#or a save from being ballooned

[nururu]

Every reddit post I see that's like "who needs to be nerfed" everyone always says nort bc he has buffs for healing kiting and decoding and he's a harasser and if u carry certain perks he's a good rescuer... Like okay.... But all of his mains are playing one handed..... We need the extra help

[gender-euphowrya]

infinity nikki funniest game of all time

[pomegranatelifethis]

Live in the moment

Batfamily x Youngest and Clumsiest Little Sister

"You were just walking… how did this even happen?"

Being the youngest member of Gotham’s greatest hero family was already a challenge, but being a complete disaster made things even harder. Yet, your brothers adored you—despite the fact that you constantly got yourself into trouble… or accidentally put yourself in danger.

---

1. Dick Grayson (Nightwing) - "My Reflexes Have Improved Thanks to You."

Dick spent years training to perfect his reflexes… but his real test was you.

Catching falling cups before they hit the ground? ✅

Grabbing you before you tumbled down the stairs? ✅

Stopping you from accidentally falling onto criminals? (Not so much…)

"You know what? One day, I'm going to tie a bunch of balloons to you. At least that way, you can’t fall."

But as much as you exasperated him, your energy reminded him of his younger self. And deep down, he had silently sworn to always protect you.

---

2. Jason Todd (Red Hood) - "Are You Getting Into Trouble on Purpose?"

Jason could handle Gotham’s deadliest criminals, but your clumsiness? That was a different kind of nightmare.

One time, you accidentally spilled coffee on a gang leader. You don’t remember what happened next because Jason whisked you out of there before things could go south.

"Look, kid, if you ever do something like that again… you will, won’t you? Ugh."

No matter how much he grumbled, he was always the first to come to your rescue.

---

3. Tim Drake (Red Robin) - "You Don’t Have to Try This Hard to Die in Gotham."

Tim analyzed your clumsiness and tried to come up with solutions. But no matter what he did, you still found ways to get into trouble.

A simple walk = Crashing into a streetlamp.

Drinking water = Somehow short-circuiting Gotham’s power grid. (They still don’t know how.)

"Alright, new plan: I’m making a drone that follows you 24/7. Just in case."

He tried to keep you safe, but in the end, he just accepted that you were a walking disaster.

---

4. Damian Wayne (Robin) - "How Are You Even Related to Us?"

Damian expected you to live up to the Wayne name. But your technique? A complete disaster.

One time, during training in the Batcave, you somehow managed to punch yourself in the face.

"Biologically, how is that even possible?!"

But if anyone outside the family tried to hurt you? They’d quickly learn that Damian’s sword was much faster than their escape.

"You might drive me insane, but no one else is allowed to hurt you."

---

5. Bruce Wayne (Batman) - "You Are Gotham’s Biggest Danger."

Bruce knew Gotham was dangerous… but keeping you safe was a whole different battle.

Whenever you tried to sneak out of the Batcave, he always caught you. And every time, he would take a deep breath before speaking.

"I’ve told you countless times. It’s dangerous out there."

"But I was just walking—"

"Yes. And last week, while 'just walking,' you nearly fell off a construction site!"

But no matter how many rules he put in place, his biggest fear was losing you. And in his own way, he always made sure you knew how much he cared.

---

Conclusion:

Being the clumsiest, most trouble-prone member of the Batfamily wasn’t easy… but no matter what, they all loved you. And every time you found yourself in danger, they were always there to save you.

[ronearoundblindly]

Big Pharma

Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Written for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza--HAPPY BDAY, SIRI!--using the scenario prompt ~quick, frantic, secret sex in an almost public place + babe's hand over your mouth to keep you quiet~ and the dialogue prompt "goddamnit, will you just f***ing let me do this for you?" with free use kink for good measure. Why not?

Summary: The extreme drug cocktail you devise to save Steve Rogers has one major side effect.

Warnings for smut 🥴, sorta dub-con because it's like sex pollen, F E E L S, Steve being the most chivalrous gentleman while railing you (do it for your country, babes 🫡), completely unintentional dirty talk from Steve but 😮‍💨 we'll allow it, Tony being Tony, and--as always-- terrible puns. (There are no mentions of any medical instruments, except an IV, which is not used.) MINORS DNI. This is a mature gift work; see my Light Masterlist for all-age fanfic that is fine for minors. WC 2k

The constant photoflash burns into your retinas obnoxiously, and you’re not even the subject of the paparazzi.

Captain America is alive—all thanks to you—though he could easily have been six-feet under by now. The mysterious infection was so bad and spread so far, the drug regimen you administered constitutes one of the Avengers’ biggest Hail Marys to date, but it’s working. That’s all that matters…to the world. Behind the scenes is a different story.

As Captain Rogers turns to the next hand he must shake, his sharp blue eyes find you, twinged with a familiar fear.

This stupid event scheduled by Stark to boost morale, to show Cap is just fine and back in fighting form, has gone on too long. It’s happening again.

You worried Rogers might not make it when suddenly Stark showed up hours earlier than the initial, planned press conference—because, of course, there’s meet-and-greets, quick interviews, and these damn handshakes. He’s only gone so long between treatments for the last week.

You nod at Cap and make your way in the small crowd back to Stark. You tell him you’ll need a room, somewhere private to put in the IV, and at least thirty minutes to administer the huge dose. Rogers’s super-metabolism makes it necessary to use approximately forty times the prescription average for antibiotics and steroids. In theory, the side effects are well worth his speedy recovery.

Well, the only side effect.

Stark looks horrendously annoyed. “Can’t you just shoot him up with it and be done?” He doesn’t need your lecture repeated though. “Fine, there’s a greenroom thing over there, but you’ve got fifteen minutes at most, you hear me?”

“Twenty-five, Mr. Stark. He’s not a water balloon.”

“Twenty or he can wheel the damn thing around with him.”

You gulp in nervousness, but the problem isn’t Stark’s attitude. Rogers isn’t going to like rushing this. He feels shame enough already.

“I’ll make it work,” you assure the stubborn playboy. If he only knew…

“Good. A team player. We value that here.”

You have no fucking idea how ironic that is, you scream internally, but you follow him to a door off a back hallway, a room that shares a wall with the space all those people are gathered, and thank Stark.

“Oh good, he’s heard the dog-whistle of treat time,” Tony quips, and you swivel to see Cap trailing behind you.

He’s already made his excuses to step away, too. It must be bad.

You’re sure to pull out your props of a saline drip and tubing from your bag while Tony can still see, but you drop the act the instant the door clicks shut.

Cap take one step forward to flip the lock, immediately unzipping the fly of his iconic leather suit.

See, the only side effect of the drugs is Rogers gets hard, often, and can’t find relief from his efforts alone. Through trial-and-error, the clear solution has been help—discretely—from the only medical professional allowed around him until his condition improved.

Of course, he fought it. Of course, you wanted to preserve his dignity. Of course, you tried to keep it as perfunctory, methodical, and uninspired as possible, but the thing is, that didn’t last.

The more distant and cold the experience, the faster he became desperate and wanting again, and now you have just twenty minutes to make sure Captain America can hold out for hours.

Steve, you remind yourself. He prefers you not use respectful address when engaging is what he deems entirely disrespectful behavior. 

You need to get him off in essentially no time at all, so you’ve decided: go big or go home.

Bag tossed to the floor, you unbutton your pants and shimmy out of everything from shoes to panties, letting the longer tail of your dress shirt barely cover your modesty.

Steve looks dumbfounded. It’s bad enough he has to run to you for a handy every few hours, but this?

“Doc, no,” he breaths.

“I understand the procedure,” you say calmly, echoing his harrowing consent from that first night he needed you.

Steve’s brow furrows in strain. “We shouldn’t…”

‘We’ are way past ‘shouldn’t,’ buddy.

“Can’t ask you to…“ but he also knows time’s a wasting.

He’s already fisting himself, struggling to be the gentleman he never stopped being, which at the moment is a huge problem because both of you need to get through the day—you without losing your job and him without popping a boner on national television.

It’s your job to break him and break him right now.

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?”

There’s a flat smack on the door.

“Do whatever the lady wants and then get back out here,” Tony yells from the other side. “Put us all out of our misery,” he ends with a grumble.

That is by far the most helpful thing Stark has said in the last week, so you mouth “see” and begin undoing your blouse from the bottom, giving Steve his first peek of you. His hand speeds along his length, adam’s apple bobbing in concentration.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” you whisper. You walk to the far corner of the room, put your hands up, shirt rising over your bare ass, and face the wall. Your voice is soothing, pleading even. “Just take what you need.”

In some ways, you feel responsible for his predicament. You are the prescribing doctor, he isn’t in a relationship where a partner could assist, and he insists no one else know. He doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded more than necessary, and you can’t give him any other meds in combination. None of it is his fault same as none of it is yours. You only intended to heal him.

Truthfully though, none of this is just about his release anymore, much as you’d like to dismiss your feelings.

You can’t deny, however, that each time the air gets a little thicker with tension, the body language a little more intimate. Steve has kept his eyes open, clutched your free hand to his chest, rolled his hips open, and thrust up into your fist. The greater the satisfaction of his climax, the longer he retains control.

“When this is over…I swear,” he grits out, getting closer word by word until his deep voice is right by your ear.

He tugs your shirt up to dip his fingers between your legs. “Been smelling you for two days. Can’t do anything until—” Steve growls, feeling how slick you’ve become in anticipation “—you’re ready for me.” 

His concern washes away when two fingers easily breech you to the knuckle and are immediately replaced by the blunt head of his cock dragging between your folds.

You didn’t expect him to give in so fast. You didn’t expect him to have known this aroused you. The idea he might want to continue, to go further, races down your spine, following the opposite path of Steve leaning into you. His forehead presses your occipital as yours presses the wall. The heat of him makes you arch in luxurious proximity.

Steve fucking forward to enter you in one smooth motion makes you forget to be quiet, but before the whole shout of ecstasy escapes, his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh, Doc,” he breathes at the base of your neck. “Be good for me.”

That only gets you moaning into the seam of his gloves.

His hips start a staccato rhythm, a second of loud friction for each second of silent, fulfilling pressure.

Steve slips his still wet fingers under your shirt and beneath the cup of your bra to swirl a smooth pattern over your nipple. Instead of voicing your approval, you shove yourself back into him faster.

You notice the muffled chatting of Tony and someone else outside while your eyes roll. The slap of your skin against the Cap suit becomes the loudest thing in the room, but that’s not what Steve minds.

He pulls out and spins you around, pausing to see the cream you’ve created at the base of him drip to the carpet below.

Deep sea eyes meet yours through golden lashes.

“If I can’t hear you…” Steve hoists you up to his waist, threading one arm through the bend in your knee, spreading you wide and diving in swiftly.

Your body curls forward automatically to grasp at him and smother yourself in the leather of his shoulder pad. This pace is much faster, purposeful, utterly unravelling you. The position delivers more range of motion, all of the buildup and less of the noise, with the added benefit of his tool belt nudging your clit repeatedly.

Tony pounds on the door. “‘Bout done in there, guys? Let’s go.” How apt, the unknowing jester.

Steve pants, open-mouthed, against your temple.

You smile but can’t stop your own ruin.

A groan gets buried in your disheveled hair. “Are you…close?” His hips snap brutally. “Are you—“ he sounds wrecked “—you gonna…come on my—uungh.”

You tip over the edge, clutching him tight and fluttering for him in every way. The detonation of your orgasm burns red behind your eyelids like camera flashes, a dirty snapshot for you alone.

“Mercy,” Steve begs, gripping your ass to rut into you, desperate to join. His neck tenses as he spills inside you, pulse throbbing in time with his cock. 

He leans against you and the wall, his steady weight stilling your shaky legs. Slowly, your feet are guided to the floor and Steve steps away to wipe away any evidence of his ‘therapeutic treatment.’ His breathing settles much faster than yours, and by the time he’s tucked back in with his suit righted, you’re simply sliding down the wall to catch up.

He hurries over to the small vanity and mini fridge—usually ‘guests’ for speaking (or interrogating) wait here—to bring you supplies.

A box of tissues is set by your side.

“So…” he hands you a bottle of water “…maybe…dinner tonight?” 

You set the water down in favor of cleaning yourself, glancing up to offer a reassuring dismissal. “This morning was your last dose,” you remind him. “It should be over soon.”

Steve may not need this anymore, may never need you again, but he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“I’d like—I want to take you some place nice, but…” He chugs his whole water then quickly unclasps the glove on his left hand, rolling up his sleeve, veins jumping over a thick forearm.

“I don’t know what food you enjoy.”

Arguably, he knows a few other things that you enjoy.

There’s another impatient bang at the door.

“I—“ Your heart soars with the soft sincerity of his face, no trace of fear left behind, no hesitation. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Steve stands, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I’ll lock it behind me…and, um, thank you, Doc.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t apologized this whole week.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve flashes you a dopey smile and shakes his head. “See you out there,” he chuckles.

You can’t be seen when the door opens just enough for Steve to step out, but he makes a show of rolling the suit’s sleeve back down like he really did have an IV infusion, selling the lie like a pro. He keeps Tony talking while shutting you back into your debauched bubble.

Through the wall, you still hear “could you have gone any slower?” followed by a curt, “yes,” and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’d you do, blow a vein?”

You’re picturing an incredibly ironic look on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Just be grateful she puts up with us, Tony…” and their voices disappear down the hall.

His treatment may be finished, but Steve wants you to stick around. He wants you.

Would having dinner with that man really be so terrible? No. Not at all. Even the ‘worst’ of this situation has been a great fucking experience. You don’t want to give that up yet.

It seems you’re both addicted now.

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Hung The Stars - Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader

Summary: 680ish words. The third Abbot child is earthside. Companion piece to Off-Duty.

Warnings: pregnancy and birth. References to prior delivery complications (kind of). Family fluff!!!

a/n: The Abbot family, back by popular demand. Divider credit 💕

Cassiopeia’s birth was uneventful.

Well. As uneventful as a birth could be.

Save for the fact that you threatened to give Jack a vasectomy yourself, it was just peachy.

In all honesty, compared to the twins’ birth, it was a walk through the park. On shards of glass.

This time around, you made sure to tell your husband when your contractions started. With Jacob and Ellie, you severely underestimated how quickly you would advance to 10 centimeters dilation and 100% effacement. Almost four years ago, at 34 weeks pregnant, you had convinced yourself that they were just Braxton Hicks contractions. It was way too early for the twins to come, you thought.

Wrong.

Robby ended up delivering your babies in PTMC’s ambulance bay. Which, believe it or not, was not part of your birth plan. They stayed in the NICU for a couple of weeks to gain weight and monitor lung development, but were otherwise healthy babies. Jack had somehow pulled some strings with administration for the two of you to have a reserved on-call room on the same floor as the NICU for the duration of Ellie and Jacob’s stay. You spent as much time as possible with your babies, except for when Dana practically forced you and your husband to go home for some actual rest while she promised to stay with the babies.

Cassiopeia chose to hang around for a bit longer. At 40 weeks and 5 days, you demanded an induction.

“Jack Abbot, I swear to all that is Holy, I’m gonna neuter you myself.” You yelled during a particularly harsh contraction. Jack had to muster up his entire career of military training and medical poker face to keep from laughing. If he laughed right now, he was positive he’d be six feet under by the end of shift change.

“You’re doing so good, baby. I’m so proud of you,” he pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead and was met with a glare. He knew you didn’t mean any of the aggression, at least not entirely. He would probably also be hostile if he was pushing a watermelon-sized being out of a lemon-size hole.

Your daughter came out kicking and screaming, fierce as all get-out.

Jack’s warm, salty tears mixed with yours as he pressed his forehead against yours, cradling his girls once your daughter was placed on your chest.

“I love you both so much.”

Ellie was so excited to meet her younger sister.

“I can paint her nails too!” She skipped around the delivery room.

“Eventually, yes baby,” You promised as you hugged your first born. Jack cradled the baby against his bare chest. He looked at her like she hung the stars, so much love and adoration in his glassy eyes.

Jacob was not as pleased. You and your husband had to have the difficult Having a new baby doesn’t mean we love you any less conversation. Reasoning with the toddler was not very successful.

