinisterly as you skipped out the dorm, disregarding the aches in your body. They were the rewards of your labor of catching a tiger.

[literaila]

Make a list of every single shenanigan teenage reader and Gojo have done

Doesn't have to be detailed I just want to know what these losers did to make Yaga so mad

• broke a vending machine because gojo kept trying to pull the drink reader wanted out of the machine with cursed energy instead of letting her pay for it

• accidentally bleached everyone’s clothes when it was readers turn to do laundry because gojo swore he “knew a secret”

• broke a tv remote when wrestling over it because gojo kept turning the volume up to 1000% when reader was trying to sleep

• set the oven on fire when trying to bake a cake for suguru’s birthday and then gojo “accidentally” pointed the fire extinguisher at reader instead of the oven and ruined her clothes

• picked the locks to the gym so reader could show gojo how to take the basketball hoops off of the wall

• spent a whole day scaring people by gojo teleporting them both around into peoples rooms for “practice”

• stole a car in the middle of the night just for fun

• when everyone was gone one weekend the two of them just went around everyone’s dorms and replaced the framed photos of their families with pictures of gojo

• developed a dance routine except the “dance routine” involved them tackling each other in the classroom and getting suspended from class for three days

• when reader found out that gojo was using his six eyes to cheat a look at his christmas presents and pulled his hair until he was crying from his pretty blue eyes

• sneaking away from group outings at popular districts to go and get dessert approximately 17 times

• sneaking out in the middle of night to get gas station food and inevitably getting caught each time because of the barriers around jujutsu high approximately 26 times (yaga but a deadbolt on the outside of gojo’s room to lock him in but then he learned how to teleport)

• “forgetting” to complete their chores and spend their time beating each other at video games instead

• hiding all of the food in the kitchen in suguru’s dorm and replacing it with empty bottles of suguru’s fancy hair conditioner that they’d both been collecting for up to six months

• pretending that the other died for multiple hours at least once each (everyone believed it)

• throwing everyone a surprise birthday party (so it wasn’t a surprise after the 3rd time) but timing it so that yaga would only show up after everyone was gone and the classroom was a mess

• changing the newspaper out with fake versions to mess with yaga (this is readers personal favorite. also includes more pictures of gojo)

• endless prank phone calls

• literally endless (suguru eventually stole satoru’s phone but they would just use readers instead and shoko threatened to stab them both where “no one would realize it wasn’t an accident”)

• kept messing with nanami’s coffee in the mornings until eventually he got a thermos with a lid instead of a mug

• reader picked haibaras lock and they drew on his face (he thought it was funny though ((includes chibi gojo))

• reader got geto to start collecting fly heads and he assisted the two of them in letting them go in the common room right before yaga came back from lunch

• stealing the files yaga had on the gojo clan

• using shokos medical books that she “studies” to make paper airplanes to see whose would fly the furthest

• gojo replacing readers sheets with digimon ones (she kept them)

• making six voo doo dolls of yaga and leaving them around campus (you know how he feels about stuffed animals)

• reader hiding all of gojo’s candy in the library where he would never find it (yaga sat him down the next day and accused him of using school space as his own personal pantry and got banished to the library for several sparring lessons)

• sparring so late at night that suguru would inevitably send a curse to bite satoru

[americas-ass-writing]

Not the game they play

Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 4.1k

Summary: An arranged marriage flips your life upside down. What you thought you knew about your family doesn't seem to be true at all. How will Steve and you navigate your life together?

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, a swear word here and there, insulting of Sarah Rogers, yes that needed to be a warning, difficult family relationship, if I missed anything please let me know

A/N: This is the first part of a series. I had this idea for over two years with some scenes already written out or well thought through. Thank you all for encouraging me to finally do something with it. But don't come for me, you wanted this!

I promised to tag the lovely @ronearoundblindly 🩷

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Chapter One - Cannot stop the rain

The constant bustle of people and their conversations were a white noise like no other. One you can't concentrate on too long, especially when you have to hold conversation with whoever thought it was his turn to smooze a king.

Steve hates galas. He hates the pretentiousness that came with them and the people who attended but most of all he hates that he had no choice but to go. A king missing one of these was only excused when a serious matter arose. And those don't come by easily when you need them. He yearned for the times when he didn't need to attend these things, back when his mom still was the reigning queen and shielded him from this world. But with his mom gone he had to step up.

Gone where the days he travelled the world, studied art and made new friends. So easily replaced with duty and grief... and a stupid crown on his head. He was lucky enough he could hire his friends as staff, lucky enough his oldest friend was his right hand man and never left him alone for too long. James Bucky Barnes, his childhood defender, his best friend, his right hand and occasionally, much to Steve's dismay, his wingman. If only that would have worked out already. He seems to be casually watching people dance but in reality he watches the couples spend quality time together at a stuck up event. If he had a partner maybe this wouldn't be so bad? Maybe people wouldn't constantly come up to talk to him because he'd be dancing himself, someone in his arms, looking at him lovingly...

"Senator Lee is coming up next" a smooth voice mumbles over his shoulder, Sam Wilson. A friend he found in college, a politics major and his chief of staff. Steves eyes find the older gentleman approaching him. He's talked with him before, quite often actually, and he was always so kind and encouraging.

The small talk with senator Lee went by faster than Steve anticipated. Before the next person could swoop in to talk to him he excused himself to the restroom. Bucky, his honorary security detail for the evening since he refused to take his actual one, made to follow him. "It's just the bathroom Buck. I'll be fine and I'll come straight back here." he says lowly, his eyes rolling at the antics. He didn't need this much security before he became a king. Bucky hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering to Sam who looks a bit unsure himself. "I mean... It's just the bathroom... No danger there. Nat wouldn't go inside with him either right?" Steve lets out a sigh at Sam's statement. Natasha, the head of security, ruled with an iron fist. She had all of them so scared they wouldn't dare to disobey her orders... except maybe her husband Clint but he got free passes for life.

"Right... Just come right back here?" Bucky looks at him and with a sigh and a nod Steve agrees. Before they can say anything else and before whatever lady just seems to approach them can start to talk, Steve hurries to the restroom. He locks himself in a cabin just for a few moments alone. But even those aren't truly alone.

The door to the restroom opens up not too long after him and of course that person takes ages to do their business. With a silent grumble Steve finishes up and leaves the cabin to wash his hands. Just then the door to another cabin opens and an older gentleman with thinning grey hair, in a three piece suit steps out. His eyes meet Steve's in the mirror as he walks up to the sink area himself. They look cold, although he has a smile plastered on his face. Fake niceties like Steve has grown used to.

"King Rogers." He acknowledges and Steve simply gives a nod. He isn't even safe in the fucking bathroom!

"Black isn't really your colour." Steve's brows furrow. What was that supposed to mean? "You know many families waited for the old crone to finally step down and let you be the king. Women shouldn't hold that much power, especially when there's no king at her side to keep her in check. Who would have thought it would take her to die for you to finally step up." The man seems calm and collected as if he didn't just insult Steve's mother.

"What the fuck did you say about my mom? Old crone?!" His blood was boiling and he was this close to hitting the old man if it weren't for his manners. His mom raised him better but she wasn't here to keep him in check was she?

"Oh calm down Steven. No need to get all flustered and angry. Hold your tongue before you say something you'll regret. We'll be one happy family soon after all." The man smirked and calmly dried his hands. He teaches over and turns off Steve's tab, the blonde frozen from anger. What did he just say? He must be demented. "What?" Is all that Steve can bring out. Confused and angry and still so so close to punch that guy.

"Oh you don't know. Can't say I'm surprised, your mother shielded you a lot. Now I have to do all the explaining. That's why women should never be in charge.” he rolls his eyes. “Are you familiar with the Hastings family?" The man hands Steve one of the towels and casually leans against the sink. Hastings? Steve has heard that name before... Wasn't that the royal family that fell from grace three generations ago? His eyes flit to the man.

"Sounds familiar." Is all he can grid out. What is this man on about? Is he just here to gossip?

"Clever boy." The smirk on the old man's face is uncanny. As if he can read Steve all too well. "You know exactly who they are but instead of going off to gossip like all the other royals out there you keep your answer neutral. What a good king you make." Steve's confusion grows.

"What does the Hastings family have to do with us becoming one?" Steve bites out. "Ah straight to business. Just how I like it. You see the Hastings family and the Rogers family go way back. Many, many generations in fact. King Joseph Rogers the first and King George Hastings even made a little pact, that yes, still stands today." His eyes search Steve's face and his grin looks so satisfied. "That the families will unite as soon as there is a male and female heir born into the families. Now ever since then both families only bore strong sons with an occasional daughter that was out of the age range for marriage. That is until roughly 30 years ago. When you and my granddaughter were born just two years apart." Steve's brow lifts. The old man was a Hastings. Wanting to fulfill a deal that was made over a hundred years ago... Bullshit.

"Whatever deal you're referring to will not stand with today's laws. So you can stop badmouthing my mom and trying to get me to marry your desperate granddaughter now." Steve spits. The man just grins. "Oh, it will Steven. Here let your lawyers check this and then get back to me about when my granddaughter can move in with you. " He laughs and hands Steve an envelope before he walks out of the restroom and back into the gala.

Steve's eyes fall on the envelope, it's burning in his hands but he needs to get this checked. He can't marry someone because of an old deal. He can't marry someone with a grandfather daring to insult his mom that's not even been dead for a month. Steve's eyes start to burn with tears. His mom shielded him from so much while she also did her best to prepare him for this life... He wishes she was here... That he wouldn't need to mourn her so publicly while also keeping his tears in to not seem weak. He wishes he could wear the dark blue suits she got for him because according to her that's the colour he looks the most handsome in. He wishes she could brush his hair out of his face one more time. Just once more with that sweet smile that was reserved for him only.

He takes a shakey breath and swallows the lump in his throat. A brief look in the mirror, a deep breath, straightening his tie. He can't show weakness. Not here, not ever. 'Safe the tears for your bedroom, Rogers.' the voice in his head commands. He wipes away the stray tear that got caught in his lashes, pockets the envelope and with another deep breath makes his way back to his friends.

They're chatting, most likely teasing each other. As soon as Bucky sees him both heads turn to Steve with a concerned gaze swiping up and down. They seem to come to the conclusion that he's okay and relax. "We need to leave." he says as soon as he reaches them. His tone more urgent than he wanted to. "Why you got diarrhea? Took you pretty long in there... I told ya to lay it easy on the hors d'oeuvres." Bucky teases with a grin that immediately falls as soon as he sees Steves eyes. Sam can't even get his joke in before Bucky declares that they're leaving. He leads Steve to the host of the gala for a quick goodbye and then out to the car they came in.

Within 10 minutes they're on the road. For the first time with only the three of them in the car, Steve pulls up the divider for privacy. Shielded from Sam and Bucky, he allows himself to spill a few tears for his mother before he can make it to the safety of his bedroom. He knows that will be away for another few hours, especially with the envelope that's burning a hole into his pocket.

Ever since you were young your family hasn't cared much for you. The only thing that was important to them was that you did exactly what they wanted... in every aspect of your life. You got the education they wanted, you went to college for what they wanted and you hid your interests to make them like you. At the beginning of your twenties you finally broke out of that circle. You moved far away with your friend and only occasionally visited for important matters, much to their dismay. Just like you were now.

The train ride never isn't boring, even with a good book and music. The most thrilling plot or the most beautiful lyrics couldn't distract you from the stranger sitting next to you. Somehow you always had the luck of them eating something disgusting, talking loudly on the phone, constantly bumping into you or being a stranger to the concept of headphones.

Your eyes wander over to your friend and her husband for the millionth time. They were sitting together, cuddling, yet somehow each minding their own business. Her husband looking out of the window, headphones in, music on and daydreaming. Your friend reading the newest book from her favourite author. How you wish you had someone to share a seat with... to share a life with. You wouldn't have a stranger next to you. You'd have a partner. You could cuddle and mind your own business at the same time... or play a game? Would you get upset at them winning Uno? Or would you love them too much to get frustrated?

You let out a sigh. You've been single for so long... a partner was still written in the stars and wouldn't come by anytime soon. So you'd have to deal with strangers next to you on the train, the couch for yourself and your family constantly badgering you when you'd move back and find a partner. It's not like you planned being almost thirty and still single. As a child you dreamed about being married with children at this age. Maybe having a little house and a dog. You wanted to be surrounded by friends, leave your family out of it as much as you could. Just enjoy life with your partner. But here you were, still alone. Maybe wallowing in self pity at a life that could have been would be a good way to pass time till you were back at your family's place.

You pull your suitcase after you. The walk from the train station wasn't too long and you know better than to ask anyone to pick you up. You don't want to inconvenience them or owe them. Last time you asked your mother and she made you wash all the dishes from the family party by hand after you played waitress during the entirety of it. You'd rather choose walking 30 minutes to the house than do that again.

As you come closer you spot your grandpa's car in the driveway. He must be here to oversee the preparations for his birthday party tomorrow. You briefly look down at yourself, jeans and t-shirt. It looks good enough but you already know you'd be criticised left and right. Never enough for them.

With a deep breath you ring the doorbell and wait. It's not too long before the door opens to reveal your mother. She takes in your appearance and sneers before she greets you. She steps to the side to let you in. "You visit your family that you never see and you show up dressed like some slob. You could wear something nice every now and then." She grumbles before she goes to the living room to announce that you're here. Well if you knew your grandpa would be here a day early you would have tried to wear something nicer. You leave your suitcase next to the door and follow her into the living room. You greet everyone and listen to your siblings' judgments until your grandpa stops them.

"Enough. Let's not ruin this joyful day for our family." He announces before he gets up and stands next to you. Joyful day? What happened? Did he finally win the lottery? You look at him confused.

"You all need to learn to not criticise her so much anymore. After all it would be a bad image to her fiancé and the press." Everyone nods along as if what he said did make any sense. Even your father who usually only shows interest for the drink in front of him, nods along. Has he got dementia since the last time you visited? "What?" Is all you can bring out at which your mother scoffs.

"Well dear... It took you a long time to find a partner, which in hindsight I'm very grateful about. You know our family has a long history and its history and glory shall be restored soon enough.” Your grandpa declares like it's some victory. “Many hundred years ago our ancestors made a deal with the royal family of Brooken. The first heirs of opposite sex shall marry and unite our families. It just never worked out age wise until you came along. Born just two years after the now reigning King Steven Rogers." He explains and you're absolutely sure they all lost their damn minds. No royal family would make a deal with commoners, especially back then.

"Well I recently met the young man and reminded him of this deal. He's more than eager to fulfill it and marry you. He'll collect you and bring you to Brooken tomorrow." He squeezes your arm, a smile plastered on his face. You can't do anything but stare at him and then burst out in laughter. They were messing with you. Or playing along with your grandpa's dementia... But no one else was laughing. They all looked rather serious... And the house looked so clean... Was this not a joke?

"This... This has to be a joke...?" You say, looking at him with desperation. "Why would it be? You'll restore the Hasting family's glory and finally be of use to us.” your heart breaks a little more. Were you truly this worthless? Did nothing you did for them before count? You look up at them, desperate to find any sign that this wasn't true. That they were playing a prank. The stone faces of your parents and siblings look back at you. This... This wasn't a joke. They'd marry you off to some stranger. To a king? To gain what? What about your life? What about your place? Your job? You can't just leave that behind for some king who's probably a huge asshole... Your long fought for freedom taken by your family and that guy. Back under control, every move watched and criticised.

The rest of the day has been cruel. Your family was between joy at your engagement to a king and anger at you trying to refuse. In-between all the explaining, that really didn't give you any new information or any that would make sense of the situation, you texted your friend which promised to call you later.

“It's not all that bad… at least he's handsome!” Your friend tries to reason. “Plus you'd be a queen! No more shitty job that doesn't pay you enough. You'd live in a castle and wear pretty dresses.” She offers and is met with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah that's great but at what cost? My freedom. I really love my one bedroom apartment. You know why? Because it's mine. I can do what I want. And in his castle? I probably won't even be allowed to hang a picture on the wall. There'll be people watching my every move and reporting back to him. I'll be just as miserable as I used to be at my parents place.” The white of the ceiling starts to become blurry with the tears that are about to spill. “What if I can never see you again? What if he won't let me have any friends?” Your voice breaks at the thought.