“Do you want to help decorate her nursery?” Jack bargained. Jacob pondered the offer before his tiny little face scrunched with determination.

“Only if there can be dinosaurs!”

“Yeah, buddy. We can get some dinosaurs in the nursery,” Jack chuckled and you agreed, eyes fluttering shut as you finally drifted off to sleep.

Jack Abbot was protective of his family. If you said you didn’t want visitors for the first 24 hours, he would set up a blockade outside the door to keep anyone from entering. 

Robby, Heather, and Dana were respectful of your wishes. Baby Cassie was born at 14:06 on a Tuesday. The following Wednesday, at 14:07, a knock sounded at the door.

In rolled the Pitt staff with more flowers and balloons than the room could accommodate.

Most importantly, Robby had your favorite order from McDonald’s grasped in his hand. Your mouth watered at the sight.

Cassie had just finished feeding and was down for a nap. Nobody dared to disturb the infant, but they all cooed at the swaddled baby in her bassinet.

One thing was for certain—the Abbot children would always know love.

a/n: I'm so glad ppl love the Abbot family as much as I do :) Please let me know what you think! Reblogs & comments keep me motivated <3

master list | post notifications @thesewordsxupdates

[zoestorm]

The manga: a college guy meets his childhood friend, who was formerly a boy but is now a woman, and has run away from home after an unspecified disagreement with her family which has left her with a significant amount of trauma; it's implied she was bullied heavily in the time since they've last seen each other.

But don't worry, she's not trans! She just got an illness which turned her into a woman!

The manga: a high school boy with an interest in make-up uses his gloomy, depressed (male) childhood friend as a model to improve his skills. This causes said friend to have an "awakening" and start dressing as a woman, and to overall be a much happier, brighter, outgoing person.

But don't worry, the friend is not trans! He's just a boy who crossdresses because his childhood friend likes him better that way!

The manga: a high school boy joins a club where the members can turn into magical girls, which in his case involves physically transforming into a girl. When in girlmode, he's much happier and enjoys his life much more, and overall prefers staying in girl mode; when the ability to transform is temporarily taken away from him, he sinks into a deep depressive episode.

But don't worry, he's not trans! He's just a boy who enjoys being a girl!

The manga: a college student loses a bet and has to crossdress for a night out on the town, and meets and hooks up with a butch girl; they fall in love and start dating. The boy always crossdressed when they meet, and starts enjoying being "treated like a girl" in the relationship and starts crossdressing even when he doesn't have to meet his girlfriend and enjoys activities such as clothes shopping and make-up and putting on nail polish.

But don't worry, he's not trans! He's just a boy who crossdresses to please his butch girlfriend!

The manga: a guy is magically turned into a girl as a result of saving his best friend, the crown prince, from an assassination attempt. The prince decides that he has to take responsibility, and asks the new girl to marry him; despite being smitten she refuses, wanting to date first. She is later offered a way to go back to being a man, but when she does turn back she's disgusted by her own appearance and depressed all the time, ultimately deciding to stay a girl.

But don't worry, she's not trans! She's just a boy who's been magically turned into a woman! And decides not to turn back when she can! Because she's not trans! Somehow!

"But we can't write trans women in manga! It's just not something that you do!"

[Image description: A one-comic panel. Gengar is glaring at a crowd of faceless characters; from the crowd, a speech balloon emerges, saying "You could if you weren't a fucking coward". End ID.]

[ihaznoclue]

Hello there friend I am back (The one who did the mirio tying a balloon to readers back) which I loved!

I am here to request something for the sonic 3 movie as I saw it and I am obsessed

Can I get Sonic, Shadow and Knuckles (Shadow can be on sonics teams if that makes sense)

Maybe that you and him are relaxing after a well earned day, maybe relaxing on the couch and you wanted to give him a reward for saving the day once again

So you decided to give him some head pats to which causes him to purr and then fall asleep

I actually searched up that hedgehog and echidna's can purr which I didn't know but now I do!

Pairings -> Sonic, Shadow and Knuckles x Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> They deserve a well deserved rest and some head pats | This can be after sonic 3

Genre -> Fluff

Sonic the Hedgehog

It all started with a chill morning, nothing to crazy as you watched form afar while Sonic, Knuckles, Tails and Shadow have a little race between the four of them

Tom and Maddie were simply in the house doing their own things before the others decided to come back inside. You on the other hand didn't mind this at all, looking after the four of them with Tom and Maddie, well duh because you lived with them

Your favourite was sonic, you loved his personality, he was prideful, cheerful, most energetic and cocky hedgehog you've met before you met the others.

Sonic loved to hang out with you, he loved your presence and comfort you brought that keeps him positivity and comfort he liked you

After a day of racing and then suddenly being called out to help defeat someone and than other hero stuff that he needed to do

He just wanted to rest, you decided to watch a movie with him on the couch, Ozzie being next to sonic as he was in the middle

You had a arm resting on the top of the couch behind sonic's head, the brightness of the TV slightly blinding you

You looked down at sonic as he was quite interested in this movie as Ozzie started to walk out of the room to somewhere else

You smiled as you reached your arm that resting on the couch down his head as you started to give him pats and some head scratches behind his ears, trying to be careful of his blue quills

His ear perked a little as looked up at him confused on what you were doing

"What are you doing?" He asked, you chuckled at him as you responded "I'm giving you head pats.. do you want me to stop?" You said as you stop with the head scratches behind the ears

"No, it feels nice actually don't stop" He said as he reached his head up to your hand, which you slightly giggled as you went back to giving him affection

Going back to looking at the TV for a few seconds you started to hear purring, the only other person well hedgehog who was in the same room as you was sonic

You looked down at sonic to notice he was asleep, leaning his head onto your side as he had a smile as you he purred away

A little bit of thumping was also heard by his tail that was slightly wagging onto the couch below

You couldn't resist to carefully get out your phone to take a little photo of this moment

It was to cute!

Shadow the Hedgehog

He hadn't received affection form anyone beside Maria before you know.. Died..

He was cold and mysterious as he only got closer to you as he started to live with the others as he had nowhere else to go, Tom and Maddie knew you were the right option to look after Shadow as they look after the others

Shadow never really talk that much to the others but he seemed to give a liking towards you as he gave you some words out of his mouth

Shadow was powerful and fast, but he was cool looking to you as you felt like you needed to give him some affection and comfort of your own

You wanted to give him as much comfort and love as you knew how much he has suffered and being locked up for 50 years in that God awful tube

Now Shadow came back from a little mission of his own as he teleported by using his chaos control back to the house, slightly scaring you as you were seated on the couch relaxing

"Hmph scaredy cat" He smirked a little as you gave him a little pout "Well you did just appear out of the blue without any warning" You spoke back causing Shadow to look at you with curiosity

"What are you doing?" He asked, you looked at him confused as you looked at what you were doing yourself

"Um.. Relaxing?" You said like a question

Shadow raised an eyebrow as you now thought of an idea, patting the couch beside you "Sit, Relax with me Shadow"

He didn't fight it as he sat next to you with arms cross across his chest fur, he didn't think as he just look straight ahead at the TV that was playing in front of him

"You know, you can release your tension, don't have to act tense in front of me" You spoke but got a gruff in response

So you decided to try something to help him as you reached out a hand to started giving him head scratches which caused him to flinch back

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking a little bit grumpy at you

"Trying to help you relax, trust me it would work. You've been working so hard and I want to help you" You replied as you stilled your head in front of him

He looked at your head and back at you, seeming to think about it as he reached his head to your hand as his ear flattened

You smiled as you started to work through his quill being gently, scratching behind his ears as well which seemed to have a effect on him as he started to purr a little

His head seeming to move a little bit more closer than he was before, which you slightly chuckled a little as you looked back at the tv

Now it's been a couple of minutes, "Shad-ow.." You looked back down at Shadow to only see his peaceful restful face

You gave a little smile as you whispered

"Sleep well Shads"

Knuckles the Echidna

Again hasn't received much affection since he lost his tribe and father the ones he cared for but lost at a very young age

I believe that he would forget the warm touch of comfort that someone gives him, or he would be a little bit worried if he would accidentally hurt them by his strength

But that's when you came around, sweet and kind with a quiet but comforting presence that would make him feel at ease just by you being there with him

After being out for nearly the whole day because of villains and guarding and other stuff that you never know what this echidna does

He finally gets home but.. something wasn't right

He looked furious as if someone pissed him off, which was most likely out of the other possible chances that could of happened

He was also dirty with dirt and grub on his fur and stuck in his quills, dirt smudged on his muzzle cheek

You just stood there trying to not laugh as you covered your mouth with a hand, Knuckles closing his eyes for a second then re-opening them

"What happened?" You asked

"I would not like to talk about it" Knuckles said in a grumbled tone like he was about to punch something or someone

You cleared your throat as you asked him if he wanted a bath to clean himself off

Knuckles just simply followed you the bathroom, you turning on the tap as water ran down into the bathtub

You sat on the edge of the bathtub as you didn't want to question much on what happened to knuckles as he took off his gloves and his shoes

"Want bubbles?" You asked as you took a bottle of bath bubble, lavender scent

"What is bubbles?" He asked which to you excitedly took the cap off and started to pour in the bubbles as you started to swirl the water around causing Knuckles to become interested

After cleaning him off gently and dried him you two were sloughing on the couch watching some TV as you two relaxed

Knuckles needed this and you knew it

Reaching a hand down to gently pet his head caused him to look up at you as he questioned what you were doing

"What are you doing with your hand?"

"Petting you" You paused your hand "I could stop if you like-" You spoke as you pulled back your hand only for it to be grabbed by Knuckles hand

You thought he would crush your hand but he was gentle with grabbing your hand, he pulled your hand back to his head as he looked away

"Do It again" He spoke in a quiet tone, you gave out a little smirk as you continued on what you were doing

After a few minutes of doing what you were doing you hearing thumping, looking down to see that Knuckles fell asleep while his Tail was wagging against the couch

This causes you to snort a little at the adorable moment

Continuing with petting his head as you went back to watching the TV until you fell asleep yourself

-A<3

[angelwinggs]

Smile for the camera :)

You were at the gathering of your friends, a small gathering of five people now since the other two has already left bored. You were discussing how your marks were dropping because the professors held grudge against your group for messing the whole semester.

That was when one of your friend suggested they gift something to those old bastards to make them happy. Something that'd would save your grades. Another one asks what it could be? What do old people like? You would ask. Another friend of yours spares you a look before whispering something to the other and they whisper among themselves making you curious but the whispers never reach you.

"You also want to save your grades right?" Your friend asked you with a glint in his eyes

You nodded unsure but desperate. Your parents would be disappointed if they came to know your grades dropped especially in a subject that you're actually good at.

Your other friend smiled ferally, holding your arm, rubbing a bit too intimately. "Then how about we give our Professor soemthing he will never forget?"

"W-what?"

"A video."

You frown at them not understanding. "We will film a video for him. He's an old man with no wife or girlfriend. He would love to see some young pussy. And best if recorded."

Your eyes widen as you push your friend angry at the suggestion. "Are you insane? You're telling me to use my body?!"

"Oh no we all will use our body, you will just be the host. It's for grades." He tried to explain, they all did.

And somehow you ended up naked on the table legs tied witht the legs of the said table. They had brought few stuff for the video. Camera, tripod, four branch egg vibrators and a 500 ml injection without the needle.

They had just said they would film the video, no more details. You were hoping they would use lube or atleast finger you to make whatever they are about to do easy but they didn't. You were dry and pulsating with your lega tied apart giving a close up open view to your pussy.

Your friends had only their cock out, otherwise fully dressed making it more humiliating. They had gathered in a corner doing something you aren't sure of.

Once they all are there around you, you saw what it was. The injection was full of water. Were they plan to inject that in you? Before you could object they just stuffed your mouth with a cloth so you could only thrash around which just earned you hard spank on your ass making the table shake. You whimpered and begged to stop but they didn't listen.

One of them, inserted the mouth of the syringe in your ass forcefully despite the resistance from the muscle, you screamed but the syringe did went in and as the pump was pushed the water filled your asshole.

Meanwhile your other friends, pumped their cocks and slapped you few times with it.

"Do you think we could choke her with the cock?" One of them asked to which shrugged so he straddle your face where it was hanging off the table and shoved his cock right in making you gag. He was brutal in his face no matter how you choked or gagged. With every gag you were slapped with one of the other's cock.

Whereas the third round of syringe with water was being injected in your ass. Your belly started bloating with the amount of water.

"Look at the slut's belly." One of them howled in laughter.

They tapped and pressured your belly to make you let the water out, but it was hard due to the pain. So one of them decided to do it by force, he took the vibrators, which were joined by one switch and started inserting them in your pussy one by one. Your pussy shaking from already three vibrators in refused to take another but four fingers stretching your pussy like a balloon, made it fit. Once all the four vibrators were in, you were being slapped on the clit to create stimulation.

Your mouth on the other hand, was accumulating three cocks trying to Suck them as much as you could. You remember them Cumming down your throat already, yet them or maybe a set of new people are now fucking your throat. This isn't what you agreed to it but this is your fate now. A rapetoy.

Finally after a particular hard slap your ass let out the water like a stream of fountain. It shoots out of your anus making all of them coo. You breathed heavily as the pressure left your belly leaving your ass empty and clenching. They also pulled out the vibrators.

You hoped it was done. You were wrong.

"Now for the final show." You heard one of them say, before you could decipher the meaning another injection was shooting down thick cum in your pussy at an alarming speed. You thrased around refusing to take it but there is nothing you could do. There was so much cum, you were sure it was mixed with all of theirs. Your pussy now filled, and a dangerous amount of cum inside was going crazy.

They zoomed the camera after stretching your pussy and showed it. "Professor if you pass all of us, it could be your cum in this cunt." He smiled.

After one slap to your face mouth full of cocks, you nodded along with them in agreement.

"All right whore, keep that cum in, we need to get your ass filled too." One said before delivering three slaps to your asshole and forcing his cock in your ass making you scream.

Another one joined him, and also pushed his way in moving in coordination. The movements were harsh and ruthless, you felt your throat sore but nothing stopped until they came inside your ass filling you. They exchanged position with other two leaving your mouth and fucking your ass and the before two coming to fuck your mouth.

Once they too filled your asshole, one of them put one vibrator on your clit and slapped your pussy enough time for you shoot the cum out of your pussy screaming on the top of your lungs despite having three cocks in your mouth.

Finally they all pulled out but you had lost all your inhibitions to even care. They checked the footage and gathered their stuff.

"Nice, we'll get out grades. Thanks." One if them gave you a light pat on your cheek with his cock before zipping.

"Do we leave her or what?"

"There are some sponges for lab usage. Shove some in and let's go."

They complied, two yellow sponges in yoir pussy deep in stopping the leftover cum and one in your ass that is gaping. Pussy and asshole stuffed with sponges stopping any cum from flowing and mouth filled with cum and ass red.

Once you get up you will wear your shirt and skirt, wash your face and walk to your dorm with two sponges still inside and patiently waiting for your Professor to see the boys raping you. Maybe he'll call you and ask for more for himself. Maybe you'll be raped by an 72 year old Professor but at least your grades with up.

A/n: Let me know your filthy thoughts or anything you would add ;)

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life. 

Neither of you speak. 

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything. 

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue. 

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again. 

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on. 

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away. 

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted. 

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart. 

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands. 

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. 

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces. 

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied. 

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears. 

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed. 

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding. 

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for. 

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath. 

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond. 

“Love you back?”

You blink. 

Your stomach drops. 

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself. 

What a way to make an exit from your relationship. 

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something. 

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know. 

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp. 

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions. 

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable. 

He swallows. 

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice. 

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her. 

“Wait.”

He says your name.  

And of course you pause. 

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle. 

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?” 

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again. 

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring. 

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about. 

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break. 

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly. 

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink. 

And for some reason, begin sobbing. 

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in. 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath. 

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper. 

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty. 

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly. 

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel.  Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes.  “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft. 

“How could I not be so in love with you?” 

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold. 

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw. 

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat. 

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog. 

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone. 

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder. 

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up. 

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning. 

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him. 

Spencer kisses you on the cheek. 

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is. 

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on. 