“He doesn't look like he'd be such an asshole. He looks nice and the articles write nice things about him too.” She reasons. “Yeah and who has big influence on the press? Him. Of course they wouldn't write anything bad about him.” You complain. “They have written not so nice things about him. Especially with him grieving his mother…” that you do feel sorry for. They seemed to have a good relationship, losing a loving parent isn't easy. “Give him a chance. You never know maybe he's a prince charming.” Her voice sounds encouraging.

“What does a king even want with a commoner? Why would a king make a deal like that hundreds of years ago? I don't get it…” you question. “Who knows maybe your family had blackmail material on the royals.” At that you snort a bit. “Maybe… he seems eager to get married. My family is eager for this. Why am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?” Your hands pick on the scratchy blanket your mother put on the guest bed for you. “Because you're the one who loses a lot for this. Your family gains royalty… at least they'll be royal adjacent? I mean they do have the stick up their asses like royals already. And he gains a wife? Dating must be hard when you're a king.” She muses. “His last relationship was six years ago. His ex left him for another prince and got married like a year after.” You hum at the information she found. His whole life could be found on the internet which makes you wonder what he even knows about you? Your family didn't even know you so he couldn't even get something accurate from them.

“Listen, I gotta go… but give it a chance? And if he's an asshole and you need out, you text me and we'll come to break you out ok?” you sigh at your friends offer but ultimately agree. You'll try, it's not like you can leave the house and flee without your family noticing and coming for you anyways. You place your phone on the nightstand and cuddle up in bed. Your eyes fall on the monstrosity of dress your mother picked out for you. Maybe if you truly wore that pink pile of whatever the seamstress had left over, he'd run for the hills and you'd still be free.

"Sorry Steve... I can check a few more things but this is airtight... They can force you to marry that girl..." his lawyer says. Steve sighs and looks up from his desk to look at the brunette who meets him with a warm empathetic smile. Maria Hill, top of her class, badass in their softball team and brilliant lawyer. Steve recommended her to his mom when the old lawyer retired. Maria showed her wits and was hired within two hours of her interview.

"There's no way a deal from over a hundred years ago still holds up! You're telling me there was not a single occasion where this desk could have already been fulfilled? Aren't the Hastings fucking hornballs with so many family members? They're not even royal anymore! How does this hold up?" Bucky rants, clearly trying to protect his friend. Maria meets his eyes and lifts an eyebrow.

"Well if you want to go through the entire family trees and history to try and prove that be my guest. Matter of fact is that King Joseph and King George thought of everything in their agreement. Even the downfall of royalty... Or in this case the downfall of one royal family. This seems to be their way back. Making Steve marry the granddaughter so at least she is tuly royal." Maria says dryly. "I will check it over once more. I think we all should get as much rest as this night still offers but... don't get your hopes up Steve." She adds as she gets up and takes the contract that was in the envelope before. "What if we kill her. Can't marry someone that's dead" Bucky suggests and immediately gets a slap on the back of his head from Sam.

"As your lawyer I would advice against the murder of the future spouse of your best friend. You'd be one of the first suspects and I'm sorry to say this Barnes but your pokerface isn't as great as you'd like to think." Maria states before she looks at Steve. He's exhausted, his face in his hands, his hair ruffled. "Go to bed Steve." She says softly, worried about her friend.

Steve let's out a sigh and gets up. "Dismissed. Good night." Is all he can say before he drags himself out of his office and up the stairs. His mind is a flurry of thoughts that just won't shut up no matter how much he tries. He lets out a sigh as soon as he reaches the third floor. To the left is his room, to the right the room of his mother. His legs move on their own, carrying him to the portrait of her that's covered in a black veil. In the last month he often stood in front of it. He wished it good night before he'd get in bed. Just like he planned to do today.

"Night mom..." He whispers, the tears in his eyes returning once more. "This is all so hard without you… you would know what to do with this stupid deal… I wish you were here." his voice breaks at that. He gulps and tries to hold back his tears. He isn't in the safety of his own bedroom yet. But he isn't sure he's gonna make it till there. His eyes wander to his door, so far away, and back to the portrait. He gulps and moves towards her door. Her room is safe too. Even if it brings sad memories.

He softly closes the door behind him, his eyes falling onto her bed. He'd often sleep with her as a child. When he had nightmares, when he was upset about his father dying, when he was sick. Just one more time he tells himself and takes off his shoes. He can sleep in the sweatpants and shirt he put on earlier, he doesn't need a fancy pyjama set. Hesitantly he slips under the yellow covers. His nose immediately fills with her scent. Her favourite laundry detergent mixed with her perfume and he can't hold back the tears any longer. The dam breaks and he sobs into her pillow. After many minutes of crying he falls asleep enveloped by her one more time.

[rafayelgod]

🔞WARNING 21+ 18+ ADULTS CONTENT🔞

NSFW, Not For Kids. 💋🔞💦 OC Fanfiction Lads Rafayel

Rafayel: Secret Library💦

You are a Princess of Philos, a kingdom known for its serene landscapes and wise rulers. But your world, vibrant and full of laughter, wasn't just defined by royal duties and courtly life. It was intertwined with Rafayel, the Prince of neighboring kingdom. From the time you both could toddle, Rafayel was a constant presence in your palace. He’d arrive with a mischievous glint in his dark purple eyes, his playful charm filling the halls with energy. You were his Princess, always, and he was just Rafayel, your dearest friend, a whirlwind of dark hair and playful smiles. You, with your own blooming beauty, found in him a kindred spirit, someone who understood the unspoken language of childhood dreams and shared adventures. Your days were filled with games and study, side-by-side, shaping a bond that felt as natural as breathing.

Part 1

"Race you to the maze!" Rafayel's voice, always a melody to your ears, pulled you from your embroidery. Sunlight streamed through the palace windows, beckoning you outdoors. "You're on!" you laughed, dropping the needle and thread onto the silken cushion.

You both burst through the palace doors and raced towards the sprawling garden, a kaleidoscope of colors and scents. The maze, a tall, green labyrinth, awaited your playful chase. You dodged and weaved through the leafy corridors, Rafayel’s laughter echoing close behind. "Not so fast, Princess!" he called, his hand reaching out to playfully tug at your trailing ribbon.

Finally, you reached your secret spot, a small clearing hidden deep within the maze, a place you'd discovered as children, shrouded by fragrant jasmine and whispering willows. "Home base!" you declared, collapsing onto the soft grass, slightly breathless. Rafayel dropped down beside you, grinning. "Still the best hideout."

"Always," you agreed, leaning back against a willow trunk. "Want to play hide and seek? Like old times?"

"Of course, Princess. You hide first." Rafayel covered his eyes with his hands, turning away, and started counting. You giggled, scrambling behind a thicket of roses, their petals brushing softly against your cheek. Silence fell except for Rafayel's muffled counting. Then, a sharp crack echoed through the garden.

Before you could react, the ground beneath you gave way. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you tumbled downwards, the scent of earth filling your nostrils. Darkness enveloped you, and you landed with a soft thud on something cool and dusty.

"Princess!" Rafayel's voice was laced with panic, echoing from above. "Amara, are you alright?!"

"I… I think so," you called back, your voice trembling slightly. "I fell… in a hole."

Moments later, a shadow fell over you, and Rafayel's worried face peered down into the darkness. "Are you hurt?" he asked urgently, clambering down into the hole, landing gracefully beside you.

"Just a bit shaken," you replied, brushing dust off your dress. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you gasped. "Rafayel, look!"

The hole had opened up into a small, stone-lined passage. It was clearly not a natural cave but man-made. Curiosity replaced your fear. Hand in hand, you and Rafayel cautiously stepped into the passage. It sloped downwards, leading you into a surprisingly spacious basement. Dust lay thick on everything, cobwebs draped like ghostly curtains, but there was a strange sense of forgotten history here.

Following the passage further, you rounded a corner and stopped dead in your tracks. Before you, bathed in a soft, ethereal light filtering from some unseen source, was a library. Shelves lined every wall, reaching up into the shadows, overflowing with aged books and scrolls. The air smelled of old paper and forgotten stories.