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand. 

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other. 

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy. 

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this. 

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets. 

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC. 

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly. 

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes. 

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck. 

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs. 

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. 

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon. 

And he’s laughing. 

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall. 

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige. 

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all. 

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip. 

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face. 

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same. 

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own. 

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips. 

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately. 

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first. 

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology. 

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly. 

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth. 

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you. 

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth. 

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak. 

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him. 

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back. 

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly. 

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too. 

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight. 

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would. 

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly. 

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours. 

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel. 

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks. 

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee. 

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now. 

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy. 

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming. 

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him. 

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his. 

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart. 

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall. 

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet. 

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours. 

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod. 

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly. 

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would. 

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised. 

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case. 

But at the same time—everything’s different. 

And you won’t make the same mistake twice. 

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face. 

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all. 

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top. 

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled. 

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage. 

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you. 

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement. 

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself. 

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest. 

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs. 

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

-

part seven

[demie90s]

Omg reader during senior walk out and everyone's absolutely sobbing and thinking about how much they're gonna miss her. Her surprise hugs, her random facts, the burnt cookies (she swears they're not but they totally are), the way she never fails to make someone smile, the way she treated everyone like family. Maybe some of the girls go up to say something about her?

UConn x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

More Than A Teammate

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Your the heart of the team. The one who always plays it cool—never too emotional, never too soft—but always there.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Angst turned comfort, team family dynamic, emotions, soft leadership, goodbye-for-now energy

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Tears. Heavy emotions. Group hugs. Mentions of departure/graduation. Swearing through sobs. One girl ugly cries on live TV.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 0.8k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: Soft hugs and burnt cookies. The “funny one” finally crying. Bench full of baby siblings who don’t wanna let go.

Senior Night – UConn Women’s Basketball

The lights in Gampel are dimmed. Just the spotlight on center court. A table full of flowers. Balloons. A framed jersey. A slideshow looping in the background with pictures from the last four years. Reader half-asleep on the bus. Reader coaching from the bench with her hair in a messy bun. Reader holding KK’s face after a tough loss. Reader holding the team’s national championship trophy, somehow with a cookie in her mouth.

The crowd is loud. But the bench is quiet.

Your name hasn’t even been called yet. And Paige already has tissue in her sleeve.

Geno clears his throat, trying not to sound as emotional as he looks. “Our next senior is someone who pretends like this stuff doesn’t matter. Like she’s too cool to cry. Too tough to make a big deal out of it. But if you’ve ever been hugged by her out of nowhere, or found a half-burnt tray of cookies in the locker room with your name on them, or been told a random fact about blue whales just to distract you from crying after a loss—you know she’s been everything to this team.”

Pause.

“Number seventeen.”

Applause explodes.

You walk out slow. Hoodie on. No tears. Not yet.

The crowd’s loud but the bench is louder—stomping, clapping, yelling your name.

KK’s already up.

She doesn’t wait for anyone else.

KK grabs the mic from the announcer and clears her throat, already crying. Like immediately.

“Okay, listen—first of all,” she sniffles. “Nobody told me this was gonna feel like I was losing my mom, best friend, and emotional support hoodie dealer all in one.”

The crowd laughs, but she’s already shaking.

“She—she used to pack me snacks. Like I was a toddler. Goldfish, fruit snacks, Gatorade. She’d just drop them in my bag and walk away like it was nothing. And I’d act annoyed, but she always knew when I was lowkey falling apart.”

She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “She told me I was built for this before anyone else did. Before I believed it. I—I used to think she didn’t like hugs, right? But she’d always hug me. Even if I was being annoying. Especially if I was being annoying.”

KK turns toward you now. “You were never just a teammate. You were the first person who made this place feel like home.”

You’re blinking. Fast. Breathing in deep like it’ll stop your throat from closing.

It doesn’t.

⸻

Next is Paige. “You saved me and you didn’t even know it,” she says, soft. “When I tore my ACL, everyone was telling me to stay strong. You told me it was okay to fall apart. And then you sat on the floor with me and cried too. And then you made me laugh about it. Who does that?”

The rest of the girls line up after. Azzi can’t finish her sentence. Jana just hugs you and says something in Arabic that sounds like a prayer. Nika says, “You’re the only one who could roast Geno and survive.” Everyone laughs. Even Geno.

And then comes Inês. Quiet. Small. Holding your hand now.

“You never said goodbye,” she whispers. “You just made it easier for us to stay.”

That’s when it breaks.

That final dam inside you.

You try to smile. Try to laugh it off. Say something sarcastic like you always do. But it doesn’t come. Instead, your face folds and the tears fall before you even know they’re coming.

KK rushes you first. Wraps her arms around your waist like she’s five years old again. Azzi follows. Then Paige. Nika. Jana. The whole team.

It’s a pile. A full collapse on the floor of center court. You—finally sobbing in public—at the bottom of it.

“I wasn’t ready to leave,” you whisper.

“You’re not leaving,” KK says. “We’re just carrying you now.”

————

You decide to leave every girl a note before your official goodbye.

KK

“My favorite problem child. I know I made fun of you every day, but truth is, you’re the reason I started showing up early. Watching you grow has been the highlight of my entire career. Keep being loud, being bold, being YOU. If anyone ever makes you feel small—I’ll show up. No hesitation. I love you, brat. And no, I’m not crying while writing this. Shut up.”

(Taped to: a bag of rainbow goldfish and your old hoodie she always tried to steal.)

⸻

Paige

“You were never as put-together as people thought. That’s why I love you. You let me see the messy version—the sad, stubborn, beautiful chaos. You always wanted to be everyone’s hero. Let someone be yours sometimes. Please. And text me when you win it all next season. I’ll be watching. I’ll be screaming.”

(Taped to: her favorite Gatorade and a photo of the two of you in sweatpants, crying and laughing mid-practice.)

⸻

Azzi

“You are warmth in human form. You’re soft in a way this game doesn’t always protect—but I promise it’s your superpower. You remind people why we play. Thank you for always checking on me when I pretended I was fine. Thank you for never believing me when I lied about being okay.”

(Taped to: a little heart charm and the burnt cookies… with extra icing to make up for it.)

⸻

Nika

“You’re the reason the team never stayed mad for long. You carry us without asking. You joke when it’s hard. You yell when it matters. And somehow you always knew when I needed space vs. when I needed a damn hug. You’re my favorite chaos twin. Keep talking shit. I’ll hear it all the way from wherever I end up.”

(Taped to: your matching bracelets and a tiny card that says “still better than you at HORSE.”)

⸻

Jana

“You walk quiet but leave a trail of power behind you. Never doubt that. I watched you step into yourself like it was a slow sunrise. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me in. You remind me what grace under pressure really looks like. Keep dominating.”

(Taped to: a silver pen she always borrowed, and a candle that smells like vanilla and game day sweat.)

⸻

Inês

“You were the one I worried about the most. Which means you were the one I loved the hardest. You don’t need to get louder—you’re already unforgettable. You anchored me in ways I never told you. But now you know. I never said goodbye because I didn’t want to leave you. So this isn’t goodbye. This is ‘until you win it for both of us.’”

(Taped to: a music playlist, a pressed flower, and a photo of her sleeping on your shoulder mid-bus ride.)

⸻

Last one taped to the locker room door:

“To every girl I got to love, tease, coach, annoy, and protect—thank you. You were my reason. Always will be. My heart is stitched into this place, and you carry it every time you walk on that court. Don’t cry for me. Just win. Loud. For me.”

—#17, the nonchalant bitch who never really was.

@draculara-vonvamp

[knight-commander]

Observations on an Empty World

I recently started a new game in Dragon Age: Origins as part of the grieving process, and I'm struck by how allergic the writers of Dragon Age: Veilguard were to providing rich opportunities for roleplaying and exploration – fundamental elements of the franchise that previous entries excelled at and audiences clearly expected. It's extremely noticeable in the differences in how we interact with other characters in Thedas, and especially prominent in the first hours of each game.

While playing as a Dalish Elf in Origins, during the prologue alone, you can speak freely to and question:

Tamlen, your childhood friend

Keeper Marethari, the leader of your clan

Merrill, the Keeper's second-in-command

Maren, a gentle woman who works with the halla

Ilen, the clan's craftsman, who teaches you about the Vir Tanadhal

Paivel, one of the hahrens who raised you and Tamlen

Pol, a city elf come to the Dalish to avoid being hanged for theft

Junar, the hunter teaching Pol about Dalish life

Ashalle, who tells you the sad story of your parents (and the game lets you decide how to react to her telling you this)

Fenarel, who wants to come with you on your search for Tamlen with or without informing the Keeper

The 3 (nameless) humans encroaching on your clan's campsite, who you can choose to ruthlessly kill or scare off, but either way contributes to the clan having to leave

Duncan, of course

You can talk to many of these characters twice or more, once when you awake in camp the first time, and again after returning empty-handed after your search for Tamlen. They have different attitudes towards you and the politics of the world they live in. Often, you can interrogate them for more information. Some have interesting insights, others provide context for the world your character inhabits. Sometimes, you'll unlock codex entries from conversations you have with these side characters (or items in their vicinity), elaborating even more on what you've learned. All of this is in service to helping you roleplay: each interaction layers choices upon choices, building a picture of how your character interfaces with friends, acquaintances, and strangers, as well as how you'll fit them into the ideological jigsaw puzzle that is Thedas.

You will talk to none* of these characters again after the first two hours of the game. They are "not important", but they provide vital glimpses of a wider world that could exist outwith the boundaries of the main quest. The implications of the history they've lived – Paivel's sorrow at having to "bury babes he once held in his arms"; Ilen's recollections of his father's successful first-strikes against Ferelden tribes; Ashalle's reasons for withholding the sad story of your parentage – are all unnecessary to the plot of defeating the Blight, but they make Thedas feel lived in. Alive.

Before I move on: I could be very cruel to Veilguard here and count Ostagar as part of the prologue – which it is. In this case, the number of richly-characterised NPCs balloons massively. For the sake of the argument, I won't.

In Veilguard, the prologue has you interact with:

The nameless bartender, with whom you are given one singular dialogue choice (to persuade with violence or a silver-tongue).

Varric, whose goal in the opening fifteen minutes is to lead you to the next plot point.

Harding, who saves some nameless NPCs and comes with you to the next plot point.

Neve, who is the next plot point and who Varric and Harding already know, so they briefly introduce you to each other in between fights.

... Let's extend it a bit, otherwise that's a sad little list. In the follow-up mission to Arlathan Forest, you can talk to:

Strife and Irelin, faction leaders and darlings of the extended universe (aka, the heroes from another short story), who tell you who you're going to talk to next.

Bellara, who already knows who the Neve Gallus is, of course, and is all but ready to jump into action, even if you don't know who she is or her motivations for being out here in this pickle.

... Uh-oh, it's not looking that much better. Can we keep going? Including the D'Meta's Crossing section, you can also talk to:

Jahel, the surviving Veil Jumper you came looking for. This shouldn't really be counted, because it's not really a back-and-forth. He dies after approximately 2 lines of expository dialogue about the plot of this immediate section. His named Veil Jumper partner, Mihiva, is dead when you arrive.

Arguably, you could "interact" the nameless villagers afflicted by the Taint on the way there, but they do the 'crazed mutterings' and it's not really a back-and-forth, just an environmental button press when you approach.

Julius, the Mayor of D'Meta's Crossing, who you can lightly question, then decide his fate.

Morrigan, for the cameo, I suppose.

Look, I could tack Treviso and the Ossuary on. It might look slightly better. I could count the Caretaker and the faction shopkeepers with their AI-generated ass one-line introductions (but I absolutely will not, because that's ridiculous). The problem is, to me, transparent.

Veilguard is only interested in interactions with the "main characters" of Thedas – the cast of action heroes that surround your Rook. These include your companions, characters from previous games (Varric, Morrigan), and names from the comics or tie-in novels who you are supposed to whoop and cheer for when they appear without ever getting to find out who they are. If I was being unkind, I would even say it is uninterested in providing opportunities to converse with these characters given the superficial, skin-deep nature of the dialogue.

Of the short, sparse interactions you are allowed to participate in during Veilguard's opening, you can have a brief back-and-forth with at most three characters who are not other party members (past or present) or faction leaders. Two are named. I won't do the labour of counting lines of dialogue, but there are only a handful for all of these characters combined.

Throughout the game, these "other characters" exist to be beaten down in service to the plot, as quest markers in service to the plot, or to be saved in service to the plot. If you are lucky, they might have names, but they will never be so fleshed out that you could imagine an internal world for them. You can never imagine what their place in Thedas might be beyond the context you meet them in. They stand or sit or lie stationary at map markers, waiting to be talked to, and cease to exist once their dialogue tree is concluded.

The game tells you, at every possible opportunity, to keep moving. Move onto the next plot point, it says. Forget who you just talked to – they're not important like Neve, or Harding, or Lucanis, or Emmrich. You don't even need to know their names. They don't have an exclamation mark above their head. They weren't here five minutes ago, and they're not going to be here in five minutes. The words they say don't matter, it's just padding for the script to get you from Point A to Point B. Varric says you've got the elven gods Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain to take down, isn't that thrilling?

[pankowcrumbs]

More Than Just a Date X Max Verstappen (Requested)

Request: Max Verstappen x Reader He forgets their anniversary because he always thinks about racing, with a happy ending.

MasterList

F1 Masterlist

I never expected a five-star dinner or a hot air balloon ride though, in truth, I wouldn’t say no to either. I just wanted him to remember. A simple “happy anniversary” would have been enough.

But as I watched Max pacing the flat, phone glued to his ear, mid-conversation with his race engineer about corner exits in sector two, the silence on his end said everything I needed to know.

He’d forgotten.

Again.

To Max’s credit, Formula 1 was his whole world. It was in his blood, his bones, probably in his bloody DNA. I’d always admired his focus, the unrelenting drive that made him a four-time world champion. But sometimes, that very focus meant everything else blurred into the background… including me.

I sat quietly on the couch, dressed up in the outfit I’d planned a week in advance. Hair curled, perfume dabbed just so. There was a cake in the fridge, dinner reservations I’d made under his name, and a tiny velvet box in my coat pocket containing the bracelet I’d saved up for all year engraved with the coordinates of where we first met.

He didn’t see any of it.

“Yeah, no, I agree,” Max nodded into the phone, shooting me a distracted glance and mouthing, ‘Five minutes’ with a guilty smile.

I smiled back. Tightly.

He vanished into the bedroom, still deep in conversation, and I sat there, the weight in my chest heavier than the bracelet I no longer wanted to give.

I grabbed my coat and quietly slipped out the door.

The park around the corner was quiet this time of night. I sat on the bench we always used to stop at when we first moved in together. Back then, it was all takeaway dinners, racing sims, and trying to make our schedules fit like puzzle pieces. Life was simpler then. Or maybe I was just more hopeful.

I felt my phone buzz.

Max Where are you?

I didn’t reply.

It buzzed again.

Max Y/N, I’m so sorry. Please come back.

I sighed, slipping the phone into my pocket. The night air was crisp, laced with the scent of jasmine from the hedge nearby. I leaned back and let my eyes drift up toward the stars, trying to remind myself that I wasn’t being unreasonable. I just wanted to be seen. Not as Max Verstappen’s girlfriend. Just as Y/N someone who loved him enough to celebrate their love even when it felt one-sided.

I heard hurried footsteps before I saw him.

“Y/N!” Max’s voice cracked as he rounded the path, slightly breathless. His hoodie was thrown over his racing shirt and his trainers were half-tied. “There you are.”

I looked at him, unsure what to say. So, I stayed quiet.

He sat beside me, hands resting on his knees. “I forgot.”

“No kidding.”

“I’m not going to make excuses,” he said, eyes forward. “I forgot, and I saw the look on your face as soon as I walked into the kitchen and saw the cake. I’m... I’m an idiot.”

I bit my lip. “You are.”

He let out a low laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can memorise every lap time from the last three seasons but can’t remember the date I got the best thing that ever happened to me. What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a man obsessed with corners and apexes,” I muttered.

He turned then, properly facing me. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care. Because I do. I care so much that it terrifies me sometimes. This racing world is mad, and you’re the calm I don’t deserve.”

I met his gaze. “Then show me. Not with podiums or apologies. With attention. With intention.”

He nodded slowly. “I will. Starting now.”

From his hoodie pocket, he pulled out a folded napkin with something crumpled inside. He handed it to me sheepishly.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it,” he admitted.

I opened it to find a tiny charm a silver race helmet with a red heart etched on the back.

“I bought it last week,” he said. “Meant to give it to you today, but… well. You know the rest.”

I turned it over in my hand, the warmth of his palm still lingering on the metal.

“I got you a bracelet” I said softly.

He blinked. “You got me a bracelet?”

I nodded, pulling the box from my coat pocket and offering it to him.

He opened it, eyes widening. “The beach in Monaco?”

“Where we met,” I said. “Where this all started.”

He took the bracelet and fastened it around his wrist without hesitation.

“Perfect fit,” he murmured. “Like us.”

We sat there for a moment in silence, his fingers brushing over mine.

“Next year,” he said, “I’m not just remembering our anniversary. I’m booking the day off. Full stop. No calls, no meetings. Just you and me.”

I raised a brow. “Even if it’s race week?”

“Especially if it’s race week,” he said. “Because you’re the reason I can do any of this.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, the anger melting into something softer. He smelled like rain and aftershave, and home.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go eat that cake.”

We walked back hand-in-hand, and when we reached the flat, he lit the candles I’d set out hours earlier. We shared the cake on the kitchen floor, laughing between bites. He even put on our song the cheesy one we both claimed to hate but secretly loved.

And as he twirled me around the kitchen in socked feet and soft apologies, I realised that while Max Verstappen might forget a date on a calendar, he never forgot what truly mattered.

Me.

Us.

[joshujihan23]

drunken confessions

pairing: best friend!jeonghan x reader

well, to say that you and jeonghan were polar opposites when it comes to drinking was an understatement.

jeonghan, he has a time limit to his body. and every, single time you drink with him, it always ends with “y/n, please, can we go home?” which you would always refuse to, earning a groan from him.

when you’re drunk, you were the life of the party. taking shots after shots, dancing to the music in the party, you were having the time of your life.

and that included today, during dino’s birthday party.

confetti, balloons, good food, and most importantly, alcohol, was all you needed for the adrenaline in your body go insane.

with your skin-tight dress on, although it did restrict yourself from going all out, you were certain that it will definitely not stop you from being able to enjoy yourself.

you were in the middle of the living room dancing with hoshi and dokyeom, with them singing in a very off tune manner. while jeonghan, he was by the side, watching you having the time of your life.

as you started to throw your hands above the air, vibing to the music blasting through the speakers, your eyes landed on jeonghan.

but in your vision, it wasn’t jeonghan.

it was an attractive, young man, who seemed to be alone.

your mind went aloof, as you drunkenly walked towards jeonghan, a sheepish smile on your lips.

your feet shuffled on the ground, making its way to jeonghan, while he just watched you carefully, a smirk appearing on his face.

“hey, you look really pretty.” you shouted, your voice trying to compete with the loud music.

that made a chuckle escape from his lips, his head tilting slightly, with an amused expression plastered on his face.

“oh really? the pretty one should be you.” he replied.

you shook your head, before leaning it onto his chest, startling him.

“you look a lot like my crush, it’s like i’m seeing his long lost twin.” you commented, your half-lidded eyes fluttering up to see him.

“your crush? give me a more detailed description about him.” he teased.

“he’s tall, pretty, handsome, kind, super mean to me, sweet, loving, but there’s one problem.”

“what’s the problem, sweetheart?” he asked, a teasing tone lingering in his voice.

“hey! don’t call me that, you’re not my boyfriend!” you rebutted, hitting his chest lightly.

that made a chuckle escape from his lips, his hand resting on your head gently.

“and you were saying?”

“oh yes, but the problem is, my crush is my best friend..”

his eyebrow lifted, the smirk on his face widening as you spoke.

“your best friend? so you want to date your best friend?”

you nodded, a sigh escaping from your lips, a large contrast to the pink blush appearing on your cheeks.

“yeah, but he’s out of my league, isn’t he?” you mumbled, looking down on the ground.

jeonghan chuckled, placing a finger on your chin, lifting if up gently so that his gaze is able to meet yours. his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and with that position, he leaned down, as you felt his lips connected to yours.

you felt slightly taken aback, but gave in as he stayed there, moving his lips gently to deepen the kiss.

you placed a hand on his chest, feeling his grip around his waist tightening as the kiss continued.

pulling away, you hit his chest gently. (or so you thought)

“hey, you’re a great kisser, but i saved my first kiss for my best friend! and now it’s taken away by some stranger..” you crossed your arms, pouting gently.

jeonghan chuckled, leaning towards your ear.

“you’re so cute, sweetheart, but did you not realise?”

you looked up at him, confused.

“realise what?”

“that your best friend is standing right here with you now?”

missing jeonghan hours⏳

[magnagaruzenmon]

Hybrid Theory XIV

Well this came out earlier than we thought.

The heavy scent of sandalwood and expensive liquor clung to the air of the private lounge as Sejeong—sleek, poised, and every bit the predator in heels—leaned back against the velvet couch. Her nine tails twitched behind her in irritation, the golden rings adorning them chiming softly with each movement. Her gaze, a gleaming amber, swept across the room with thinly veiled contempt.

She tapped a clawed finger against the lacquered armrest, the sound sharp as a blade.

“Someone want to explain to me,” she said coolly, “how a single deputy sheriff managed to shut down a third of our operations in one night?”

Silence answered first. Then, one of her lieutenants—a wiry rat hybrid named Mikko—finally spoke, his voice shaky.

“I-I think it was that new guy, ma’am. The rookie. Tohru something. We underestimated him.”

Sejeong raised an eyebrow, her lip curling.

“Underestimated?” she echoed, her voice like frost. “He’s a deputy. Not a warlock. Why hasn’t this eager little badge boy been dealt with?”

Mikko grimaced, exchanging nervous glances with the others. “He’s always one step ahead, boss. It’s like he knows our moves before we make ’em. He even busted the drop at the docks before we unloaded.”

Sejeong’s tail snapped with agitation. “So either we have a mole, or this Tohru’s a damn oracle.”

Fed up with the incompetence in the room, she stood up, heels clicking against the marble floor as she crossed to the nearest tablet. With a few swipes, she pulled up a video—“Deputy Sheriff Tohru: The Future of Hybrid Law Enforcement”—a glossy PR piece with drone footage, dramatic music, and a B-roll of Tohru handing out balloons to children after drop-kicking a gang member into a dumpster.

She stared at the screen. Her ears flattened. The air around her went still.

Her expression twisted.

“…Nope,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Nope. I quit. I’m done.”

She turned off the tablet with a dramatic swipe and spun on her heel.

“Boss?” Mikko blinked, stunned. “Wait—do you know Tohru?”

Sejeong didn’t answer immediately. She paused at the threshold, her voice low and venomous.

“I know that face,” she said. “That man is a psychopath with a smile. And I’m not getting dragged into another chapter of his redemption arc.”

And with that, she stormed out of the hideout.

Two hours later, she was curled up on the couch at her mother’s house in sweatpants, a glass of wine in hand, muttering to herself, “I should’ve continued my career and education…”

The office was quiet—too quiet. Fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead as I finished signing off on a mountain of reports for Sheriff Anubis Krueger. Most of the team had already clocked out; the bustle of hybrid and human officers gradually trickled into silence, leaving me alone in the dim glow of my desk lamp.

The loneliness clung to me like an old shadow, familiar and unwelcome. It reminded me of the cold halls of Project Abraxis—the sterile silence, the feeling of being watched even when no one was there. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that memory anymore. Sometimes it felt like it belonged to another life… sometimes it felt like it was still happening.

A sudden knock broke the quiet, and before I could answer, a cheerful voice called out.

“Hey, hellhound!”

Eunbi strolled in like a breeze through a shut window. The ever-bubbly bunny hybrid’s ears perked up as she plopped down in the seat across from me, her oversized hoodie swishing with the movement. She offered a bright grin, one of the few things in this world that still felt uncomplicated.

“I heard you took down another mafia outfit,” she said, nudging a folder on my desk with a finger. “Word is the Fior family’s officially disbanding. That makes what—four this month?”

I sighed, not looking up from my paperwork.

Eunbi laughed. “What’s wrong, Mr. Hero? You save the city, and all you get is a medal and depression?”

“You know it’s not about the glory,” I muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, her voice softening. “My poor lonely buddy who still pines after the only girl he ever loved—the one who disappeared without a trace.”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t blame her. After Abraxis… everything changed. I’ve felt alone ever since.”

There was a brief silence before Eunbi leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.

“You wanna go on a date?” she teased, flashing a wink.

I laughed, the first real one all day. “Your boyfriend would love that.”

“He’d get over it. Maybe.” She giggled. “Anyway, here’s a better idea. Go to Nayeon’s this weekend. I might know someone—someone better. You trust me, right?”

“Always,” I said, smiling faintly. “Alright. I’ll go.”

“Great!” Eunbi said, hopping up from her seat. But before she left, her expression shifted—more serious, more grounded. She turned back to me and said quietly, “Mycroft… it’s not your fault. What happened in Abraxis… you did what you had to do.”

I looked at her for a long second before nodding. “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

But deep down, I wasn’t sure if I believed it yet.

After Eunbi left, her gentle reassurance still echoing in my ears, I returned to my desk only to notice one of the case reports still glowing on my screen—unclosed, unresolved.

A black cat burglar.

I remembered skimming it before, assuming it was another petty thief just nimble enough to avoid the average patrol. But as I reviewed the details with fresh eyes, I noticed a pattern—or rather, a lack of one.

She didn’t just steal valuables or weapons. She took specific, curious items:

—An experimental enhancement drug from a biotech lab.

—Tactical claw attachments developed for hybrid enforcement squads.

—A prototype stealth suit, reportedly decommissioned but still fully functional.

—And strangest of all, a family heirloom—a timepiece belonging to the now-defunct Duvaincourt lineage, obliterated in the mafia wars.

None of the thefts were violent. No guards injured. No civilians harmed. Just holes in walls, missing equipment, and security camera loops erased like chalk off a board. She was precise. Purposeful. Yet inconsistent.

Either a highly competent criminal… or someone desperate. Homeless, even.

I leaned back, pinching the bridge of my nose as the headache settled in. After several more hours and a dozen cross-references with other unsolved cases, I gave up for the night.

⸻

A few days later…

The CONHA Gala was in full swing. Velvet drapes, chandeliers, and a thousand polished shoes pacing across marble floors. I didn’t even remember which award I was getting—something about “bridging enforcement gaps.” It sounded nice. Decorative. Like the badge.

I barely made it through the entrance before Jiwoo swooped in and looped her arm around mine. She looked radiant in a silver-blue gown, her sliver fox ears poking through artfully done platinum blonde hair. “There he is! Mr. Public Safety himself.” her white fur tail wagged happily.

“Jiwoo,” I greeted with a nod, but she was already dragging me toward the ballroom. I noticed that there was a spattering of wait staff with different color ties than the other wait staff and wondered what it was about.

“No one’s asking me to dance, and I refuse to let this dress go to waste. You’re my rescue date now, okay?”

I smirked, helpless against her energy. “Alright, alright.”

As we moved through the dance floor, swaying under soft lights and orchestra strings, I started to relax—at least, until I felt it.

A presence. Watching.

I glanced subtly over Jiwoo’s shoulder. Nothing obvious. But I knew eyes when they lingered too long.

“You keep scanning like we’re on patrol,” Jiwoo teased, pulling me closer. “Relax. Breathe.”

“I feel like I’m being watched.”

“You are,” she said casually. “You’re an award-winning human hybrid peacekeeper. Half the room wants to shake your hand. The other half wants to know how you smell so… safe.”

That pulled me up short. “How I smell?”

Jiwoo laughed softly. “You didn’t know? Your scent’s naturally calming to most hybrids. Subconscious, probably tied to your time with Krueger . You smell like safety. Like—” she squinted, sniffed jokingly near my collar, “—like rain after a fire. A lot of us pick up on it without realizing.”

I blinked, caught between confusion and flattery. “Is that why you’re always finding excuses to sit near me at lunch?”

She gave me a coy grin. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like the view.”

I chuckled, shaking my head, but the warmth of the moment was fleeting. That presence hadn’t left. Someone was still watching. Hidden in the crowd.

Jiwoo noticed my shift in mood. “You okay?”

“I will be,” I said, scanning once more—slower, more deliberate. “Eventually.”

As we moved, she leaned in closer than necessary. Her cheek brushed my shoulder, and I could feel her smile through the subtle shift in her scent—earthy, sharp, playful.

“You know you smell really good, right?” she said softly, chin tilted up to meet my eyes.

“Uh… deodorant?” I offered, genuinely confused.

She rolled her eyes, then smirked. “No, dummy. Your scent. It’s calming. That’s rare. Most humans smell like stress, chemicals, or fear. But you? You smell like Petrichor after a massive wildfire.” She inhaled as if confirming it. “You’re like an emotional support human.”

“Uh... thanks?” I said awkwardly. “Good to know I’m a walking aromatherapy session.”

She snorted. “Don’t undersell it. I’ve seen aggressive hybrids ease up just by standing near you.”

I scratched the back of my head, not quite sure how to take that. “I mean... I guess that’s useful on patrols.”

“It is. It’s why a lot of hybrids open up to you. You’re like…” she paused, searching for the right metaphor, “...like a soft-blanket-in-the-middle-of-winter type of presence.”

The band switched to a slower tempo. Jiwoo pulled me closer, arms now looped lazily around my neck as we danced. Her eyes shimmered with mischief and something else—hope, maybe.

But I missed it completely.

“Reminds me of my little cousin,” I said with a soft laugh. “She used to cling to me like this when she was scared of lightning storms.”

Jiwoo blinked. “...You’re comparing me to a scared ten-year-old?”

I smiled fondly. “No, just saying you’ve got that same tough-but-soft energy. Like a big-hearted bruiser.”

She buried her face against my chest with a muffled groan. “You’re so dumb sometimes.”

“What? Did I say something weird?”

“No, Torhu,” she muttered, “you said exactly what someone would say when they don’t realize they’re being hit on.”

I blinked. “Wait, wha—?”

She just chuckled, content to rest against me a little longer, even if I was hopeless.

A few moments later, Nayeon—fellow Shepherd and owner of the karaoke bar/arcade I frequented after long shifts—drifted through the crowd toward me, glass of soju in hand and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Well, you clean up nice, Mr. Hero,” she teased, giving me a once-over that made me self-conscious despite the praise.

Before I could respond, Jiwoo clung tighter to my arm and pouted up at her.

“Please, unnie, let him be mine tonight?” she whined, the exaggerated tone just shy of playful begging.

Nayeon exhaled in mock exasperation, then leaned in and kissed Jiwoo on the cheek. “Sorry, Jiwoo-ah. I need to borrow him for a grown-up conversation.”

Jiwoo groaned dramatically before peeling herself off of me and flouncing away into the crowd, already scanning for someone new to shower her affection on.

Once we had a bit of space, Nayeon grabbed my wrist gently, steering me toward a quieter alcove of the event hall.

“So,” she said, tilting her head, “the Deputy Star Sheriff’s all alone tonight. Why?”

I gave her a dry look. “You of all people know why.”

Her expression softened. “Yeah… I do. I’m sorry Sejeong ghosted after the whole Project Abraxis mess. That wasn’t fair. But there’s a sea of eligible bachelorettes out there tonight—human and hybrid alike. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” She wiggled her eyebrows teasingly.

I snorted. “Sure, maybe I’ll finally talk to Jeongyeon. You’re always going on about how amazing she is.”

Nayeon choked on her drink mid-sip, eyes wide. “Jeongyeon is my husband, you absolute jerk.”

I grinned. “I know. Not so fun when the teasing’s on the other foot, is it?”

She smacked my arm with the back of her hand, then smiled with reluctant amusement before her tone shifted.

“Have you been monitoring the situation with the good doctor?”