"A secret library," you breathed, your eyes wide with wonder.

Rafayel was equally awestruck. "In your own palace garden? How is this possible?"

Excitement bubbled up inside you both. You and Rafayel had always been avid readers, spending hours lost in the pages of tales of bravery, magic, and faraway lands. A secret library? It was a dream come true.

Part 2

Days turned into weeks, and the secret library became your shared sanctuary. Every afternoon, after your lessons and duties, you and Rafayel would slip away to the garden maze and descend into your hidden world of books. You catalogued the collection together, marveling at the ancient tomes and forgotten histories.

One afternoon, while exploring a dusty corner, you stumbled upon a book unlike any you had seen before. It was bound in dark, unmarked leather, with no title on its spine. It was heavier than it looked, and the pages felt thick and strange beneath your fingers. "Your Highness, come look at this," you called, your voice hushed with intrigue.

He joined you, peering over your shoulder as you carefully opened the heavy book. Instead of words, the pages were filled with intricate drawings and paintings. But these were not illustrations of knights or dragons; they were depictions of men and women, intertwined in ways that made you blush, though you didn't quite understand why.

"What is this?" you whispered, your brow furrowed in confusion.

Rafayel tilted his head, studying the images with the same innocent curiosity. The drawings showed couples embracing, kissing, and then… other things. Limbs tangled together, bodies pressed close. Some drawings were clearer than others, showing male and female bodies in explicit detail.

"They're… hugging?" Rafayel ventured, pointing to a picture of two figures closely entwined. "Very… tightly."

"Yes, but… look," you pointed to another image, where the figures were positioned differently, their bodies joined in a way that seemed… strange. "What are they doing here?"

"Maybe… it's a dance?" Rafayel suggested, though his tone was uncertain. "A very close dance."

You both exchanged puzzled glances. Neither of you had ever seen anything like this. Words were often inadequate to describe the complexities of the adult world, but these images… they were even more perplexing. Yet, despite the confusion, or perhaps because of it, you found yourselves drawn to the book. You continued to turn the pages, studying the drawings, trying to decipher their meaning with innocent eyes.

Part 3

The images from the strange book lingered in your minds long after you left the secret library. You found yourself thinking about them during lessons, during meals, even as you drifted off to sleep. Rafayel, you knew, was equally intrigued. It became a shared puzzle, a mystery that drew you back to the library day after day.

"Maybe we should try to understand it better," Rafayel suggested one afternoon, his voice thoughtful. You were sitting together, the heavy book open between you, studying a drawing of a couple kissing.

"Understand what?" you asked, tilting your head. "What they are… doing?"

"Yes," he replied, a hint of daring entering his tone. "Maybe… maybe if we try to do what they are doing, we will understand."

You considered his words, a flutter of nervousness and excitement stirring within you. It seemed like a strange idea, and yet… curiosity was a powerful force.

"Like… like the kissing?" you asked hesitantly, pointing at the drawing.

Rafayel nodded, his dark eyes meeting yours. "Yes. Like the kissing."

A blush warmed your cheeks. You and Rafayel had shared innocent pecks on the cheek before, as friends, but this felt different. The drawing depicted a kiss that was… closer, more intimate.

"Okay," you whispered, your heart suddenly beating faster.

You both leaned in, hesitantly at first. Your lips met, softer than you expected, a gentle pressure. It was strange, unfamiliar, and yet… not unpleasant. You stayed like that for a moment, then pulled back, glancing at Rafayel.

"Well?" he asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Do you understand?"

You giggled, a nervous, shaky sound. "Not really," you admitted. "But… it felt… different."

"Different how?"

You shrugged, trying to find the words. "Strange… in my belly. Like… butterflies?"

Rafayel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Butterflies? I felt something too. Maybe we need to try again?"

"Again?" you repeated, your voice a little breathy.

He nodded, leaning closer once more. This time, the kiss was less hesitant, a little longer. A warmth spread through you, a tingling sensation that wasn't just in your belly. The air in the library seemed to grow hotter, charged with an unspoken energy. When you finally broke apart, you were both slightly breathless, your cheeks flushed.

"Mmh, Still… butterflies," you managed, your voice a whisper.

"And… hah, and something else," Rafayel murmured, his gaze fixed on your lips. "Something… hot."

Part 4

You turned the page, your fingers trembling slightly. The next drawing was even more explicit. It depicted the male and female form in detail, pointing out… things you had never seen so clearly before. "That’s…" you stammered, your eyes wide.

"That’s… where babies come from, maybe?" Rafayel guessed, his voice low. "I think I read something about that once, in a very old book."

The drawing showed a man's… part, and a woman’s… part. And it showed them… together.

"They are… taking their clothes off," you observed, pointing to the next picture. "Should we… take our clothes off?" The thought made your heart race, a strange mix of fear and excitement churning in your chest.

Rafayel’s gaze flickered down to your dress, then back to your eyes. "Just… just the bottom ones?" he suggested hesitantly. "Like in the picture?"

It felt daring, almost forbidden, and yet the curiosity was overwhelming. With trembling fingers, you reached for the ties of your undergarments and loosened them, letting them fall to the dusty floor. Rafayel, his face flushed a deep crimson, fumbled with the buttons of his breeches, his own undergarments soon joining yours on the ground.

The next image showed the man positioned above the woman, their bodies pressed together. "Okay," Rafayel breathed, his voice husky. "Like this."

He moved closer, his body hovering over yours. You lay back on the dusty floor, the rough stones surprisingly cool against your skin. You could feel his breath warm on your face, his heartbeat thumping against yours. He positioned himself as in the drawing, his legs between yours. You felt a strange pressure against your… there.

"This is… strange," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes," he agreed, his voice strained. "Very strange."

He moved a little, and suddenly, something pushed inside you. A sharp, unfamiliar sensation shot through you, a brief sting of pain. "Ahh!" You gasped, your eyes widening.

"Princess- A-are you alright?" Rafayel's voice was filled with concern.

"It… mh, it hurts a little," you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

But then, something shifted within him. "Ah, princess," A deeper, more primal instinct seemed to take over. He didn't stop, didn't pull back. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and began to move.

A low moan escaped your lips, involuntary, surprising even yourself. Rafayel made a similar sound, a guttural groan that vibrated against your skin. The initial sting faded, replaced by a new sensation, a throbbing ache that was… strangely not unpleasant.

He moved again, and again, his body pressing into yours, a rhythm taking hold. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his tunic. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of dust and something else… something musky and intoxicating.

"Your highness, ah, mhh," you gasped, your breath coming in ragged bursts.

"Princess…" he groaned, his movements becoming faster, more insistent. He seemed to be losing himself in the sensation, his eyes half-closed, his face flushed and strained.

The pain was still there, a dull ache, but it was overshadowed by a growing heat, a building pressure deep within you. You felt yourself arching against him, your body responding in ways you didn't understand, couldn't control.

"What's happening?" you whimpered, your voice barely audible.

He didn't answer, just tightened his grip on you, his movements becoming frantic. Then, a wave of intense pleasure washed over him, a shudder racking his body. "Mhh! ahh," he cried out, his voice thick with raw sensation. He hugged you tighter, burying his face in your neck.

And then, something… exploded inside you too. A rush of heat, a wave of overwhelming sensation that made you cry out, your body clenching around him. A warm, thick liquid pulsed deep within you, filling you with a strange fullness.

Rafayel collapsed onto you, his weight heavy, his breathing ragged. You lay beneath him, panting, your heart pounding like a drum against your ribs. The world seemed to spin, the ancient library fading into a hazy blur.

After a long moment, he rolled off you, lying beside you on the dusty floor, still breathing heavily. You both stared up at the shadowy ceiling, the silence punctuated only by your gasping breaths.

Finally, you turned to him, your voice still trembling. "Was… was that… good?" you whispered, your cheeks flushed.

He turned to you, his purple eyes dark and intense. A slow smile spread across his face. "Yes, Princess," he murmured, his voice husky. "That was… very good."

And you knew, in that moment, with a strange certainty, that he was right. Despite the confusion, the pain, the strangeness of it all… it had been good. More than good. It had been… something else entirely.