I nodded, voice lowering. “Yeah. She’s panicked, but also being a lot more careful. That’s a win for us. The predator spirals and prey paranoia syndrome outbreaks were getting out of hand. Plus, with Mina tailing that lion-komodo hybrid full-time, nothing... should surprise us.”

“Good.” She nodded, visibly relieved, then took another sip from her glass. “Alright, I’m heading back to my actual husband now. Have fun tonight. Maybe seal the deal with Jiwoo. Girl’s clearly interested in you.”

I chuckled. “She’s a little too young for me.”

“Oh? The infamous voracious hellhound of rigorous appetites finally has a limit?”

“Nay. I’ve always had limits,” I said softly, letting the words hang in the air for just a moment too long.

Nayeon caught the note in my voice, studied me, then offered a small, sincere smile. “That’s why we trust you, y’know. You burn hot, but you burn clean.”

She squeezed my arm gently, then turned to leave, her heels clicking against the marble as she vanished back into the crowd.

After that I felt the call of nature and excused myself from the dance floor with a polite nod to Jiwoo, who itching to cling to my arm for just a moment longer than necessary before reluctantly letting me go.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, unaware of how Jiwoo watched me leave with a soft sigh and a pout that was anything but sisterly.

The soft lighting of the gala hall gave way to the cooler, dimmer corridor leading to the restrooms. I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders as I walked, the weight of the evening catching up with me. The scent of polished marble and expensive cologne clung to the air, but there was something else, too—something more natural, faintly floral and wild. I paused for just a second, eyes narrowing. A shift in the atmosphere.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, not far away on an upper overlook, two hybrids stood partially behind a curtain near one of the decorative indoor trees. One was lithe and lean, draped in a fitted satin dress that shifted like liquid smoke—Chaewon, a sleek blend of clouded leopard, tiger, and cheetah. Her gold-flecked eyes tracked my every movement with trained caution. Next to her, resting her chin on the railing like a lazy cat, was my friend Eunbi, a rabbit hybrid with soft, bouncing curls and a glint of mischief in her gaze.

“There he goes,” Eunbi whispered with a grin, nodding toward my retreating back. “You see what I mean?”

Chaewon scoffed quietly, her voice a low rumble. “That’s just the golden boy sheriff. Look at him. Straight-laced, polite, law-abiding. Probably makes his bed every morning and drinks protein shakes.”

Eunbi leaned in closer, her smile widening. “That’s what you think. that's what he wants everyone to think. But he’s not what he looks like on the surface. I’ve known him for years. There’s something under all that restraint. Something... with bite.”

Chaewon crossed her arms under her chest, her pout deepening. “He doesn’t even look at hybrids that way. I mean the way he shut down that cute dog fox hybrid who's clearly into him. He's not into us. At least not seriously. Probably just sees us as civilians to protect, not people to—”

“run wild with?” Eunbi offered, waggling her eyebrows.

Chaewon gave her a flat stare but her ears twitched slightly in amusement. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re curious,” Eunbi shot back, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “And I’m telling you—Torhu might play the good guy, but you should see the way he grips a chair when he thinks no one’s watching or how he acts when the chips are down and the facade of the perfect hero cracks. he’s holding something back. Something strong, but also something needy.”

Chaewon tilted her head, eyes drifting back toward the corridor where Torhu had disappeared. “He hides it well.”

“Which makes it more fun, doesn’t it?” Eunbi leaned in conspiratorially. “Just keep watching him. You’ll see what I mean.”

Chaewon didn’t answer at first, her sharp eyes flicking back to the dance floor, then to the corridor again. Her mouth pressed into a slow, skeptical pout—plush and annoyed and undeniably intrigued.

“…Fine,” she muttered with a huff. “I’ll watch.”

Eunbi smirked and wrapped an arm around her waist. “That’s all I ask, darling. Just watch.”

“You may not want to go this way,” he said coolly. “We’re about to begin our demonstration.”

His tone was polite, but firm—rehearsed. And then I saw it: the blue insignia stitched into his lapel. The symbol of TOPH. The Order of Pure Humanity.

I gave a casual nod, feigning compliance, and turned on my heel—only to pivot smoothly behind him and slam him into the ground with a sudden suplex. He gasped as I drove the air from his lungs, and I followed up with a swift kick to his chest, just enough to knock him out cold. No lethal force—not yet. Not unless I had to.

I straightened my jacket and scanned the area. Three more—two men, one woman—all with ties subtly different from the rest of the guests, mismatched shades just enough to catch the eye. Operatives, clearly. They weren’t here to protest—they were here to send a message. And if I didn’t act carefully, someone was going to die.

I had no weapons. Neither did they, most likely. TOPH was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. That meant this wasn’t about brute force—it was a targeted strike. Judging by their eyes and posture, they were already zeroing in on someone.

I couldn’t go in guns blazing. Not in front of this crowd. Not while I was still wearing the “Golden Retriever” smile of the town’s cheerful deputy. I needed to work around them—distract, misdirect, stall.

Or maybe...

A plan started forming. Sloppy. Stupid. Perfect.

I let my shoulders sag, drew in a loose, wobbling breath, and stumbled forward like I’d had one too many. The swagger of a man who was two drinks past his limit and one belt short of his pants staying up.

The main hall was already packed. On stage, the leader of TOPH was droning on with all the faux-righteous fury of a man who'd never faced real pain. His voice rang with venomous conviction:

“Hybrids are a blight upon humanity, the result of arrogant science playing god. It’s our sacred duty to cleanse this world—”

I didn’t hear the rest. I was too busy drunkenly zigzagging toward the bar.

The bartender—a young terrier hybrid, no older than twenty—looked like she’d rather vanish than serve a drink. Her ears twitched nervously as I slouched onto the counter.

“One beer, pwease,” I slurred, my eyes half-lidded in a tipsy daze.

She hesitated, then shakily handed me the bottle with trembling paws before ducking down beneath the bar, eyes wide with fear.

Good girl.

That’s when the speech paused. Silence spread. All eyes turned to me.

The leader stepped off the stage, clearly irritated.

“I think it’s best if you leave,” he said as he approached, his measured voice barely hiding his contempt.

I swiveled lazily on my barstool to face him and grinned wide. “But I’m gettin’ a stupid award. For bein’ the bestest sheriff—wait—no. Deputy sheriff.” My voice wobbled like my stance.

He blinked. “Torhu,” he said with a rehearsed familiarity, “we’re conducting something very important here. I’d hate for you to get in the way... or get hurt.”

I reached out, wrapping an arm around his shoulder like we were old drinking buddies. He tensed.

“Ohhh,” I slurred, my grin lopsided. “Are you gettin’ an award too?”

He gave a thin, confused smile, unsure if I was mocking him or just drunk.

“No,” he said smoothly. “But we do have business with Mr. Savitar.”

He gestured behind him.

There, bound and gagged, was a hybrid eagle. Strong. Proud. Wings trembling, eyes filled with fury and panic.

And now I knew their target.

I leaned in, still playing the drunk.

“Well,” I muttered, voice just low enough for him to hear, “this is about to get real messy.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

Before he could react, I headbutted him—hard. I slamed my skull into his chest leaving him disoriented before smashing the beer bottle into his skull. the glass shattered knocking him out cold. the man collapsed.

As I did that Eunbi and Chaewon continued to watch from the vantage point. Chaewon confused by my act said,

"He's literally had nothing to drink not even water. Why is he acting drunk?"

Eunbi smirked as she answered, "to preserve the illusion," she said as I hit the leader with an RKO. Chaewon pouted her curved lips pursed with intrigue,

"What facade?" she asked as she watched me run to another TOPH Member before hitting them with sweet chin music and suplexing another right after, while I carried my

"The Facade you hate, the goody two-shoe deputy sheriff. He hates playing it, but is really good at playing it,"

Chaewon looked at me as I threw another TOPH member into another one,

"So then what is he?"

"A predator like you, he just uses camouflage and ambush tactics," Eunbi said with a smile as I finished the rest of the TOPH members before sighing and faux collapsing onto the floor and faked sleeping the crowd cheered as they all focused on freeing Mr. Savitar.

Aurelio and Amalia were also watching and he turned to Amalia who watched in terror, and said, "See he's a dumb officer who lucked into that victory,"

but both Amalia and Chaewon knew that that was only an act and it sent a shiver down both Hybrid's spines.

After the other partygoers had gone off to check on Mr. Savitar—and to make sure the TOPH members were properly arrested—I found myself at a table tucked away from all the chaos. That’s when Eunbi approached, bringing another hybrid along with her.

"Impressive display, Torhu," Eunbi said with a smirk, then gestured to the girl beside her. She was clearly a blend of several big cats—cheetah, leopard, tiger—each traceable in her features.

The hybrid gave me a coy smile as she slid into the seat next to mine.

"Enjoy," Eunbi said, then disappeared into the crowd.

I turned to look at the girl—she was definitely cute, but guarded. Her feline ears twitched slightly on top of her head, and her twin tails flicked behind her with nervous energy. Then I noticed the timepiece hanging around her neck—the same one the infamous cat burglar had stolen not too long ago.

She caught my gaze and tilted her head.

"See something you like?"

I blinked, realizing I'd been staring. "Not really into family heirlooms."

She smirked. "You're not as dumb as you look."

I chuckled. "My dad used to say, ‘When people want to act a fool, you show 'em you're not one.’"

That got a reaction—her posture relaxed just a bit. More open, still sharp. But closer now.

Now that I could really see her, I realized—she was adorable. Those golden eyes, the ears, the faintest whisker markings at the corners of her cheeks. Damn.

"So Eunbi calls you ‘Mycroft.’ What’s that about?"

"It was my codename during Project Abraxis," I said, trying not to sound like I cared about the title.

"Wait. You were in Project Abraxis?" Her brow furrowed. "But you're so... soft."

I gave a mock sigh, stood, and stretched. "Okay. I like you now. We’re dating."

Her eyes widened. "Oh? And when exactly was that decision made?"

"About five seconds ago. I’m getting ice cream. Are you coming? My treat."

She narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to figure out what game I was playing. Then she stood and nodded. "Fine. But only because I want mint chocolate."

"Blegh" I feigned retching as I opened my arm so she could loop hers with mine. She took it and began purring. I smirked as we walked out

As we walked off, Eunbi watched from a balcony above, shaking her head with a sly grin.

"Oh, she’s going to rail him tonight," she muttered before strolling off to find her own pack.

The neon lights of the city smeared across the windshield like melting paint as we drove toward the old ice cream parlor—one of the few places still standing that didn’t reek of gang tags or blood. I glanced over at the hybrid beside me, her ears twitching under her hood like she was still expecting to bolt.

“So,” I started, keeping my voice casual. “Do you want me to call you Cipher, or do you have a regular name that doesn’t sound like you’re about to hack into a corporate vault?”

She blinked, surprised. “Chaewon,” she said after a beat, her tone sharp, like I’d just taken a swing at her defenses.

I grinned, leaning into the name. “Chaewon? As in the Kim Chaewon? Like the old dynasty princess before the gangs bulldozed this city into a warzone?”

She gave a crooked nod, amused but cautious. “Yeah. Something like that.”

I kept my eyes on the road but could feel her watching me, tense like a coil ready to snap. “Alright, then, Chaewon,” I said, drawing her name out. “Let’s drop the performance. You gonna tell me if this is a setup, or am I walking into a trap flirting with you?”

She snorted. “Me? Please. You’re the one who’s the damn deputy. Spill it, Sheriff Saint. Is this your ploy to get me alone so you can slap cuffs on me?”

I groaned, dragging a hand through my hair. “No! I only go after bad people, not criminals.”

She arched a brow, like I was speaking some strange dialect. “What’s the difference?”

“Bad people hurt others. Criminals just break laws. You can be one without being the other.”

That stopped her.

She went quiet—too quiet. Her head tilted slightly, cat-like, like she was reading between the lines of my soul. Then her pupils dilated, wide and dark and wild. For a second, I thought I’d scared her. I eased my foot off the gas, ready to stop if she needed air—

And then she pounced.

In one fluid motion, she was out of her seat and in mine, straddling my lap as the car coasted to a halt on the side of the cracked road. Her thighs pressed against mine, hot and tense with adrenaline. Her hands grabbed either side of my face, fingers trembling with intensity—like she’d been holding this inside her way too long.

“You’re trouble,” she whispered.

I barely got out a breath. “So are you.”

Then she kissed me—desperate, fevered, like something inside her was breaking and I was the only thing holding it together. And I kissed her back, because God help me, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

She broke the kiss, her breath catching as her golden eyes widened—her pupils blown so wide they nearly swallowed her irises. The sharpness of her feline features softened, her expression blooming into something equal parts shy and predatory.

“You know,” she murmured, voice low and syrupy, “you’re the first person who’s ever pieced together who I really am.”

“Seriously? Just me?” I asked, surprised.

She nodded slowly, like she was savoring the weight of the truth. I couldn’t help but grin. And before I could second-guess myself, my hand reached up and gently scratched behind her ears. The moment I did, her head tilted into my touch and a deep, rumbling purr vibrated through her chest—so loud and content it almost made me melt.

She closed her eyes, smiling like she hadn’t smiled in a long time. But after a moment, she pulled herself away from my lap with reluctant grace and settled back into her seat, still watching me like I was some confusing puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve yet.

“You’re a bad guy,” Chaewon said suddenly, narrowing her eyes at me with a mock-accusing tilt of her head.

“Wait—what?” I blinked at her. “How?”

“You’ve got a scent like warm blankets on a freezing night,” she said, voice featherlight. “And you knew exactly where to touch me. You’re evil.”

I stared at her, then smirked. “Oh yeah? Well if I’m evil, you’re just as bad. A cute, crazy girl with sharp teeth and a sweet little heart.”

Her cheeks flushed and she looked away, flustered. “How do you know I’m sweet?”

“Easy,” I said with a grin, putting the car back in gear. “Anyone who’s friends with Eunbi has to be sweet. It’s like a rule of the universe.”

Chaewon laughed, soft and genuine. It made my chest feel too small for my heart.

“So,” she said slyly, “why aren’t you dating her then?”

“She sees me as a little brother,” I shrugged. “But you’ll do.”

I let the last part hang in the air, delivered with a teasing edge. I didn’t want her to think I was pushing too fast, but I also didn’t want to pretend I wasn’t feeling something real between us.

Chaewon gave me a playful glare and smacked my arm. “Okay, Mr. Deputy. Eyes on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, smiling as I pulled us back into the quiet rhythm of the night drive—though my mind was anything but quiet.

The bell above the door jingled as we walked into the parlor, a little joint that somehow still stood untouched amidst all the upheaval. Neon signs hummed overhead. The sweet, heady scent of waffle cones and fudge swirled through the air like a trap, and Chaewon looked around like a kid in a candy store—if that kid also happened to be sitting on your lap kissing you five minutes ago.

We slid into a booth. She chose the seat across from me, but sat sideways, one leg curled up under her, chin resting on her hand as she watched me with those eyes that knew too much. She looked deceptively casual, but there was a fire flickering under the surface. I was trying not to catch it.

“So,” I said, trying to ground us in something—anything. “You strike me as a mint-chocolate kind of girl.”

She blinked, then gave me this crooked grin that hit way too hard. “What, because I’m refreshing and a little bitter?”

“Because you’re unconventional but with charm.”

She laughed, really laughed, and leaned over the table. “Okay, okay, Deputy Smart Mouth. What does that make you? Vanilla?”

I smirked. “Vanilla’s underrated. Everyone loves vanilla. It’s dependable.”

Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip. “You don’t strike me as very dependable.”

I leaned forward, just a bit, caught her gaze. “Only because you don’t know me yet.”

And there it was again—that pull. That damn tether between us, tight and hot and sharp around the edges.

The kid at the counter called out our order and I was grateful for the interruption. I stood to grab it, but she trailed behind me, not even pretending to keep her distance. Our fingers brushed as she took her sundae from my hand, and it was electric. She didn’t pull away.

We returned to the booth, but this time she slid in next to me instead of across. Way too close. I could feel the warmth of her thigh against mine.

Chaewon swirled her spoon in her bowl without looking at me. “So what’s your deal, Torhu? Are you always this… gallant? Or am I a special case?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said, voice quieter than I meant it to be. “You’re not what I expected.”

She gave me a sideways glance, eyes glinting. “You expected someone more dangerous?”

“I expected someone I wouldn’t like so much.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned her head against my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. And I let her. No—I wanted her to. The air between us was thick with all the things we weren’t saying, and the silence felt like a held breath.

“I’m not good for you,” she murmured, like it was a warning.

I stared ahead at the neon glow reflected in the window. “Well lucky me I’m in the mood for something bad for me.”

She turned her face toward mine, so close I could feel her breath. My heart was pounding like it didn’t know who it was beating for anymore.

Neither of us moved to kiss. Not yet. But the space between us was a live wire, and we were both wet from the storm, cold and electric.

Chaewon’s hand brushed mine. I held it.

Not because it made sense. Not because it was safe.

But because it felt real. And because, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was pretending to be anything at all. She smiled then recoiled as if holding back. I furrowed my brow but didn’t push as I felt Chaewon clench. I sighed but let her do her thing.

The ride back was quiet, but not in the uncomfortable way. More like the kind of silence that thrums with energy just under the surface — a shared tension neither of us could quite name without making it too real.

Chaewon sat tilted in her seat, one knee pulled up, eyes flicking between me and the window, like she was bracing herself for something. The warm lights of the city flickered across her features, casting her in a golden glow that made her look equal parts dangerous and divine.

I could still taste her laugh in the air from earlier — bright and sharp, the way it slipped out when I made a dumb joke about leopard spots being nature’s camo for mischief. She rolled her eyes then, but her smile betrayed her. She liked it. She liked me.

When I pulled up in front of her place — a small, weathered loft perched above what looked like an abandoned flower shop — she didn’t move right away. Just unbuckled her seatbelt and turned slowly toward me, eyes huge and gleaming in the low light, pupils dilated, chin dipped ever so slightly. Watching me like something between a lover and a predator.

“What, no goodbye kiss?” I asked, trying to sound teasing, light — like my heart wasn’t hammering hard enough to crack bone.

She blinked once. Slow. Then leaned in, warm breath ghosting along my jaw. “You sure you want that?”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t wanted anything else all night.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t flirty. It was… haunted. Like she was already grieving something neither of us had said aloud. Her fingers brushed the door handle, then stopped. She hesitated. Turned back toward me, voice soft but vibrating with something raw and caged.

“If you come up… you’re mine.”

The words struck like a bullet made of silk — not a tease, not a threat, but a claim. A vow buried in instinct and need.

She looked away, just for a second, then forced herself to meet my gaze again. “I mean it, Torhu. Hybrids like me… we don’t play. We don’t try people on to see how they fit. If I take you — even for a night — I keep you. It’s how we’re wired.”

I swallowed hard, a noise escaping me that could’ve been a laugh or a growl. “You say that like it’s supposed to scare me.”

“It should.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t get to walk back out. There’s no ‘let’s take it slow,’ no backup plans, no reset buttons. You come upstairs… you’re mine. Or you’re dead.”

Her eyes flickered, not with cruelty — but with the bone-deep truth of it. A sacred law written in her blood.

I could see it then. The nervous energy rippling under her skin. Not fear of me — fear for me. Because if I crossed that threshold, she wouldn’t hold back. She wouldn’t let herself.

And she didn’t know if I could handle that.

She shifted, maybe thinking I was about to bolt, maybe trying to give me the chance to — but I reached out, fingers gently curling around her wrist. She froze.

“Give me a second,” I said quietly, “I need to organize my thoughts.”

She didn’t pull away. Just stood there, waiting, ears perked slightly.

“Chae,” I said, her name strange and intimate on my tongue. Her ears twitched at the sound.

“If we do this… I need you to know a few things. First — Torhu’s not my real name. Neither is Mycroft. Second — I’m not a hero. I’m not a good man. But I would never hurt you. Not on purpose. If I say something dumb or call you a stupid nickname, it’s not because I’m trying to make you feel small. I just… forget how to be soft sometimes.”

Chaewon’s eyes narrowed fondly. Then she rolled them, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Babe… you’re rambling.”

I exhaled, a low huff of a laugh. “Right. Okay. Last thing. If we do this — really do this — I need to know you’re just as locked in as I am. No halfway. No exit ramps. We do this… it’s ride or die. Forever. Are you sure you want that?”

She tilted her head at me, feline and curious, like she couldn’t believe I’d even ask. Then she whispered, steady as steel wrapped in velvet:

“Why would you think I’d leave?”

I didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her — really looked — and then let it out.

“Because everyone has.”

The words landed like a bruise. She winced — not because she didn’t believe me, but because she did. Because now she understood.

She wasn’t the only one putting her heart on the altar tonight.

We both were.

My hand found hers instinctively. “So if I come in… what happens?”

Her lips brushed my cheek as she whispered, “Then I make you mine. Body. Soul. Every breath you’ve got left.”

The silence after was thick with heat. My heart thundered in my chest like it was trying to warn me and urge me forward all at once. She stepped out of the car, then looked over her shoulder, her eyes daring me.

And all I could think was:

God help me, I hope she does.

I stood in the hallway outside her apartment, the hum of the city muffled by thick walls and a flickering light overhead that made everything feel strangely intimate. Chaewon’s keys jingled as she unlocked the door with practiced ease. She turned to face me, the light catching in her amber eyes like embers barely contained.

Her tails twitched once. Twice. Then stilled.

“You sure?” she asked softly. “If you come inside, you’re mine.”

I tried to play it cool. “That a promise or a threat?”

She didn’t smile. “For my kind, there’s no difference.”

I swallowed, feeling that hot flush rising again, the same one I’d been fighting off since the moment we left the ice cream parlor. She had this wild, restless energy to her—like a storm in waiting. Beautiful, unpredictable, dangerous in the way cliffs are dangerous: you know it’s dumb to get close, but something in you wants to leap.

She stepped back, just far enough to let me pass through the doorway if I chose.

I hesitated. I should’ve turned around. Should’ve gone home and locked that heat in a box again, like I always do.

Instead, I stepped inside.

The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded more like a seal being drawn than a lock turning. Her apartment smelled like citrus and cedarwood—warm and sharp. She tossed her bag on a chair and turned to face me, slowly pulling her dress off, revealing a lacy number that did nothing to hide the swell of muscle and curve beneath.

She watched me like I was prey.

“I told you,” she murmured. “Now it’s too late.”

I raised an eyebrow, heart pounding in my ears. “For what?”

Chaewon took a step forward. “For you to pretend this isn’t happening.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Her hands were on me in the next breath, one pressing against my chest, the other curling into my shirt like she could drag the truth out of me.

I met her halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft this time. It was desperate, like we’d been holding something back all night and now the floodgates were open. She moaned against my mouth, dragging me toward the couch, her tail curling around my leg possessively.

“You smell like restraint,” she growled between kisses. “I want to rip that off of you.”

“You’re not the only one holding back,” I whispered, gripping her waist, feeling the heat of her skin through her clothes.

She pushed me back until we fell together into the cushions, her weight straddling me, hands exploring like she had every right—and I didn’t stop her. Couldn’t.

“I meant what I said,” she warned again, even as her lips grazed my jaw, her breath hot and ragged. “You’re mine now. I’m not built to share. I won’t let you go.”

I stared up at her, dazed, wrecked, exhilarated. “Then don’t.”

Something in her snapped at that—maybe it was relief, maybe it was hunger. But it made her growl, low and reverberating through her whole chest as she kissed me again, deeper this time, more than lust, something primal and claiming.

“Take off that stupid suit!” Chaewon growled. I did as she asked with her staring at me the whole time ravenous.

The moment her restraint snapped, it was as if a locked door burst open within her mind, unleashing something primal and unfiltered. Her eyes flashed with fire, pupils expanding to swallow the amber iris, her breath ragged and ragged, and that growling vibration rumbled from her chest, deep and reverberating like war drums pounding in the storm’s undertow. It was hunger—more than hunger for flesh or blood, but for connection, for release, for claiming what had been denied for too long.

She lunged forward, and before I could even process it, a low growl escaped her throat, a sound rooted in feral territory—both warning and invitation. Her lips curled back, revealing sharpened teeth that shimmered menacingly under the dim light, a predator in her natural state. Her claws—long, curved, gleaming—slashed through the fabric of her resolve, piercing the air as she yanked me roughly into her arms. The fierce possessiveness in that moment was undeniable—she wasn’t just acting on instincts; she was asserting a claim, staking her territory in a way that left no room for ambiguity.

“Take off that stupid suit,” Chaewon growled, voice thick with suppressed fury and desire. Her voice was a command, commanding and commanding—an order from an alpha who had tasted the sweetness of surrender and now demanded it fully. Her eyes burned into mine, unblinking, hungry for vulnerability, for rawness. I hesitated only a second before obeying, unfastening the buttons, peeling off layers of fabric with trembling fingers, feeling her eyes burn into my skin, dissecting every movement, every inch exposed.

She watched every second, ravenous, as my hesitation turned into compliance. Her lips curled into a predatory smile, a hint of sharp amusement flashing across her features. “Fuck,” she purred, voice trembling with anticipation and something darker—something that transcended lust. “All mine now.” Her words were a vow, a curse, a blessing, but above all, a declaration of mastery.

Her claws—long and wicked—scratched along my shoulders as she pulled me into her fiercely. Her hands, trembling but driven by desperate need, pawed at my body, pulling and clutching, as if trying to tattoo her claim directly into my flesh. Her feverish kisses consumed my neck, my collarbone, my chest as she pressed her lips and teeth into every exposed inch, marking me with her scent—wild, dangerous, and intoxicating.

“I’ve been so lonely without a mate,” she stammered, voice choked with emotion, her lips brushing against my skin as tears—or maybe just the intensity—welled in her eyes. She maneuvered me backward, deeper into her den, into her sanctuary of plush blankets, cushions, and flickering candlelight. Her hunger was palpable, raw and unrestrained, as she left hundreds of desperate kisses on my shoulders, collarbone, and chest, her tongue tracing fiery streaks of her presence.

When I reached out to pull her closer, to deepen the moment, she sharply barked, “No!” her voice cutting through the thick air like a whip. Confused, I looked at her, searching her expression for softness or some hidden message—only for her to respond with a fierce, almost hypnotic command: “Fuck me now. Maybe we’ll kiss later.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, unambiguous in their primal tone.

Without hesitation, I nodded. Her eyes, wild and luminous, were locked onto mine. She took control fiercely, pushing me down onto a bedchamber of pillows, wrapping her arms around my waist, her body a heat signature pulsing with raw energy. She yanked my underwear down, her gaze hungry, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she slid downward, staking her claim in the most direct, unfiltered way. Her lithe, feral body moved with divine rhythm—graceful, intense, savage—each of her movements both sexy and raw, as if she reveled in the act of possession itself.

Her walls—hot, wet, impossibly tight—clenched around me, igniting sensations that burned and soared simultaneously. Her moans—deep, guttural—matched her fiery movements, her lust turning into a poetry of primal demand, as she whispered, “You feel better than my toys,” her eyes blown wide, pupils dark as night. Her claws—long, sharp, and deadly—trailed along my chest, leaving trails of anticipation and promise before she leaned down, her lips pressing hard against my shoulder, then sinking into it with teeth bared in a feral grip.

“Whoa, Chae,” I whisper-shouted, my voice trembling as her claws raked over my skin, intimidating and electrifying in equal measure. Her gaze, all pupils and wild intent, told me that rationality had long since left the building—she was entirely consumed by the storm inside her, a tempest unleashed.

She roared softly, a growl of triumph or hunger or a mixture of both, as she ground herself fiercely against me, the slick heat of her desire coating us both in a shivering, sizzling dance. “Mine,” she growled through clenched teeth, repeating it like a mantra, bouncing rhythmically atop me—moving with fierce intensity that warned of an inevitable collision with ecstasy.

The second she hit her peak, her claws—extended in clear warning—dug into my flesh, marking me with her raw strength. Her groan was guttural—satisfied, victorious—and her body clenched around me so powerfully I thought I might be ripped apart. A gush, hot and sticky, spilled over us both, sealing her unfinished claim with another wild, blissful shudder. Her eyes remained blown out, pupils dilated to infinity, as she looked down at me with unfiltered possession, her glow wild and unrepentant.

“Mark me,” she commanded in a whisper thick with multiple meanings—her voice sultry, raw, and unyielding. I followed her command without question, pressing deeper and deeper into her, feeling the incredible heat, the unearthly wetness that seemed to consume everything. Her walls tightened again and again, the crescendo building like a violent storm reaching its zenith. She begged me—silent and ferocious—urging for release, for my own surrender.

And then we plunged together, her eyes meeting mine as her body betrayed her in an explosion of passion—flying over the edge, shuddering fiercely, her claws sinking into my chest in a stake of carnality and conquest. Her scream of release echoed through the room, primal and raw, as she spilled herself onto me, riding the waves of her ecstasy with abandon.

Her victory—her declaration—was etched into her trembling form, her drenched, glowing eyes still wide with wild triumph. She looked down at me, a perfect chaos of lust and pride, and whispered fiercely, “Mine.” Not a question. Not a plea. An unshakable vow—divine in its raw, animal truth.

In that moment, I felt the full weight of her claim, her unrelenting need to possess what she desired—and her need to be possessed in return. This was not merely hunger; it was a fierce, unmitigated declaration of belonging, a bond forged in blood and sweat and forbidden fire. Neither of us could deny it now—once she towered over me, claiming her prize with claws and teeth, surrendering to the darkness within her that craved not just passion but possession.

Morning sunlight bled through the gauzy curtains, painting golden stripes across the tangled blankets. My eyes blinked open slowly, the haze of sleep giving way to a mix of soreness, warmth, and something...sticky? I looked down.

Lipstick kisses, pink and red and occasionally smudged with a fang mark, dotted my chest. Faint claw lines raked over my sides and shoulders—not deep, but deliberate. Possessive. My thighs were covered in fading bite marks, and my collarbone bore the unmistakable imprint of her mouth.

Gods above, I thought, running a hand through my hair. She was thorough.

Carefully, I started to sit up, wincing slightly as muscles I didn’t even know could ache did just that. I had barely lifted myself off the mattress when a hand darted out—nails grazing my lower back, just enough pressure to warn, not wound.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Chaewon's voice was husky, sleep-thick, but still laced with that purring dominance from the night before.

I tilted my head and gave her a tired grin. “Getting water.”

She let out a soft whine, more feline than human, and buried her face into my back, her arms snaking around my waist as she pressed herself flush against me. “Too far,” she mumbled. “Mate doesn’t leave bed without kisses.”

“Well,” I said, trying not to laugh, “I think you covered your quota already. I’m wearing half of them.”

She growled—playfully, but with a hint of real need—and nipped my shoulder before trailing her nose along my spine. “Doesn’t count if you’re not awake for them,” she said, clearly not letting go.

I shuffled forward with her still clinging to me like a sleepy, overly affectionate backpack. The cool wood floor met my feet as I stumbled toward her tiny kitchen nook, dragging her along inch by inch. She didn’t protest, just sighed and nuzzled into the crook of my neck, her tail flicking lazily behind her.

“You’re seriously going to cling to me all the way to the sink?” I asked, reaching out for a glass with one hand while balancing her weight with the other.

“I’m in recovery,” she said, voice muffled against my skin. “Bonding is exhausting.”

I turned my head slightly to kiss her temple. “Yeah? Then maybe you shouldn’t have tried to kill me with affection.”

She hummed, finally loosening her hold just enough for me to fill the glass. But even then, she didn’t stray far—her cheek resting against my shoulder, eyes half-lidded as if daring the universe to pull me away from her again.

“I’m yours,” I said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chaewon didn’t reply right away—just curled her arms tighter around me, her tail wrapping lazily around my thigh.

“…Good,” she finally whispered. “I’d hate to have to claw you again.”

i chuckled as I finally grabbed my water and smiled, "Okay"

The water was cold and crisp, almost too clean, too still compared to the whirlwind of last night. I leaned against the kitchen counter, letting the glass rest against my bottom lip, the coolness grounding me in the present after everything Chaewon and I had... become. My body ached in places I didn’t know could ache, pleasantly sore and marked in ways that felt more like ceremony than chaos. She made me hers.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Chaewon sat on the edge of the couch, one of her legs curled under her, wearing nothing but an oversized tee—my tee, actually—that clung to her curves in places it had no business doing. Her amber eyes were locked on me, head tilted like a content predator watching her prize stretch its limbs. I saw the possessiveness there, the lazy hunger even now, but it was gentler than before. Still intense. Still undeniably hers.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

Eunbi.