Part 5

Days melted into weeks, and the secret library remained your hidden world. The strange book became your guide, its explicit drawings no longer perplexing, but rather, a map of uncharted territory. You and Rafayel explored its pages together, with a mixture of innocence and burgeoning desire, experimenting with the positions, learning the language of touch and sensation that the book so vividly depicted.

You learned about kissing that wasn't just pecks on the cheek, but deep, lingering kisses that stole your breath away. You learned about touches that sent shivers down your spine, about places on your body that hummed with pleasure when caressed. Each visit to the library was an exploration, a secret shared adventure that deepened the bond between you and Rafayel, transforming your childhood friendship into something far more complex and intoxicating.

The dusty basement became your private playground, the ancient books silent witnesses to your growing intimacy. The secrets you discovered within those pages, and within each other, became your own, a shared language of pleasure whispered only in the hushed silence of your hidden sanctuary. And you knew, with a thrill of excitement and a touch of forbidden knowledge, that this secret, this hidden library and the passions it had awakened, would forever remain yours and Rafayel's alone.

- The End - 🌚💦🔞

© Melody (Follow for more hot stories) 🌚💦💋

[yourstrulyamelie]

Part 3 of 𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝘼𝙩𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

Summary: When armed men attack, he kills for her. Desire and danger tangled together. She should run. She should resist. But she doesn’t.

Pairing: August Walker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Future smut, stalking behavior, violence, mention of blood, heavy tension

A/N: finally a plot progression. had so much fun writing this one. more tension is coming in the next part. enjoy!

She feels it before she sees him. The weight of his gaze. The slow crawl of awareness trickling down her spine. She tells herself she’s imagining things, that her mind is playing tricks on her. But the feeling doesn’t go away.

It lingers, just like he does.

August Walker is watching her. Again.

Her mind goes back to their interaction this afternoon.

What happened to him in Paris, she kept pressing him about that. That is her assignment. The superior wants her to unravel about something in Paris that happened months ago, but God, until now she still can’t decipher about what happened.

He studied her, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then, he exhaled, stretching out in his seat, showing off casual boredom—except she knew better now.

That was the mask.

“You like watching me, don’t you?” he murmured suddenly.

Her stomach tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “Excuse me?”

His smirk was slow, knowing. “You watch me, trying to figure me out. Trying to get inside my head.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “But what if I told you I’ve been watching you too?”

Her breath caught and for the first time she saw it. The darkness behind his eyes. The predator behind the playful mask.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he mused. “The way you adjust your skirt when I look at your legs. The way your pulse jumps when I lean in. The way your breath hitches when I say your name.”

Her throat went dry. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” his voice dropped lower, more dangerous. His eyes looked directly into hers. “Tell me, doc. When you go home at night… do you ever feel like someone’s watching you?”

The air in the room thickened because suddenly, she did.

Her pulse kicked up, an instinctive warning curling in her gut. But she refused to let him see it. Instead, she tilted her head, meeting his gaze. “Are you admitting to something, August?”

A long pause. Then, that slow lazy smirk appeared on his face again. “Just a thought.”

But it wasn’t just a thought. She knew it now.

August Walker had been watching her. She didn’t know whether she should have been terrified or thrilled.

The realization coils in her gut as she steps onto her street, the dim glow of the streetlight casting long shadows across the pavement. Her heels click against the sidewalk, her posture straight, movements precise. She doesn’t look over her shoulder. She doesn’t need to. She knows he’s there, lurking in the darkness, following her at a measured pace—close enough for her to feel the heat of his presence, far enough that she can’t quite catch him in the act.

She exhales slowly, forcing herself to act normal. If this is a game, she won’t let him win.

It’s infuriating. It’s invasive. It should terrify her. And yet, in the darkest corner of her mind, a part of her—one she refuses to acknowledge—thrums with something she doesn’t want to say out loud. There’s something undeniably electric about being watched, tracked, hunted. Not by just anyone. By him.

The thought is dangerous, reckless. She shoves it down before it can take root, replacing it with irritation instead.

By the time she reaches her apartment building, she’s had enough. She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t give herself time to second-guess. She unlocks the door and steps inside, and before she can even turn on the lights, she speaks—loud enough for him to hear through the silence.

“Get inside.”

For a second, nothing.

Then, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps coming in.

The door doesn’t creak, doesn’t slam. It merely clicks shut as August steps into her home like he belongs there, like he’s been there before. The thought makes her heart racing.

She wills herself to face him, arms crossed over her chest. There’s an anger simmering just beneath the surface. “What the hell are you doing, August?”

Leaning against the door, he’s showing that maddening calm exterior that makes her want to slap him. “You invited me in.”

She glares. “You’ve been following me. Again.”

The usual slow smirk. “And you let me.”

Her breath catches for half a second. She hates how he does this, how he twists the truth, bends reality to his will. She squares her shoulders, refusing to let him pull her into his dance. “I should report you for this.”

“Hmm,” he tilted his head, looking bored. She catches his eyes flickering to her lips before returning to her eyes. “But you won’t.”

“You—" Before she can press him further the window shatters and the door breaks open.

She barely has time to react before he moves. One second, she’s standing there, trying to process the explosion of glass and motion. The next, August has her against the wall, his body pressed flush against hers, shielding her from sight.

His breath is hot against her ear. “Stay here.” She doesn’t argue.

August looks around for a second then he tenses, muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike. Figures emerge through the broken window and the gaping door, masked, armed, moving with deadly precision. They're not here for her. They're here for him.

One of the intruders steps forward, voice distorted by a modulator. “Come quietly, Walker.”

He grunts. She doesn't have time to process before all hell breaks loose.

The fight is brutal.

August comes out of the hiding place, leaving her terrified. He moves with lethal grace, taking down the first man in a blink—disarming him, breaking his wrist with a sharp twist before shoving him straight through her coffee table.

The second man lunges. She barely sees August shift before he catches him mid-air, slamming him into the kitchen counter so hard she hears something crack.

But there are more of them. Too many.

When he’s busy fighting the others, one of them grabs her, yanking her against their chest, an arm wrapping around her throat. She gasps, her fingers clawing at the brute’s forearm as he tightens his grip, then she screams.

August’s entire body locks up. For the first time since she met him, he looks scared—not the kind that makes him hesitate, but the kind that makes his vision burn red. She's struggling, her eyes wide, her breath strangled. The intruder presses a knife against her ribs.

“Don’t move,” the man growls. “Or she dies.”

August does move.

With precision, he draws his gun and fires. A single, deafening shot to the head. Blood splatters. The man crumples like dead weight, and August is already there, catching her before she hits the ground.

His hands are shaking as he grips her shoulders. “Are you hurt?” his voice is rough, desperate. His eyes rake over her, searching for wounds, for any sign of pain.

She coughs, pressing a hand to her throat. “I’m—I’m okay.”

He exhales sharply, jaw clenched. “No one touches you,” he growls, hands cupping her cheeks. His touch is both protective and possessive. His eyes are burning with promise as he says his next words, “No one hurts you. Not while I’m breathing.”

She can feel his fingers flex against her skin, it's as if he wants to pull her but instead he pushes her away to the safest place, if there's even one.

Those blue eyes filled with dread. And the next thing she knows, the room turns into a slaughterhouse. She cowers herself away, hiding behind the couch but she can still see him.

He moves through the intruders with brutal efficiency, fists breaking bone, blade slicing through flesh, gunfire echoes through the walls. The scent of blood fills the air, thick and metallic, clinging to his skin, his clothes, his hands.

One man tries to run. August catches him by the throat, slamming him into the wall so hard it cracks. The knife in his other hand carves a merciless scar, and the body drops like a puppet with its strings cut.

By the time the last man is dead, the apartment is drenched in blood. And she’s still there, slowly standing in the middle of it all, untouched.

August Walker stands at the center of the carnage, his broad chest rising and falling with steady controlled breaths. His hands are painted red. His face is splattered with it, streaked from where he wiped his jaw. He turns his body to face her. He expects her to shrink away, to look at him like he’s a monster. But she doesn’t. She just stands there, breathing hard, her wide eyes locked onto his.

Fingers flexing at his sides, August exhales slowly while rolling his shoulders. His body is burning. The adrenaline still pumps through him, raw and unchecked. His knuckles drip red. His pulse pounds in his skull. He looks straight into her eyes with an unreadable expression. Eyes roaming over her, dark and heavy. She’s the only thing in the room still alive, still warm, still real. And fuck, he wants her.

No—he needs her.

The urge to take is overwhelming. To bury himself in her, to feel something other than rage, other than bloodlust.

She can see it. The way his pupils are blown wide, but not just with adrenaline, but with something darker. Something deeper. The way his gaze drops to her lips, lingers there, then drags down the curve of her throat, to where her pulse hammers beneath her skin. His fingers twitch, as if resisting the urge to trace it.

Every survival instinct in her body screams at her to move, to get away from him, to escape the violence radiating from his skin like a second layer of flesh. But she doesn’t. She can’t.

Heart beating fast in her ribs as he takes a slow, deliberate step toward her.

"August—" her voice is unsteady, her hands trembling at her sides. "Don't."

His lips curve, but there’s nothing soft in the expression. "You’re scared of me now?" his voice is low, rough. Almost amused.

She swallows, trying to hold her ground. “You—You just butchered them.”

Another step.

She takes a shaky step back, but the wall halts her retreat. Her breath quickens. Her heart slams against her ribs as he keeps coming, a hunter closing in on prey.

“They came here to kill me,” he reminds her, voice calm, too calm. “And what if they had gotten to you first?”

She flinches. He sees it. His hands flex at his sides. Blood drips from his knuckles onto the floor.

His voice is lower when he speaks again, rougher, darker. “I did what I have to do. You think I’d ever let them touch you?” She has no answer.

He steps closer, too close, and she presses herself against the wall, hands coming up to push at his chest only to be reminded of exactly what he is—solid, immovable, unstoppable.

She tries to push him again, hitting him now but his hands are quick to catch her wrists, pinning them with ease against the wall. His breath is hot against her cheek, and she can feel the blood on his skin, smell it, taste the danger that rolls off him in thick, suffocating waves.

“August,” she tries again, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let me go.”

His grip tightens, just slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that he could. And then he does something that steals the air from her lungs. He buries his face against her neck, inhaling deeply. That sweet intoxicating scent mingling with her fear. He groans. She shudders.

"You smell clean," he murmurs against her skin. "Untouched."

Her stomach clenches. She struggles against his grip, her body betraying her fear, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. “You’re scaring me.”

He exhales slowly, lips grazing her ear. “Good.”

A shiver rips through her, terror and something else colliding in her bloodstream.

He shifts, pressing himself against her, and her breath catches, because she can feel it through the fabrics that separate their skin. He’s hard. The realization slams into her, igniting something in her core that she hates.

God, she should fight harder. She should hate this. But her body betrays her. A tremor moves through her, not from fear this time, but from something deeper. Something she doesn’t want to name.

He notices. Of course, he does. His smirk is slow, predatory. “You can’t lie to me.”

Her heart is trying to claw its way out of her chest. She looks up at him, eyes sharp, trying to intimidate him. “I hate you,” she whispers.

His lips brush her jaw, his breath warm, teasing. “No, you don’t.”

She wants to scream. Wants to shove him away. Wants to stop reacting to him. But when his mouth finally crushes against hers, she doesn’t turn away. She moans. His lips are firm, demanding, like everything about him. There’s no hesitation, no question. Just possession. And it feels perfect. Too perfect.

Just like that, she’s gone.

Her body melts against his, every ounce of resistance crumbling into dust.

August growls against her lips, as if her surrender snaps something inside him. He unwraps his hands around her wrists only to have it wrap around her throat, he does it gently, remembering what the nameless bastard just did to her the moment before. He presses her more against the wall with his entire body, his other hand roaming down her side, gripping her hip like he owns her.

Her skirt rides up. His fingers dig into her thighs.

And then there’s no more hesitation. No more resistance. Just heat. Just need. Just August Walker finally takes what he’s wanted all along.

And her giving it to him, willingly.

Because God, help her… she wants him too.

in all honesty, i'm not really good at giving warnings. so if there's anyone who wants to correct me, feel free to leave me a message. thank you!

[moonlitsmile]

hey, so I have this idea. In season 2 Junho was in coma what if the reader is visiting him, because she is like right hand of frontman but she as well don’t really agree with the games and in the past frontman protected/saved her (can u make her foreigner, like she is from Lithuania. Nobody knows my country😭😭) because of it frontman and her this connection (not romantic) and he says her to visit Junho. So she always brigs roses to him because it’s her favourite flowers and talks to him. And one day when he was patrolling he stopped her, and he kind of remembered her. Thank u!!!

familiar strangers

hwang jun-ho x f! foreign reader

꣑୧ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Working for the Frontman, reader dosent agree with the games but stays loyal because he once saved her. When he asks her to visit his comatose brother, Junho, she brings roses and talks to him, never expecting a response. But one day, Junho wakes up — and he remembers her.

The hospital room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. The soft beep-beep-beep filled the space like a fragile reminder , he was still here. Still alive. But barely. She stood at the doorway for a moment, the familiar scent of disinfectant mixing with the delicate fragrance of roses, her roses. A fresh bouquet of pink ones was cradled in her arms, petals soft and perfect, untouched by the cruel mess of the world.

With a quiet breath, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. There he was, in the bed. He didn’t stir. He never did.

“hi Junho,” she said softly. Her soft light accent clung to the words, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile room. “It’s me again. You’re probably getting tired of my voice by now.”

She set the roses down on the bedside table, carefully unwrapping the old, wilted ones from the vase. She always replaced them, always kept them fresh. It was a strange kind of dedication for a man who didn’t even know she existed. But it felt right.

It was the least she could do.

As she trimmed the stems and arranged the new bouquet, her mind wandered, as it often did, to the man who’d asked her to be here in the first place.

The front man.

He had been… many things to her. A protector, once. A savior, maybe. Not a friend, they didn’t have the luxury of friendships in this world but an ally. Someone she owed more than she could ever repay. And when he’d asked her to visit his brother, she hadn’t hesitated.

Not because it was an order. But because she saw it in his eyes, that quiet, hidden ache he never spoke of. The same ache she felt when she looked at Junho lying there, unmoving.

“It’s been… a long day,” she murmured, settling into the chair beside the bed. “The games are getting worse. I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending.”

She reached out, brushing her fingers against his hand, just for a second. His skin was warm, but he didn’t react. He never did.

But she kept coming back.

And she kept bringing roses.

she visited again. she wasn’t sure why it felt so heavy each time she went to see him. She’d seen worse, done worse, and yet the sight of him, pale and still against the hospital sheets, hit her harder than she expected. Maybe it was because she knew who he was. Even if he didn’t some what fully know her.

But he was still alive. And that was something.

The room was dim when she entered, the soft glow of the evening casting long shadows on the walls. She held a bouquet of roses in one hand and the quiet in the other, stepping in like she was intruding on something sacred. The click of the door closing behind her sounded too loud.

“Hi again.” she greeted softly, more out of habit than expectation. Of course.

She moved with practiced care, swapping out the dying roses she’d left last time for the fresh ones she brought today. The scent of them filled the room, sweet and light, and she found comfort in the familiarity of it.

Sitting in the chair beside his bed, she studied his face. She’d never seen him awake.

“I wonder if you’d hate me,” she said one evening, her voice low and thoughtful. “If you knew who I was. What I’ve been part of.”

The monitors answered for him in their steady rhythm.

She didn’t know why she kept talking, but it was easy to speak when no one was listening. It was easier than admitting her doubts to anyone else. She told him things she’d never say out loud, how she hated the games, how the blood was starting to stain more than just her hands. She told him about Lithuania, about the cold winters and the smell of the sea. How roses were her mother’s favorite flower, and how they’d become hers, too.

Sometimes, she’d read to him. Books she borrowed from the compound’s library, whatever she could slip away with unnoticed. And when words felt too heavy, she’d sit in silence, just the two of them and the roses between them.

One night, as she was brushing the petals of a new bouquet, she glanced at him and said, “I wonder what you’re dreaming about.”

She didn’t expect an answer. She never did. But still, she kept asking.

And she kept coming back.

-

The news came quietly. a whisper passed along the right channels. He was awake.

She hadn’t been prepared for how those words would make her feel. Relief? Fear? She wasn’t sure. Maybe both. It had been months, months of one-sided conversations and roses left by his bedside. and now Junho was no longer just a silent presence in a hospital room. He was awake.

She didn’t visit him after that.

It felt… wrong, somehow. When he’d been sleeping, it was easy to pretend she wasn’t part of the world that had put him there. But now that he was awake, everything felt more complicated. So she stayed away.

But the roses didn’t. She still sent them, delivered anonymously to his room. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe part of her hoped he’d know, maybe part of her hoped he wouldn’t.

It was about two weeks later when it happened.

She was walking through the streets of Seoul, the cool evening air brushing against her skin, her mind far away. The city was loud, car horns and chatter. but she’d always been good at tuning it out. That’s why she didn’t notice him at first. Not until he was right in front of her.

“Wait.”

The word was soft but sharp enough to cut through the noise. She froze.

Slowly, she turned toward the voice, and her heart stopped.

He was standing just a few feet away, his eyes locked onto her face. There was no mistaking him. She’d spent too long sitting beside that face, memorizing every line and shadow. But seeing him awake, standing, alive, it was different. It hit harder.

Junho took a step closer, his brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s you,” he said, like he wasn’t quite sure of the words even as he spoke them. “I… I know you.” He stood there. His vest and hat on, in the middle of patrolling.

Her throat went dry. “I—”

“The roses.” His voice softened, his eyes never leaving hers. “You always brought roses.”

She felt her heart stutter, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She should deny it, should turn around and walk away, but something in the way he looked at her kept her frozen.

“How… how do I know you?” Junho asked, his voice quiet and searching.

And just like that, the walls she’d spent so long building started to crack.

She should run.

Every instinct screamed at her to turn around and walk away, no, run. before this got any more dangerous. Before he remembered more. But she didn’t. She stood there, rooted to the spot, caught between his gaze and the quiet desperation in his voice.

“I…” She swallowed hard, her mind scrambling for the right words, any words. “I think you must be mistaken.”

But his eyes didn’t waver. “No. I remember you.” His voice was steady now, more certain. “Not clearly, but… I know your face. And the roses.” He took another step closer, his eyes softening with something like recognition. “Why do I know you?”

Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She could lie. She should lie. But the truth sat heavy on her tongue, and after all those months of talking to him when he couldn’t answer, it felt impossible to stay silent.

“I…” She exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. “I visited you. When you were in the hospital.”

Junho’s eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite name. Surprise? Confusion? Gratitude? “You… visited me?” he repeated, his voice quieter now. “But why? I don’t—” He broke off, his brow furrowing as if the answer was just out of reach. “Who are you?”

She hesitated, the words threatening to spill out , her name, her story, the reasons she never should have been at his bedside. But some secrets were too dangerous, and this was one of them.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly.

But Junho didn’t let it go. “It matters to me.”

The way he said it, gentle but determined, made her chest ache. She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t let this go any further. But the way he looked at her, like she was a missing piece of something broken inside him… it made her want to stay.

“I just… didn’t want you to be alone,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. “And I… I like roses.”

Something shifted in his expression, something quiet and warm. “It was you,” he said again, almost to himself. “I thought… maybe I dreamed you.”

Her heart ached at the words. She wanted to tell him everything. about the roses, the conversations he never answered, the way his presence had become a strange kind of comfort in a life filled with coldness and violence. But she couldn’t.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she said instead, her voice soft and careful. “That you’re okay.”

Junho studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face like the answers might be written there. And maybe they were, but she couldn’t let him find them.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

The question stole her breath.

She should say no. She had to say no.

But instead, she found herself saying, “Maybe.”

And then, before he could ask anything else, before she could lose whatever caution she had left. she turned and walked away, the scent of roses still clinging to her hands.

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Rafayel)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Rafayel. The reason is because you hate being the destroyer of everything he loves. His kingdom. His people. His life. Maybe he is better off without meeting you.

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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| 1 | 2 [current] | 3 | 4 | 5 |

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"Why...hmmm...why....hmmm...wh-gahhh-" Your friend caresses her cheek from your pulling earlier.

"It was just the first kiss. Chill."

"But the story is nice. They went undercover. It's gotta be interesting. BUT. They kissed."

You sighed, "Then just don't get it. There's plenty more updates coming. Just stay tuned."

She pondered, "Yeah, you're right."

+--------------------------+--------------------------+

Library. A calming place to be when you study. But not today. You've just ended your last paper for your course. Even if you don't know the results yet, you're a free student now. A student that will be busying herself for an internship.

Except.

That's not what's on your mind right at the moment.

The book in your hand opened to the near middle section. Your phone on it. What's on it was what occupied your mind currently.

A picture. The picture depicted MC on a swing with Rafayel in front of her. Face just a breathe away. The fish mark blares.

"Should I... get this?" You whispered to yourself.

+----------+--------------+---------------+----------+

*Tring*

"Hah... no way... I got him... no way..."

You cupped your mouth, disbelief by your sheer luck of getting Rafayel's new limited 5* card. The animation played. The garden. Him. The close proximity between him and MC on a swing.

You squealed quietly in the library. Mind reeling. You gotta go home. Stat.

+--------------------------+--------------------------+

"Sis? Where is she? She should be home by now."

*Bling*

[I'll be staying out for a few days. We have a big event coming up. Most of us will be staying nearby the event venue. Call me if anything happens. Take care of yourself.]

"Oh. This must be an important project. She rarely stays out for anything. Maybe this is a good sign. I don't want to bother her with my fangirling mode later."

You feel a bit of a loss staying in an empty apartment. But it was soon replaced by your excitement to see how the new card played out.

You set your phone up. Preparing the big screen you purchased meant for this level of fangirling. The phone propped up near you for easy handling.

Water bottle not far from you, ready to help with your usual hyperventilation later. Pillow also ready to smush your face and hide your blushing antics.

"Aaaaaand... Start."

The animation played out. Your focus didn't falter from the big screen. It was beautiful. The garden. The butterfly on his finger. Fluttering to your finger.

The kiss.

You blush.

The one scene from the video on its official page was coming. You're a bit confused because the mark should have flared by now. Other parts were on point.

'Probably a bug.' You thought.

No way you're stopping now.

"Where are you looking at?"

"Hmm?"

You look around. Not one of your games got accidentally turned on. The dialogue was different. Another bug perhaps.

You turned back but Rafayel still hasn't moved. You saw the Auto icon was not on.

"Argh. Did I accidentally tap it? It was on a fluffy part too."

You tap your phone.

"Finally you're looking at me, cutie."

You stopped on your track.

Your finger automatically tapped the Back icon.

Long stare on it. The card indicator showed you haven't finished watching it.

"Let's... just... watch it another time. The bug is serious this time. Maybe I should calm myself down and play another game."

Your finger quickly tapped to the cafe screen and saw Rafayel sauntered closer to the screen. Your breathe hitched.

"Are you going to leave me just like that?"

He walked back to his usual standing spot.

"I thought you don't hate me. Why leaving so soon?" He pouted.

Your eyes were unmoving. You pushed your chair backwards, slowly.

He saw it and immediately flail his hands cutely.

"Ah! Hey. Come on. Cutie~ Sorry for scaring you."

You stop moving. He sighed in relief.

"Ra...Ra...RafaYEl...." Hiccuped.

You were hiccuping some more.

His eyes widen, "Oh, gosh. Cutie! Scaring was supposed to stop a hiccup. Not START a hiccup."

He looked around and pointed to something, "Water. Water. Drink it."

You went to the water bottle in a daze. Rafayel had to command you on every step of the way until you finally drank it. Even telling you to stop when the water was half gone.

"Cutie. Work with me. Breathe. Breathe. Put the bottle down. Sit there. Look at me."

He helped you through meditating yourself back to control. Finally feeling much better now.

"Ra...Rafayel?"

"Yes, cutie?" He smiled innocently.

"Am I going to the asylum?"

"Wha-? Hold on, cutie. I'm here, okay. I do EXIST. If people don't trust you then just show me to them. Problem solved, 'kay?"

You nodded slowly, "O-kay." your voice breaking.

He looked worried, "Talk to me. Talk to me, cutie."

"Please tell me you're not real."

You exited the game. Missing his frantic hand to stop you from going away.

You burrowed yourself in your blanket. Not turning off the lights. This was either a nightmare or you've played too many games that made your life twisted with imagination running wild.

Overthinking might win tonight.

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| 1 | 2 [current] | 3 | 4 | 5 |

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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[library-windows]

Stuck home today on account of my agonies and decided to throw in my two cents on the Pentiment soundtrack album cover art with its many references, 'cause like . . . why the hell not

These are my own interpretations, take them with a grain of salt.

There are SPOILERS for Pentiment through Act III behind the cut.

☞ Andreas

Andreas is holding gentian (blue) and edelweiss (white), both Alpine flowers. One of the symbolic meanings for gentian is "justice"; and one meaning for edelweiss is "dedication" (another is "sacrifice").

In his other hand, Andreas is holding a blank scrap of parchment -- symbolizing the player's ability to make choices and help define the story.

☞ On the table

The bound codex is pretty self-explanatory with the game's motif of books, both manuscripts/codices and printed books.

The snail on the book is possibly emblematic of the much slower, more labor-intensive process of making manuscripts over printing, but I suspect it's actually a joke about the number of giant snails that pop up in medieval marginalia. (Inkulinati also invokes the giant snails and Andreas.)

The broken hammer symbolizes the murder of Otto, the town carpenter.

The ornate clock ties into the clock that's been built in Act III, replacing the liturgical hours as a measure of time with a 24-hour clock; and on a larger scale, symbolizing the shift from late medieval to early modern. The beetle appears to be standing on a miniature sundial and climbing from it onto the clock, reinforcing the emphasis on a shift in how time is measured and conceived.

The beetle itself looks like a direct reference to Albrecht Dürer's "Stag Beetle". Rather than treating the insect as a memento mori based on the association of insects with decay and death, Dürer painted a study of a beetle with careful attention to its appearance, as an observation of the actual critter rather than making the beetle into a symbol of anything. As far as the Pentiment art goes, this inclusion along with the clock shows some of the shift in mindset from medieval to early modern/renaissance vis-à-vis its relationship to nature, as well as Andreas' (possible) interest in the natural world. -> Dürer was also from Nuremberg, and he sure has a certain physical resemblance to Andreas (check his "Self-Portrait at 26" in the wiki link); he also gets name-dropped early in the game, if you have the Craftsman background and ask the baron who the artist was that he saw painting the emperor's portrait.

There's a pen, a stylus, and a pen knife on the table, along with the spilled red ink that recalls blood.

The gold coins could have multiple symbolic meanings -- they could indicate that Andreas is a professional/master artist and, by this point in the story, a man of wealth (especially given their position between some of the tools of his trade). They could also symbolize the competing financial demands of Kiersau Abbey (since again, these were the tools of its major source of income) and the people of Tassing. Either way they represent a link between art and money.

☞ The wall/window

Beatrice, St. Grobian, Socrates, and Prester John can be seen in the carving behind Andreas' shoulder.

The notes sent to the murder suspects in Act I and II are hanging from the curtains. Ferenc's is the top one that is partially burned; Ottilia's and Lucky's are also visible, along with the one that Andreas receives at the end of Act I warning him not to return and, I think, the one that Claus receives in Act III. (The exception is the note that Matilda received, which is under the clock on the table; assuming she's not accused of the murder, Matilda is the only one of the Act I suspects who's still living in Tassing in Act III when the Rathaus clock is built.) The notes are tied together with a red cord/thread that also leads to a key; this references the mastermind behind the murders, the Thread-Puller.

Moths represent transformation, and the three stages of their life (larva, pupa, adult) could line up with the three acts of the game and Andreas therein (youth, withdrawn and depressed, and ultimately breaking out of that chrysalis to be free); but I think another form of moth symbolism that lines up with Andreas himself is the proverbial "moth to a flame", where a moth will find itself compelled to fly toward a light (or a fire) even when that means destroying itself. [Addendum] The moth has two pairs of eyespots, and is placed with the notes/key/thread; it could also represent Father Thomas, an unassuming and seemingly harmless person, who is nevertheless positioned to observe the secrets of both Tassing and Kiersau.

The winged bull, a symbol of St. Luke (patron of artists, as you can learn from the in-game glossary) is confirmed by the artist to be an actual pentiment -- it's painted over a tauroctony, a motif in the Roman cult of Mithras that shows Mithras killing a bull. Obviously this ties directly into the events of the final act of the game where Andreas and Magdalene discover the Mithraeum and how the Roman ruins were reinterpreted as Christian relics. If you were to 'erase' the pentiment to reveal the original drawing, it would show Mithras (central figure of an Imperial Roman cult) killing the bull that had been remade into an image of the Christian figure St. Luke -- mirroring Father Thomas' fear that revealing the historical truth would "kill" the faith of Tassing. -> It's possibly worth pointing out here that Mithras, as worshipped by the Romans, was himself syncretized from an ancient Iranian god; to quote Wikipedia, "The Romans attributed their Mithraic mysteries to Zoroastrian Persian sources relating to Mithra. Since the early 1970s, the dominant scholarship has noted dissimilarities between the Persian and Roman traditions, making it, at most, the result of Roman perceptions of Zoroastrian ideas." [bolding mine] So there's that.

Roses had already had a long association with love and beauty in both medieval and renaissance art, and in particular they often symbolized divine love when paired with devotional images.

The arched windows recall the shape of the aqueduct and the other Roman ruins in Tassing.

Mausfänger (or possibly Son of Mausfänger) is sitting on the windowsill.

The dead bird symbolizes the murdered Baron Rothvogel, whose name literally means "red bird"; outside of it being a repeated phrase in the notes themselves, Andreas can mention this euphemism if you find Ferenc's note and ask him about it. The bird itself is a robin, and at least via Shakespeare, the robin was sometimes associated with constantly singing to woo females.

Part of the Totentanz / Dance of Death from the abbey chapterhouse is reproduced on the lower wall panel behind Andreas.

The lute and pipe represent Alkemie, who did the music for Pentiment (this is the soundtrack album art, after all).

☞ The background

The waterfall in the mountains recalls the mystical spring that's venerated in Tassing's various histories as the point of its founding/salvation.

Kiersau Abbey is visible in the background.

A labyrinth is also visible through through the window, between Andreas and the abbey. This represents Andreas' own mental labyrinth, with the crowned symbol for mercury at the center. Mercury represented the mind in medieval alchemy. It also could represent the local church of Tassing (distinct from the abbey), Our Lady of the Labyrinth, which venerates an icon of the Virgin Mary holding a labyrinth that in turn is derived from the Mithraic labyrinth symbols in the Roman ruins. The church lies physically between Tassing and Kiersau, as the labyrinth here sits between Andreas in the foreground and Kiersau in the background. -> While the story Father Thomas tells Magdalene about the church's labyrinth is made up for the game, labyrinths do exist in Christian tradition as a form of meditation, where a person follows a single path to the center while meditating or praying (either physically along an actual path or by following the path in an image); though Pentiment is also referencing the labyrinthine abbey library in The Name of the Rose, which is similarly at the center of multiple murders committed in order to hide forbidden knowledge.

In medieval art, the owl was most often a symbol of misfortune, as it appeared only at night; that it seemed to prefer darkness over light also made it a symbol of non-believers. The tree the owl is perched in is a gigantic oak, which is likely the same tree where the shrine to St. Satia is; if you talk to Marie and Bert in the forest in Act I, Marie can tell Andreas more about the shrine's oak tree and how it's venerated. [Addendum] Subjectively, the owl's physical shape also recalls the shape of Sister Amalie's habit, with its rounded head and bulky body; Amalie also emerges only at night to 'hunt', i.e. to deliver messages. She is also metaphorically 'in darkness' through Father Thomas' manipulation.

The skull in the moon is a memento mori; the sky outside is between night and dawn, which would more or less match the time at which Rothvogel, Otto, and Claus were all attacked. Also: moon's haunted