I sighed, smiled, and answered with a tired, amused: “You really couldn’t wait till morning?”

“It is morning, dummy,” Eunbi’s voice rang out, chipper and smug. “How’s your first day with your new wife?”

I laughed, setting the phone on speaker as I leaned back against the counter. “Well... the parts I can remember were pretty great.”

Chaewon chuckled softly behind me, her smirk unmistakable even without looking. She padded barefoot across the room and wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, her cheek pressing into my bare back.

“Ohhh,” Eunbi cooed, clearly catching on to the movement. “Is that her I hear breathing down your neck? You sound marked up, Torhu.”

“I am,” I admitted, running my free hand over the side of my neck where I could still feel the faint ridges of her teeth. “Thoroughly.”

Chaewon kissed the middle of my back in response, possessive and unhurried. Her tail flicked playfully against my leg as she nestled closer, arms tightening just slightly.

“You sound happy,” Eunbi said, her tone softening.

I looked down at the girl clinging to me, her claws gently resting against my hip like she was afraid I might drift too far. I smiled.

“I think I am.”

It’s been three days since I… moved in. Or maybe “got claimed” is more accurate.

I’m sitting at Chaewon’s tiny kitchen table — if you can call this sleek little thing a table — sipping coffee while she paces like a caged cat. Her tail is twitching at the tip, shirt half-buttoned, eyes locked on me like I might disappear again. I won’t, but it doesn’t stop her from watching.

“We need a plan,” she announces for the third time. “A real one. Not this loose maybe-you’ll-come-home-after-work bullshit.”

I raise an eyebrow, resting my cheek on one hand. “You do know we’ve spent every night together since, right?”

“That’s not the point,” she mutters, a little too quickly. “You’re mine now, Torhu. I need to know when you’re coming, when you’re leaving, how long you’ll be gone, and what part of me you’ll be sleeping on at night.” Her cheeks flush as soon as she says it, but the possessive glint in her eye doesn’t fade.

“…Sleeping on?” I can’t help but grin.

“You like my thighs, don’t act brand new.”

I nearly choke on the coffee. “I’m not disagreeing.”

She crosses the space between us and drapes herself across my lap with dramatic flair. Her scent hits me like a familiar drug—lavender, heat, and something uniquely her. She nuzzles against my neck, her claws gently grazing under my shirt like she's reassuring herself I’m still real.

“I don’t want to be apart. Not even for a night. Not after… that.”

I know what she means. The bond. The haze. The primal blur of sweat and sound and wild devotion.

She clings tighter. “I feel weird when you’re not touching me.”

“I know. You pounced on me in the shower because I closed the bathroom door.”

“You didn’t have to close it.”

I chuckle, brushing a hand through her hair. “Chaewon, you’re adorable. A little intense, but adorable.”

She lifts her head to glare half-heartedly. “Intense?”

I cup her cheek, running my thumb along the corner of her mouth. “I’m not complaining. I like you like this.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“Really. I’m just trying to help you breathe through the bonding part so you don’t spiral into kidnapping territory.”

She hums like she’s actually considering it. “Would you even mind?”

“Honestly? Depends on the quality of the rope.”

She smirks, purring as she curls deeper into me. “You shouldn’t say things like that, husband.”

“Technically, we’re not married.”

“Technically, your neck has my teeth marks.”

I laugh out loud at that. “Fair.”

“That’s kinda hot.”

She let out a breathy laugh, and I could feel her whole body soften against mine. “I’m serious,” she said, voice low. “I don’t think I can sleep without you anymore. My body won’t calm down unless you’re close. I woke up last night and you weren’t touching me and I almost cried.”

“Guess I’m not going back to my place anytime soon, huh?”

“Nope,” she said with smug satisfaction, popping the ‘p’. “You’re mine now. I’m not letting go.”

I turned slightly so I could catch her eyes. They were half-lidded, a little wild. Still riding that post-bonding high. Still drunk on instinct. And I couldn’t lie—I liked how possessive she was. I liked that it was me who pulled this side of her out.

“You’ll let go when you’re ready,” I said gently, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “But until then…”

I leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath her eye, then down to her jaw.

“I’m right here. Yours.”

She exhaled shakily, clinging tighter again. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

She made a small noise in her throat—part growl, part purr—and I swear I felt her vibrating.

I guess we weren’t building a relationship so much as hurling ourselves into one. But honestly? It felt good. Dangerous, intense, a little messy—but good. And if this was what being loved by a leopard hybrid felt like?

I wasn’t going anywhere.

[eternal-evergreens]

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Into the looking glass - III"｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII

Post format: Multipart series

Pairing: Yandere!Male!DoL x Fem!Isekai!Reader

Word count: 5.1k

Synopsis: You gain the chance to wake up in the world of one of your favorite games. Unfortunately, the 'favorite game' happens to be one about rape, violence, and stalking. Not only that, but the game seems to be rigged against you. All you want is to find a way home and put this all behind you, but is that even possible...?

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Attempted Non/Con, Drugging, Attempted Kidnapping, Stalking

Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible

No, no. Not happening. Never.

You need money. But you won’t get it through unscrupulous means. You still have your morals, and you’ll abide by them. That’s why you saved Kylar. That’s why you’d save him again, should it happen in the future.

You push the thought out of your mind and exit the temple. As you pass by Danube Street, a thought hits you. 

The spa. Why haven’t you been working at the spa? 

It’s not really an early-game option due to the stat checks required, but those shouldn’t be a problem for you. With your hand skill at C by default and your beauty over the max, working as a masseur is as simple as walking up and asking for work. 

You head over and ask for work, and the lady at the front desk takes one look at your hands and gasps. Her bored demeanor quickly melts away into an excited one as she quickly shows you the ropes. You get the basics down pretty quickly and soon take your first client, a trim woman who looks to be in her early 30s.

“Hello, I’ve not done this before. Do I just lie down?” That makes two of us, you think to yourself. 

“That’s right! Just lie down, and I’ll take care of the rest,” you say, smiling. The trim woman seems reassured and quickly lies down on the table. You get to work on her shoulders and neck first, cautiously looking for knots and tension as you knead her muscles. The woman relaxes under your touch and begins to make small talk. She tells you about her family, how her kids are both bright young boys, and her husband brings her flowers every month. She seems really happy. -Trauma -Stress

She leaves you a tip. You make £75. 

Your next client is less friendly, but you manage to massage her without incident. She leaves you a tip. You make £80 and decide to take a break, feeling a little worn out from standing on your feet for nearly two hours straight. After fifteen minutes, you get up and head back into the spa, where you take on another two clients. They both leave tips, and you make £120. The spa closes after that, and you head outside. 

Someone throws a water balloon at you from a nearby car, soaking your shirt and leaving it near-invisible. You hear cheers as they speed away, leaving you soaked out in the open. +Stress

You look around, but luckily, no one is around to see your predicament. You cover yourself with your arms as best as you can and head home. You take the alleys to avoid passersby seeing you, walking quickly in hopes of getting home sooner. You don’t watch where you’re going and end up walking right into someone. 

“Watch where you’re going, you—!” You look up, about to apologize, when you see icy blue eyes staring back at you. It’s Whitney, his face, only inches from yours, changes from anger to a smug smile.”Well, what do we have here? A slut all out on her own?” Whitney’s friends giggle. 

“Why is she walking around so exposed?” One delinquent asks. “Is she a pervert?” They giggle, crowding around you.

“I wanna get a picture!” Soon, all the delinquents are pulling out their phones. Suddenly torn between the desire to cover your face and your chest, you end up hiding behind the thing closest to you, which ends up being Whitney. He seems taken aback but soon wraps an arm around you protectively. +Love

“Fuck off,” he says, arm still around your waist. “Get your own slut.” The others seem disappointed but comply regardless. When everyone’s phone has been put away, Whitney releases you and shrugs off his jacket. 

“Can’t fuck a sick person,” he says, throwing his jacket over you. “Make sure to give it back. Now fuck off.” He shoves you out of the alleyway, leaving you stunned. Did that really just happen? 

You check your phone.

Whitney The Bully  Whitney wants to own you.       Fascination: 50% Love: 5% Devotion: 0% Dominance: 40%       Jealousy: 0% Lust: 100% 

You walk home with his jacket wrapped around your shoulders. It smells like smoke.

—————————

It is Thursday, the 8th of September, 2022. -It has been 4 days since the game started. -The game started in autumn.  -It is autumn. -School term Finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £729 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You feel cold Fatigue: You are alert Stress: You are calm Trauma: You are uneasy Control: You are insecure Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged

After waking up and finishing your morning routine, you go to Robin’s room and play video games with him for an hour. Some of the games remind you of those you used to play back home. +Love -Trauma +Stress 

“It’s almost time for school,” he says. “Do you want to come with me?” You smile and nod. Robin stands up from the bed and puts his controller away. He holds the door open for you as you leave, and you notice a faint blush on his cheeks as you pass. You swear you saw him glance down. +Lust

You’re suddenly reminded that you’re in a yandere game and that Robin is a target character. ++Stress

You grimace as you round a corner and resist the urge to cover your butt as Robin walks behind you. Your skirt is so short he can probably see your underwear as you walk. +++Stress

You see Bailey holding a mousy girl by the arms, a bundle of rope in his other hand. 

“You owe me £200 this week,” he says. The girl is holding back tears but still manages to keep a strong look about her. Robin looks away. The other orphans do the same. They all look…resigned. You step forward. 

“I’ll pay,” you say. “Let her go.” Bailey raises an eyebrow but releases the girl. You hand over the £200 without fuss. It’s only after parting with the money that you remember you could have just pepper-sprayed him and gained some catharsis. You don’t really need to be stingy with it, after all. Bailey counts the money and leaves, leaving the mousy girl to dust herself off.

“Thank you,” the mousy girl says. “I was really scared.” 

“Will you be okay?” You ask her. She nods. She seems genuinely okay. 

“Yes, thanks to you. I promise I’ll pay you back for this,” she says, running off. 

“You don’t have to!” You call out after her, but she’s already gone. 

You did a good thing today. -Trauma -Stress

“That was really impressive,” Robin says. “It’s not often people stand up to Bailey.” You shrug, and Robin cracks a smile. +Love

You and Robin chat on the way to school, mostly about the games you played earlier. There’s a certain glint in his eyes when he looks at you that wasn’t there before. You have to suppress a shiver every time you accidentally meet his gaze. +Stress

“I just don’t understand why they’d make a tutorial so difficult,” Robin says, shaking his head. “Maybe-” He’s cut off by something, eyes widening. You follow his gaze and see two hooded figures approaching rapidly from the alleyway you just passed. You reach for your pepper spray as the figures get closer, unhooking it from its keychain and holding it at the ready. 

“It’s her,” one says. You waste no time and spray them both, then grab Robin’s arm and sprint to safety with him. ++Crime (Assault) ++Crime (Assault) +Stress +Fatigue

You don’t stop running until you reach the school gates and are safely behind them. You and Robin pant heavily as you struggle to come down from the adrenaline. 

“Where did you get that?!” Robin whisper-yells. 

“A kid in my English class makes them,” you say at a normal volume. Robin’s look of concern only grows, and he spends a few minutes lecturing you on the dangers and illegalities of pepper spray. You mostly tune him out. 

The bell rings, finally putting an end to Robin’s monologue, and you head to class. You focus on the lesson, and Sirris calls you up to the front of the class. A student uses a ruler to flash your panties to everyone. To make matters worse, Sirris wanted you to undress for the demonstration. You comply, feeling humiliated as the class leers at your body. +++Stress

The bell rings, and you rush out of the classroom. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you walk. Your ears are ringing, your heartbeat is too loud, the world is spinning, and—

It’s all too much for you. You pass out. 

—————————

It is Thursday, the 8th of September, 2022. -It has been 4 days since the game started. -The game started in autumn.  -It is autumn. -School term Finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £529 Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You feel cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are distressed Trauma: You are uneasy Control: You are insecure Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged

You wake up with something soft yet firm under your head and Sydney right above you. 

“You’re awake!” He says. “I was worried. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I brought you back to the library.”

“Not the nurse?” You say, getting up. You realize that you’ve been lying on Sydney’s lap. Sydney looks sheepish. 

“I didn’t think of that,” he says, not meeting your gaze. He looks genuine, but you get the feeling he’s not being honest. +Awareness 

Sydney insists you stay with him for another ten minutes so he can monitor your condition. When you ask about going to the nurse again he makes an excuse of not knowing if you’re good to walk. You decide not to push it any further and spend the next ten minutes chatting with Sydney. When the ten minutes are up, he looks hesitant to let you go but relents regardless. +Love +Lust -Sydney’s purity

By the time you leave, it’s already lunch. You missed two classes. ++Deliquency

Feeling stressed from everything, you decide to sit alone in hopes of relaxing. You should have known better, however, as a group of students soon come by to make your day harder. The second they start jeering at you, you unhook your pepper spray and blast them all in the face. ++Crime (Assault) ++Delinquency +Status

The students are screaming and hurling insults, but the ringing in your ears makes it impossible to hear them. You finish your lunch in silence. 

You spend the rest of school zoning out, hoping your stress will subside. It works, kind of. 

You have detention, but you don’t feel like going. Considering all the shit you pulled today, Leighton is probably going to take off your clothes and smack you or something. You don’t have good enough grades to know where the tunnel from school is, so you walk out the front. Leighton tries to stop you, but you pepper spray him. ++Crime (Assault) ++Delinquency +Status 

A group of students say they’re going to the lake. You could use a change of scenery.

You join them. +Status

Hanging out at the lake is fun enough. No one tries to grope you after what happened at lunch, so you end up having a somewhat enjoyable time. 

Then they start bullying another student, who thankfully isn’t here to listen to them shit-talking them, and what little fun you were having quickly melts away. You stand up and walk away, deciding to go for a swim instead. You think about retrieving the lichen for your science project but push the thought out of your mind. 

You swim for about an hour, and when you exit the water, the sun is already beginning to set. Your fellow classmates are still hanging out, but you don’t really feel like joining them, so you put on your clothes and go for a walk, planning to head back after you’re done.

You hear a bullet firing from afar. Something is hunting you.

Fuck. You whip around, trying to locate the source of the bullet. You heard it shoot from behind you, but you don’t see anyone. Going back the way you came might mean running straight into their arms. You glance around one last time, but a second gunshot has you running on your feet in no time.

You dash through the woods, not bothering to look behind you as the gun fires off in the near distance. You don’t think they’re shooting at you, and running zig-zag like you were taught as a kid just means slowing down. So, you run straight ahead with no clear plan in mind. You unhook your pepper spray again (you should probably thank Kylar), just in case, but you don’t know how much good it will do in a gunfight. Still, something is better than nothing, so you hold onto it, keeping it close to your chest as you run, run, run.

Your foot hits something strange and loses balance. You don’t even have time to process it until you’re lifted upside-down by your heel, face to inverted face with a plant person. 

“I caught one!” The plant girl exclaims. “This one’s wearing lacey panties!” You spray her, and she falls, her vines releasing you instantly. It’s only when you see sap pouring out from a hole on the side of her head that you hear the gunshot and realize it wasn’t you that took her down.

“Got you,” Eden says, a hand on your shoulder. You try to turn around, but the second you move, you’re on the ground, nose pressed into the soil, and arms pinned behind you in a painful grip. You feel your pepper spray being torn from your hand and thrown next to a bush. 

Shit. Shit!

He’s got you in a submission hold. There’s nothing you can do but go along with it and wait for an opportunity. It takes everything in you not to thrash and scream against his hold, but you know that would only make things worse.

Eden runs his hand down your back, stopping when he gets to the hem of your skirt. He flips it up, taking a moment to admire it before giving it a light slap. You jump when he hits you, though it’s more about the surprise than the pain.

“You’re hurting me!” You cry, trying your best to sound helpless. “Please let go!” You weakly struggle against his grip for good measure. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, voice gruff. “Can’t do that. You’ll run away.” 

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good! Please, please, let me go!” You wiggle around, pretending this is as much strength as you can muster up. Eden leans down and studies your expression for a moment. You can feel the outline of his cock on your back as he leans down to look at you. The scrutiny in such a position is near-unbearable, but he releases you without a word. 

You force yourself to be still for a moment, not to do anything that would alert him. Then, slowly, you turn around and, mustering up every bit of courage you have, lean up and kiss him. He seems taken aback but soon reciprocates the gesture. You press into him, stroking and massaging his skin as you cautiously lean him back into a more desirable position. 

Though it costs you your dignity, you’re eventually able to get on top of him, grinding against him through his pants as you lower him to the ground. When you’ve got him completely below you, and you’re straddling his hips, you break the kiss and pull yourself up. 

“I think it's time we get rid of these,” you say, grabbing your panties and lifting your hips, then swaying them suggestively. You shift your weight to one knee and lift your other leg up, then, in a sudden, adrenaline-charged burst of speed, you throw yourself off of him and stagger to your feet. You kick him in the crotch and run towards the bush where your pepper spray landed. 

Eden catches your foot, and you nosedive towards the ground. You fall, but pepper spray is just within reach. You grab it and go limp. Eden drags your body closer to his, and you use it as an opportunity to spray him. He grabs his eyes and recoils, and you quickly gather yourself and run back the way you came. 

Your clothes snag on bushes and branches as you run, but you pay it no mind as you force yourself to run. You can’t hear anything but the wind in your ears, so you have no idea if Eden is chasing you or not. 

Silly you, it shouldn’t have been Eden you were worrying about. 

You feel yourself hit the ground before you even register being knocked down. There’s a growling above you and two hands on either side of your body. You twist around, barely even registering the wolf ears and sharp teeth of the man on top of you. You spray him, and he staggers back. You rush to your feet and keep running until you’re safely out of the forest. Your clothes are practically in scraps by the time you’re out, and at this point, you think it’ll be cheaper to just buy new clothes instead of fixing them. 

Then, it hits you. The pain and exhaustion. 

You drop to your knees, suddenly aware of every scratch, scrape, and bruise you acquired while running through the forest, suddenly aware of the strain on your muscles from the fatigue. You stay sitting for a few minutes, waiting for your muscles to stop hurting or for you to stop caring. When you notice the sun is starting to set, you pull yourself up and drag yourself back home, where you run a bath and then go straight to bed. 

—————————

It is Friday, the 9th of September, 2022. -It has been 5 days since the game started. -The game started in autumn.  -It is autumn. -School term Finishes on Friday the 2nd of December. Current Funds: £529 Pain: You are upset Arousal: You feel cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are distressed Trauma: You are nervous Control: You are anxious Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged

You get up and check your socials on your phone.

Excellent Good Decent Okay Poor Bad Terrible Primary relationships:  Robin The Orphan Robin wants to be your best friend.              Fascination: 100% Love: 5% Devotion: 30% Lust: 40%         Confidence: 0% Trauma: 0% Jealousy: 5% Whitney The Bully  Whitney wants to own you.       Fascination: 50% Love: 10% Devotion: 0% Dominance: 40% Jealousy: 0% Lust: 100%  Kylar The Loner Kylar is obsessed with you.       Fascination: 100% Love: 9% Devotion: 55% Jealousy: 55%        Lust: 90% Sydney The Faithful ? Sydney is conflicted.       Fascination: 70% Love: 8% Devotion: 25% Purity: 20%        Jealousy: 0% Lust: 70%  Avery The Businessman Avery thinks you’re cute.     Fascination: 55% Love: 1% Devotion: 0% Jealousy: 0%     Dominance: 0% Lust: 30% Rage: 0% Eden The Hunter Eden wants you back.     Fascination: 80% Love: 0% Devotion: 0% Jealousy: 0%     Dominance: 0% Lust: 100% Black Wolf The Alpha Black Wolf wants to see you again. Reputation:  The police consider you a person of interest, and have enough evidence for an arrest. The atmosphere in the orphanage is calm. You are considered a normal student by teachers. Your fellow students desire you. Lust: 100% Status: 60% Sex: Unknown. Prostitution: Unknown. Rape: Obscure. Beastiality: Unknown. Exhibitionism: Obscure. Pregnancy: Unknown. Combat: Low-key. Kindness: Obscure. Business: Unknown. Socialite: Unknown. Overall: Notorious. The townsfolk call you Darling. Those in the criminal underworld call you Darling.

Your eyes hover over your police reputation. You sigh. You’ll have to visit Landry after school. You throw your covers off of you and climb out of bed, groggily going to your wardrobe. 

Right. Your clothes got torn. You pick up an undamaged skirt and shirt, tossing the tattered garments into the trash. You put on your clothes and pick up your bag, not bothering to stop by Robin’s room this morning.

You take a bus to the shopping center, where you do what you should have done on day one: buy clothes that actually cover you. You browse for a few minutes, looking for something as pervert-proof as possible. You settle on a school blouse, shorts, a sports bra, suspenders, and a pair of work boots. 

The shorts provide you protection against people lifting your skirt, the suspenders (which you’ll have to sew on) keep you from being pantsed, the sports bra can’t be unclipped and provides support in case you need to run, and the work boots will help you keep your footing when you need to go to the moor or the woods. 

You buy what you’re wearing as well as a few backups of the shorts and shirt, totaling £215. You pay and leave, arriving at school just in time for your science class. Today’s Friday, so you have a chance to improve your grades if you do well on the tests. 

The lesson pace is a little different from usual. It’s just a review of everything you’ve learned this week. Nothing new is being covered, so you don’t bother to take notes. Not that you’ve had any time to study your notes since coming here.

The test is easy enough, despite your terrible study habits, and you manage to improve your grade to a D. -Stress

The rest of the day continues similarly, and soon you have D’s all across the board. --Stress

You go to the pub after school, looking around for a thin man or woman with black hair and a grey sweater. You feel a hand on your shoulder and turn your head. It’s a tall man you’ve never seen before. He’s covered in tattoos.

“You’ve been busy,” he says, booze on his breath. “Don’t think I don’t recognize you. You’re the talk of the town. Bit surprising not seeing you being fucked raw, though.” His grip on your shoulder tightens. “I reckon it’s time I got my slice of the pie. You like it rough, right? That’s what I’ve heard. Come ‘ere, sweetheart.” 

“Am I interrupting?” You hear a man’s voice, and the tall man’s hand on your shoulder loses it’s grip. You look over to see the face of your savior and realize it’s the very person you were looking for. Your face shifts to one of relief. -Stress

“Yeah,” he says. “Piss off.”

“I recognize you.” 

“You should, I come here more often than I-” 

“March 3rd, 2009. Nightingale Street.” The tall man pales. “So you know what I’m talking about. I wasn’t there myself, but I’ve heard the stories. You were the talk of the town.” 

The tall man stutters. “Y-you’re not with the fuzz. You won’t turn me in.”

“You don’t know that. And either way, we both know you’re not hiding from the police. So how about you let her go, and I won’t tip off the Elk about your latest haunt.” The tall man looks at you, then Landry, then you again. Landry smiles. He throws his hands off of you.

“Fine. Shit, fine. You her lover? You picked a damn slutty one.” Landry waits until the man is out of earshot before turning to you. 

“Come with me,” he says. “I want to talk to you in private.”

“Reputation isn’t always a good thing,” Landry says as you sit down. “Word’s spread about you. You’re notorious. That’s why that drunkard went for you. You remember what he said, right?” 

“I haven’t even done anything,” you say. 

“No, but you’re pretty while doing it,” Landry retorts. “Not hitting on you,” he says. 

“Thanks?” 

“It’s not a good thing. You attract attention wherever you go. Where a normal person might have to fuck a hundred people to start getting known as a slut around town, you’d only have to fuck one.” 

“Oh,” you say, slinking in your seat. “So, what can I do?” 

“I think I can help you,” he pauses. “Well, not me. But I think I know someone. This orphan at the home on Domus Street. A computer whiz. Mickey, or McKay, something like that. Best hope is to find this orphan. If you can get them to come work with me, they’ll be able to hook you up. There’ll be some money in it for you, too. Just don’t step on Bailey’s toes.” You nod. 

“Thank you,” you say. Landry smiles.

“There’s another thing, too,” he says. “I’ll be frank. I know you need money. Don’t ask me how I know, word gets around. I think I can help you. If you come across any jewelry or other items you don’t know what to do with, I can take them off your hands. I’ll pay well.” He looks over your shoulder. “As well as can be expected, anyway.” 

“Can you help me get the police off my trail?”

“I can help you,” he says, reclining. “But I need you to do something for me. And no, it’s not about money. I was expecting a package, but it never arrived. Good thing I know where to find it, it had a GPS tracker. It got lost somewhere deep in the moor. Get it for me, and I’ll prevent any of your past misdemeanors being pinned on you. It’s a small black box.” You nod and stand. 

“Oh, and do be careful,” Landry says. “I don’t believe the tales of monsters, but there’s a sensible reason behind some superstitions.” 

You’re already wearing work boots, but you want to wear something that you can afford to tear, too. Preferably something resistant that can protect you. But you don’t have the money for that, so you head back to the orphanage and wear the only other outfit you have, a sundress. You put your pepper spray keychain on your bookbag and take it with you, hoping you won’t run out during this trip. 

After double checking everything is in order, you leave the orphanage and begin to make the long trek to the moor. 

Several people attempt to pick you up along the way. By which you mean literally every person who passes by you has slowed down to talk and ask where you’re headed. Not willing to risk anything, you turn them all down, running when they get too persistent. By the time you finally make it to the farmlands, you’re exhausted. So you sit down near the entrance to rest, knowing you’ll need your energy for the moor. 

“You alright there?” Someone asks. You look up to see a suntanned boy under a straw hat, looking concerned. He looks around your age, with red hair and a boyish appearance. He must be Alex, you realize.

“It was just a really long walk to get here,” you admit sheepishly. 

“You walked all the way from town?” You nod. “Well, Jesus! No wonder you’re so tired. Come in and get some water, my place isn’t far.” 

“Do you own the farm?” 

“Yeah, I do! It’s a work in progress, but it’s home.” You smile. 

Alex is right, and it doesn’t take long to reach the cottage, where he offers you a glass of water. You thank him and gulp it down. +++Drugged

…Huh?

You stare at your phone. The screen seems to shift.

Pain: You feel okay Arousal: You feel cold Fatigue: You are wearied Stress: You are calm Trauma: You are nervous Control: You are anxious Allure: You look like you need to be ravaged A lewd warmth fills you Your perception is altered

You look back up to Alex, who’s staring at you with a grin. You stand up but nearly fall. Alex stands with you, his hands on your shoulders. 

“Easy, there,” he says as if you’re a horse that needs to calm down. You shove him off of you and  run, reaching for your pepper spray, but in your altered state, you can’t figure out how to unhook it. 

>Try again (Skullduggery: Impossible) >Rip it off (Athletics: Challenging) >Spray without unhooking (Dance: Very Difficult) 

You rip it off, but the fabric holds firm. Alex is close behind you.

>Try again (Athletics: Challenging) >Spray without unhooking (Dance: Very Difficult) 

You try again and the fabric doesn’t yield. Alex is right behind you.

>Try again (Athletics: Challenging) >Spray without unhooking (Dance: Very Difficult) 

This is taking too long. You spray without unhooking, managing to get Alex, but in your flailing, also manage to spray yourself. +++Pain ++Willpower

You run, you don’t even know where you’re going you just run.

You can’t open your eyes, but you know they wouldn’t be of much help in this state, anyway. You run until you hit what feels like tall grass, then slow. You’re in the moor now. 

You try to quiet your breathing as you listen for anything that may be chasing you or lying in wait. You hear nothing. You go a little further in, just enough to be hidden among the grass and wait. 

Eventually, the pain subsides, and you open your bleary eyes. You still feel unsteady, though, so you wait longer. It takes another forty minutes for you to regain full balance and control of your body. When you do, you trudge deeper into the moor, relying on the map on your phone to guide you to the box. After what feels like two hours of searching, you finally find the box across from some water. 

You grimace as you step in, your shoes and socks instantly soaking with dirty water. The water is about knee-high, so not enough to touch your sundress but just enough to make movement heavily uncomfortable. You hobble over the box, just about to reach it, when you feel something suck you in. 

You look behind you and recognize the thing as a lurker. You waste no time and spray it, freeing yourself and grabbing the box before leaving. 

Of course, nothing is ever that simple, and just as you leave the water, you see a terrible shadow overhead. You look up and notice a harpy in the sky. You are being hunted.

You start to run. Your pursuer approaches rapidly. ++Stress

You run faster, pushing yourself to your limits as you sprint across the moor. But luck is never on your side, and your foot sinks into something as you land. You look down, and it’s a fucking foxhole. Not big enough for you to run through or hide in. You pull yourself out, but it’s too late. 

“Found wife,” he says. You spray him and keep running. That should keep him out of commission for a while. 

Eventually, you feel safe enough to walk the rest of the way out of the moor. You sneak around the farmlands and begin to walk the rest of the way home. You’re too tired to make it very far, however, and soon pass out on the road. You feel yourself being lifted onto a stretcher before passing out again.

You’ve unlocked a fragment.

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<Prev Next>

[mascula-sappho]

handy guide for the Silm fandom when writing about characters handling or riding horses from a Silm fan and horse owner + dressage rider of 4 years:

1. Horses in Himring MUST have worn studs (and maybe rubber) in their horseshoes. These are detachable spikes on the bottom of the horseshoe to help the horse grip on surfaces such as ice and even grass. Horses can get injured very easily and so it is unrealistic to expect a horse from Himring to simply leave marks with plain horseshoes in the ice and also to expect it so be able to balance. On top of that we usually don't let horses outside if it is too cold or if it is too icy as a horse with a broken leg usually has to be euthanized since horses literally live their whole lives standing up. Horses cannot be galloped in weather under 20 degree Fahrenheit because they will struggle to breathe. Save the orc raids for when the patrols can actually ride out. Oh, and the horses need warm wearable blankets if they aren't tiny fluffy northern breeds (which an elf couldn't fit on) and if they are breeds at all suitable for riding they are not fluffy and need blankets.

2. Horses are naturally fearful and dramatic animals. Elves, being able to communicate easily with horses, would often have to assuage their horses' fears of literally any unfamiliar object or thing. Some things my (very calm and rational for a horse) horse has been afraid of: doors, deer, kites, balloons, ceiling fans, and bizarrely, chrysanthemums. Battle trained horses have had to undergo lots of training to teach them to be comfortable around battle. Horses also have inter horse drama very often and two horses might randomly hate each other for no reason or they might have a toxic codependent relationship. All forms of relationship drama except for romantic jealousy occur in horse social groups. Basically every single horse social group is a high school, ok?

3. Riding a horse without a saddle for extended periods of time will hurt their back. Even if you don't ride with a bridle (which is just easier for faster and more immediate and precise communication so elves probably used them - when I ride without a bridle we both get confused easily), riding without a saddle is more uncomfortable for both horse and rider and more taxing on the rider. Legolas is an idiot showoff.

4. Horses become very attached to their friends, whether humanoids or horses. There are many stories of horses risking their lives for their riders, and my horse personally is very concerned for my safety and well-being, nosing me gently and constantly checking on me. They are as social as dogs but usually not as easy to earn the trust of. It took my horse like 8 months to fully come out of her shell and we are still working on her trauma from being mistreated before I bought her. Horses have much better memories than dogs. If you teach a horse something they will never forget it, which is why undoing horse trauma or incorrect training is a very long and difficult process. Horses show affection by wiggling their lips either while looking at or touching the subject of their affection, for example my horse will twitch her lips at the sound of my voice, but also will gently nibble and drag her upper lip over the nearest part of my body. They also show affection by pressing their nose against you, and exhaling slowly though their nostrils (the exhales roughly translate to "hello/I love you"). Horses' upper and lower lips are prehensile and able to grab and manipulate objects. Their noses are very sensitive.

Here are my (very cute) credentials: