#it's all written up but i'm not happy with it

[14dayswithyou]

PSA ! Because I've seen it be brought up in YouTube videos, in the comments section on Itch, and in quite a few asks on Tumblr... Here are some common misconceptions about "14 Days With You" that I'd like to clear up!

14 Days With You is not an otome game; it's an amare game!! The main character (Angel) is not a female heroine/female protagonist, and they're not written to be female-coded. Yes, you have the option to customise your pronouns and how others perceive you, but there is no "default" or fixed narrative perspective for 14DWY (outside of a gender-neutral perspective).

If it isn't already obvious, Ren's characterisation heavily leans into the "dere" aspect of a yandere. He genuinely loves Angel... Just to a terrifying degree.

None of the cast members are heterosexual, so please don't assume that all of Teo's exes/flings were women, that Leon has only had girlfriends in the past, that Olivia is only attracted to good-looking men, etc. In a similar vein, I want to remind everyone that Jae-Hyun is gay and Kiara is a lesbian.

14DWY is also a romance game!! The whole point is to get to know Ren, grow closer with him, and ultimately romance him. So please stop asking me to include BTD, TDDUP, or W1WD mechanics in the game. It's completely fine if you like those types of genres — and I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum — but it's not the vibe I'm going for with 14DWY, and it's not something I want to write about.

Ren dyes his hair! He isn't wearing a pink wig.

Similarly... Violet, Jae, Moth, and Teo all dye their hair as well. But I'm happy if folks want to headcanon that "unnatural" hair colours can exist in the 14DWY universe.

Ren does not have DID or BPD. He's merely a desperate yandere who changes aspects of himself + creates different "personas" to appease Angel (and essentially become their ideal type). He definitely has a pessimistic outlook on his real self, though he does not identify or feel genuine in any of his created personas. I'm comfortable for those who have DID/BPD/etc to headcanon Ren as such, but I heavily discourage everyone else from doing so as I don't want to give them an incorrect or bad reputation.

The 18+ scenes are optional!!!!! The game is intended to be played without them — it's even turned off by default. Nobody is forced to sleep with Ren.

14 Days With You is a passion project that I work on in my free time for fun. I'm not making a profit off of it, I'm not looking to turn it into a career, and in the most /pos way possible; it's not important enough for me to make a priority. So... Please stop guilt-tripping me for updates when I already don't have enough time or luxury to work on it ;v;

(last edited: 19/101/24) — I may add more here over time!!

[astertimberwolf]

I feel insane (in a good way) because I somehow managed to do this to myself: resolving all of my trauma, with very little to no guidance. Blindfolded. In the dark. With pitfalls sporting spiky bottoms surrounding me on all sides and while balancing myself on a thin thread.

I did fall and survive being impaled several times, where I thought I was done for, for good- each time thinking "this is it, this is how it ends" ...and yet, finding a way to climb back onto the darn thread over and over again. It only cost me like...

(Hold on im gae, tired and counting with limited brain cells and energy)

...16-17 years of my life to get there? Yeah. That's how long ago it's been, since depression hit me hard... All the way up until now.

That's a long-ass time. Over a decade and a half...

...Was it worth it?

Remains to be seen. Depends on how the next couple of years play out.

I hope a healed mind, heart and body will finally give me the chance to thrive- something I've been robbed of for all of my youth... No thanks to my shitty parents and other blood relatives that enabled neglect and abuse. No thanks to all the people who sexually assaulted or groomed me, r*pist included- and definitely no thanks at all to the shitty human beings that bullied me, used me, made fun of me, verbally, emotionally and psychologically tore me down, never gave me the benefit of the doubt, called me the worst names in any book ever written- and betrayed my trust, taking advantage of my ignorance, benevolence and naïvety. Y'all can go f*ck yourselves. I have forgiven very few of you- and only partially when it comes to some of the things you've done to me. Some (people and things), I will never forgive... Karma will return the favor tenfold, don't you f*cking worry.

*takes a deep breath*

Despite the justified rage boiling up inside of me for all the shit that I've had to endure... I know I've done damage as well, some of which permanent. If anything, I want those people to know that 98.5% of the times where that happened, it really wasn't intentional, planned or whatnot. Life is just chaotic- and at times I've snapped where I couldn't take the pain anymore. But I've become a lot stronger, wiser, kinder, better- and I won't show my anger / rage / ugly side if I can help it.

I'm far from perfect. Doubt I'll ever even come close to scraping- or even so much as seeing perfection.

I'm battered, but sharper than ever. Like steel being turned into a sword, hit after hit. I hope the blacksmith of life is happy with their work. They've created a weapon that will cut through anything in its wake- and will hopefully be used to defend rather than offend.

May blood never coat my blade again.

You will patch up all the holes in 2025.

(this isn’t a post about knitting)

[killiaia]

MINE

A little something for you guys.

Rosé x male reader.

"Thanks again for coming, girls. " Says Minhyuk. 

"No problem, it's our pleasure! "Replies Jisoo. "Plus we get to see Y/N Oppa" "

" And then Rosé unnie gets to see her boyfriend. "Teases Lisa.

Rosé blushes but can't get the goofy grin off her face. It's been several months since you've seen each other, you with your missions and Rosé with her concerts. A few weeks ago, Minhyuk, one of your soldiers, suggested that Blackpink come and play at your barracks. Naturally, the girls jumped at the chance. 

""Y/N will arrive during the concert. He's not back yet and will have to report in as soon as he arrives. "

"Is he all right? " Rosé asked with a hint of concern in her voice.

"Yes, he's fine. The mission went very well, Rosé. "Minhyuk reassures her.

Rosé lets out a sigh of relief. When you're away, Rosé doesn't hear much about you, and that's what worries her most. She's always afraid of receiving a message announcing your death. 

"I'll let you get changed. I'll be waiting for you on stage. "says Minhyuk.

The girls thank him and start changing. They rehearse a few notes and after checking everything, the girls go on stage.

Minhyuk announces the girls and the curtain rises. The soldiers howl with delight and the girls begin to sing. The atmosphere is electric, the soldiers are so happy to see Blackpink. 

You arrive after several songs and Rosé notices you right away. You wink at her and see Rosé start to dance. You laugh and encourage her.

"COME ON ROSIE! " you shout.

Encouraged by your shouts, Rosé begins to dance sensually, to the delight of the soldiers. Mouth wide open, you watch your girlfriend dance to the shouts of your soldiers. You want to shout something, but a voice next to you interrupts you. 

Rosé sees you talking to a female soldier. She sees you laughing with her and the woman even whispers something in your ear that makes you smile.

"Unnie's jealous. " Lisa says, coming up behind Rosé.

Rosé refocuses on the dance but doesn't take her eyes off you. Yes, Rosé's jealous - she's never hidden it, on the contrary. It's not something that bothers you. Rosé used to be jealous of her members, especially Jennie. So to see you laughing with someone else, and especially with a woman she doesn't know, Rosé can't hide her jealousy. It's written all over her face that she's jealous. Jisoo gives her a pat on the bottom, telling her to concentrate. 

Rosé can't do it. Seeing you having fun with another girl drives her crazy. You've been talking to the female soldier for several minutes now and you haven't looked at Rosé once. Rosé's jealousy explodes when the woman places a kiss on your cheek before leaving.

Rosé sees red and when you finally turn to her, you immediately notice her face. You know this girl too well. You know how to defuse the situation.

" I love you." You mime.

You can clearly see the shock on Rosé's face. You also see a goofy smile settle on the singer's face.

"I love you too. " Mimes Rosé in return.

The girls sing their last song and the curtain closes. The soldiers cheer the girls and you yell at them to go back to their rooms.

Rosé and the girls return to their dressing room, happy with their performance. Still, Rosé can't get the image of the kiss out of her mind. 

"It was only a kiss on the cheek. "Jennie replies, as if she's a mind reader.

Rosé says nothing and sits down on the sofa. Someone knocks and Rosé hopes it's you, but it's only Minhyuk.

"Thanks again, girls! You guys are great. " says Minhyuk.

"You're welcome. " Replies Jisoo 

"Tell me Minhyuk, who was that girl with. Y/N? " Asks Rosé.

"And here we go. " Comments Lisa

"Oh that's Lieutenant Somin. "

" And they're close? " " 

" Rosé I'm not sure if I can tell you. "

"  Minhyuk, it's about MY Boyfriend. "

" Yeah yeah... but he'd be the one to tell you, wouldn't he? 

"Minhyuk. Tell me."

 "He's going to kill me. Well... Y/N and Somin have been together for two years. " "

 EXCUSE ME? " Shouts Rosé. "Is that his ex-girlfriend? " "

" I shouldn't have said anything.. " Minhyuk laments.

Rosé can't believe her ears. She's your ex-girlfriend. That means you're working with your ex-girlfriend and you never told her. 

Blackpink members find this very funny. Minhyuk has managed to escape from the dressing room and Lisa sits down next to Rosé.

"You've got no right to be jealous, unnie. You've written songs about your exes. " "

It's not the same! "Rosé defends herself. 

"It's all the same. "Jisoo contradicts.

"Y/N loves you, you have nothing to worry about. "Jennie replies.

"Oh and then show him he belongs to you. Grab Y/N and fuck him. "Lisa says.

Rosé doesn't wait. She stands up suddenly, despite the protests of her group. Rosé doesn't listen and leaves the dressing room. She hears Lisa's laughter and Rosé sets off in search of you. 

She wanders the corridors looking for you. She passes several soldiers who don't dare move. 

"Excuse me, do you know where Y/N is? "Rosé asks a soldier.

"In his room. It's just down the hall. "

" Thank you. "

Rosé starts looking for you again, and when she arrives in front of your room, Rosé opens the door without knocking. You turn around, ready to yell at the person who's just entered, but you're stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of Rosé. A goofy smile appears on your face, but it's quickly replaced by a surprised expression. 

Rosé doesn't wait. She gets down on her knees and starts to remove your belt. 

"Rosie? What the hell...."

You can't finish your sentence, Rosé swallows your cock. Rosé doesn't waste a second making your cock hard. The Australian puts her heart into it. The young woman's mouth is divine.

"Oh my god." You moan 

Pleased to see you moan, Rosé continues her oral assault. With one of her hands, Rose caresses your balls. 

You're just a toy. You're Rosé's toy. You want to say something but each time Rosé engulfs your cock in his mouth. You catch yourself on the shelf behind so good it feels. 

You can't string a word together. You try to grab Rosé but the singer pulls your hands away and continues to suck you. You can see that you're not going to be able to do anything, so you might as well enjoy it. You let your girlfriend suck you off. 

"Y/N Oppa, are you there? " says a voice from behind the door. 

You freeze. Somin is behind the door. Rosé pulls your cock out of her mouth and flashes you a smirk. 

"Rosé, no. " You say.

But Rosé doesn't care, she grabs your dick and starts jerking you off. She starts sucking your balls and you bite your tongue to keep from moaning. 

"Oppa, I wanted to talk to you about the next mission. " says Somin.

You notice Rosé's aggressive jerking off. 

"Later Somin. " You reply. 

You hear Somin leave and breathe a sigh of relief. With your hand, you grab Rosé's chin and force her to look at you. 

"You jealous bitch. "

" You never told me she was your ex,"  Rosé replies, sucking your cock.

You want to reply but Rosé licks your tip. Annoyed by her games, you grab her head and push it onto your cock. 

"If you're going to be a jealous slut you might as well enjoy it. "

"Fuck my mouth. "Rosé looks you straight in the eye.

You grab your cock with one hand and Rosé's face with the other. Rosé opens her mouth wide and you insert your cock into the Australian's mouth.

Rosé closes her mouth and you feel her tongue lick your cock. You move your pelvis and hear Rosé gag. Rosé takes matters into her own hands, literally. She grabs your cock with her hands and starts jerking you off as she continues to suck you. 

It's so good. Just yesterday you were on a mission in the middle of nowhere and today you've got Rosé on her knees with your dick in her mouth. Life is good. 

"I'm going to cum. " You warned Rosé. 

"Come in my mouth. "

You grab your cock and start jerking off. Rosé positions her mouth beneath your cock and you're not going to last long. The sight is too good.

After a few strokes, your cum lands in the singer's mouth. You haven't cum in a long time, so several spurts come out of your cock. 

Completely exhausted, you fall off the bed and Rosé swallows your cum.  The young woman stands up and kisses you. You say nothing and Rosé starts to open the door. Before leaving, she turns around and says. 

"I love you, baby. See you tonight. "

You wave vaguely and Rosé says one last thing. 

"Don't forget you're mine. “

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 15

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

A/N: Idk if anyone else's seasonal depression is hitting them harder at the moment but man is mine kicking my ass right now. But I finally managed to get this written so hopefully it isn't shit. I'm just happy to always get notifications of new people reading this and wanting me to still continue so I know my writing isn't completely trash at least. Enjoy!

Chapter 15

Jeongin and Hyunjin rush into the Omega’s room seeing her curled up to Seungmin before both of them jump on the bed.

“Wake up.” Jeongin says in a sing-song voice as he cuddles up to Y/n and Hyunjin puts his whole weight on Seungmin. 

“Get off you pabo.” Seungmin groans, pushing the older beta off of him, causing Hyunjin to land between Y/n and Seungmin.

“Innie.” Y/n groans. 

“What time is it anyways?” Seungmin leans over to look at his phone on the nightstand. “What’s got you guys up so early? Hyunjin is never up willingly before ten.”

“We’re doing our beach day today.” Jeongin beams looking at the two. “Felix and Jisung are waking Minho and Channie hyungs up right now.”

“Changbin just got back from the gym and is in the shower.” 

“You get to wear your new swimsuit. Ow.” Hyunjin glares at Seungmin who pinched  his side.

The omega blushes turning away from the two betas, not sure how to feel about wearing the swimsuit in front of all of them. 

“Jagiya.” Jeongin leans over Y/n, tilting his head to the side. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, it’s just us.”

“That’s exactly why she’s embarrassed.” Seungmin pushes the younger one over to lay back on the bed. “All of you are nothing but horny males.” 

“You say that as if you aren’t a horny male yourself.” Hyunjin tackles Seungmin to the floor and they start wrestling. 

Jeongin pulls the omega to his chest as they watch the two tumble with each other.

“What’s going on in here?” Felix’s eyes widen as he walks in with Chan. 

“Alright, break it up.” Chan bends down to separate the two beta’s but Hyunjin pounces on him. “So the pups wanna play huh?” Chan looks up at Hyunjin before flipping them over, pinning the younger male under him until Seungmin jumps him, tackling the alpha to the ground.

“You’re getting slow old man.”

Felix quickly joins Y/n and Jeongin on the bed taking notice of the glint in the youngest alpha’s eyes and takes the girl from him.

“Join them.” Felix nudges him, making Jeongin look at him unsure. “Go on, I’ve got our girl.”

Jeongin takes a second looking at both of the omegas before smiling and jumps off the bed onto his alpha’s back.

“Ah, Innie, claws.” Chan groans in pain.

“You like it when I claw you.” Jeongin huffs as Chan shrugs him off of his back before suddenly Hyunjin tackles the youngest. 

Changbin, Minho and Jisung step into the doorway to see what's going on, shaking their heads at the antics going on. It’s when Seungmin bites Chan that the alpha has enough and picks up the youngest beta.

“Put me down, old man.” Seungmin squirms.

“Who’s your alpha?”

“Fuck off, I’m not saying it.”

Minho and Changbin quickly grab the omegas off the bed just before Chan flings Seungmin on it, pinning him down.

“Yah, careful.” Minho shouts. 

“Sorry babies.” Chan turns to the two in the other two alpha’s arms.

“Bin, help me.” Seungmin tries to fight Chan’s hold on him.

“You got yourselves into this.” Changbin holds Y/n closer to his chest as Minho has Felix and Jisung leaning against him.

“You know how to get hyung to stop, just say it.” Jisungs smiles.

“Yeah pup, just say it.” Chan beams down at the beta. 

“Not happening.” Seungmin continues to struggle until both Hyunjin and Jeongin fling themselves at the alpha making them all roll off the other side of the bed. 

Y/n flinches at the thud heard from the three of them hitting the ground. She tries to move forward to maybe try and stop them but Changbin holds her in place.

“They’re okay, pretty girl.”

“Trust us kitten, it’s better not to get involved.” Minho holds Felix and Jisung close to them as they had tensed up too at the thud.

“How did this become you three against me?” Chan huffs as he stands with Jeongin locked in his arms and Hyunjin on his back. “I was only trying to separate two of you originally.”

“I couldn’t help but to join.” Jeongin tilts his head innocently. 

Chan lets go of the youngest before throwing Hyunjin off his back and onto the bed next to Seungmin.

“Who’s your alpha?”

Hyunjin looks up at him with an evil grin. “Jeongin.”

“Wrong answer.” Chan growls leaning down to bite the beta’s shoulder.

“And that’s our queue to leave.” Changbin turns Y/n away from the room, Minho doing the same with Jisung and Felix. 

“Does that happen a lot?” The omega asks as she’s led to the kitchen. 

“With them. Yeah.” Minho starts making an easy breakfast. “Innies still a new alpha so the pup likes to play, especially if it’s ‘challenging’ our alpha.”

“The betas just like ruffling some feathers.” Changbin laughs. “Occasionally Lixie and Ji do it too.”

Seungmin walks in smiling. “Hyunjins getting his ass handed to him by both alphas.” 

“He knew better.” Jisung shakes his head. 

“I don’t know why you’re so smug, pup.” Changbin grabs the beta’s arm. “You weren’t any better.”

Seungmin looks up at the older male and gulps.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n stands hugging herself as she watches the boys all running around the beach getting umbrellas, towels and beach chairs set up. Hyunjin and Felix have already run out into the water ignoring Chan’s calls to put on sunscreen first. 

She manages to stay unnoticed for a while until all of them get in the water, playing and swimming. Well almost all of them. Minho sits in a beach chair watching her behind his sunglasses as she stands there watching her pack, still wearing her coverup over her swimsuit.

“Y/n.” She jumps when he calls her name and turns to look at him.

The alpha motions for her to join which she hesitates before walking over to the chair where he grabs her waist and pulls her onto his lap.

“Yeah?”

“You look uncomfortable.” He looks over her closely. “Talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that pretty little mind of yours.”

She manages to smile as he taps her head and she playfully pushes his hand away. 

“It’s just… I haven’t worn a swimsuit since I was a kid.” She whispers looking away from him back at the rest of the boys in the water.

“You’re safe with us kitten.” Minho turns her face to look back at him. “It’s just us here so you won’t be harassed like you would be being an omega at a public beach.” He cups her cheek and she leans into his touch. “Besides, you didn’t seem to feel that way the other night when you went skinny dipping with Lixie.”

“That was different.” She rolls her eyes and resituates herself on his lap causing him to grip her hips. “Felix is practically another omega, he’s comforting to be with. And it’s not like I see you with your shirt off joining the others.”

“I don’t like water.” He pinches her hip but then gets an idea. “How about this baby, you take your coverup off and quit being insecure and I’ll join you in getting in the water.”

Y/n looks at him in disbelief. “Did you really just tell me to quit being insecure?”

“Yes, I did.” He places a finger under her chin. “Because you are beautiful and there is nothing for you to be insecure about. We love you how you are.”

“Thanks Min.” She smiles down at him and his hands move to the bottom of her coverup.

“Can I take this off now?” 

The omega nods and he pulls the coverup off her and over her head. He takes in the swim shorts and tankini top she’s wearing as he caresses her sides. “My beautiful girl.”

“Wanna go get in the water now?”

“Let’s go kitten.” He lifts her off his lap placing her on the sand before he gets up, pulling his shirt off, grabbing her hand. 

He drags her along the beach towards the water but stops just where the sand is wet from the waves. The others take notice of this and Chan and Changbin move, Chan running, before picking Minho up and carrying him into the water. 

“Chan put me down.” 

“Are you sure you want that?” The older alpha asks as he walks them deeper into the water.

“Binnie.” Y/n squeals as Changbin picks her up and follows the other two alphas. 

Chan drops Minho into the water causing the male to freak out a little and Y/n holds onto Changbin scared he’ll drop her in the water too.

“Relax, pretty girl.” He kisses her head. “I’m not letting go unless you ask me to.”

The omega relaxes in his arms as they walk deeper into the water. Once the water reaches up to their chests she readjust herself, wrapping her legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he holds her thighs. 

“Hi angel.” Jisung comes up to the two, happy to see her in the water.

“Wanna learn to swim princess?” Hyunjin swims over with Felix.

“Umm...” Y/n looks around at everyone.

Jeongin and Seungmin have joined Chan and Minho now. Chan holding the other alpha while the two pups are splashing them.

“I promise that none of us will let you drown.” Changbin squeezed her a little.

“Yeah, Channie, Hyun and I are all really good swimmers.” Felix reassures his fellow omega. “We’ll teach you properly. And you have all eight of us watching over you and will save you if you need it.”

“Seven.” Hyunjin corrects him as he looks over at Minho who's clinging onto their pack alpha. “Min won’t be saving anyone in the water.”

“I’ll go get one of the floaty rings for him.” Jisung starts to head back to shore.

“Get both so Y/n can have one too.” Changbin calls out before looking at said girl again. “So what do you say Y/nnie? Will you let us teach you?”

“I guess.”

Felix, Chan and Hyunjin made work on teaching Y/n how to swim, and also attempting to teach Minho, again. The other four were always close by in case she needed to cling on to one of them. Which it wasn’t until late evening when she finally stopped latching on to one of the boys or the floaty and actually swam a little by herself. It was only a few feet between Hyunjin and Felix but she did it without clinging onto Chan who stayed next to her the whole time, just in case she needed him.

“That was great, babygirl.” Chan praises once Felix grabs her into his arms. “Now go back to Jinnie.”

Felix helps push her towards the beta and she swims, more like doggy paddles, to Hyunjin who continues to back away a little so she has to swim farther but eventually lets her catch him when he notices her start to panic a little and almost grabs onto Chan again.

“Good job princess.” Hyunjin holds her close. “When we get back home we should do a pool day at least once a week so you can get better.”

“Don’t expect me to partake in those lessons.” Minho calls out from where he rests on the floaty, Jisung also somewhat laying on it.

“Hyung, you have to learn to swim eventually.” Jeongin pokes the alpha.

“I don’t have to do anything, pup.”

______________________________________________________________

Taglist will be close for now as I'm not able to tag more people for some reason

Tag list: @pixie0627 @sinfulfic @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl

@blindspot143 @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55

@hwangrfrnd @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @juskz @borahae-reads @dreamerwasfound

@galaxy4489 @kayleefriedchicken @lostgirlinthewoodss @catkight @royal-shinigami

@notevenheretbh1 @passionandsuga @m00njinnie @sukss @n1nme4r

@blueberrydish @xxeiraxx @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @aalexyuuuhm @kaleigh-2002

@btskzfav @hyunmikim @ot8girlfie @sillygoosegoose @tr0p1cal

@eastjonowhere @hime-honne @furfoxsake22 @luvlino23 @iknow-uknow-leeknow

@im-sinking-in-mud @fiest4plum @forevermoremagcon @comicnerd557 @nchhuhi

@alyxcatspost @danceonmyheyday @maisyyyyyy @shycreationdreamland @chanshugsaretherapy

@mo0n13 @yumuramma @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @idkwhoisthis1971 @violet-hatake

[kaira-diaries]

Nocturne: The Collapse

Warning: (SMUT - mildly descriptive)(Violence)(non-con touching)(mentions of death) (non-cannon violence & lore)

Pairing: Frontman x fem!reader

Word Count: +15k

Summary: none, cause I didn’t feel like writing one out

A/N: Okay so here's part 2 of nocturne and I'm gonna be so honest this turned into a WHOLE ass thing with lore and heavy heavy plot. To avoid an extremely long read, a third part will be written. idek what happened that led up to this point of needing a third part but here we are (sorrows, prayers). happy reading !

Masterlist <-

Part One <-

_______________________________________________

2 Years Later:

Staring into the gilded mirror, you couldn’t help but admire the way the gown sculpted your frame. The rich maroon fabric clung to every curve, the shimmer of its silk catching the soft light and giving you an air of effortless elegance. It reminded you of the dress you’d worn the night you first met In-ho—a memory that sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. The neckline plunged just enough to command attention without screaming for it, while the delicate slit along the side offered a glimpse of your leg, teasing but tasteful.

Your hair had been styled to perfection, pinned loosely back with a cascade of soft curls framing your face. Each strand looked as if it had been meticulously placed, yet still carried an air of natural allure. You applied a few swipes of deep crimson lipstick, the bold color tying your look together and accentuating the soft glow of your complexion. The faint scent of your perfume—a seductive blend of jasmine and amber—lingered in the air, leaving a trace of you wherever you passed.

This wasn’t your first time at a lavish party, but tonight felt different. The room buzzed with energy, a blend of laughter and whispered conversations mixing with the clink of crystal glasses. The event marked the 20th anniversary of the Squid Games—a macabre milestone commemorated by only the most elite and influential. The space was grand, with towering ceilings adorned in gold leaf and intricate chandeliers spilling warm light across the opulent ballroom. Legends of the games—former creators, VIPs, and those who had helped shape its legacy—moved through the crowd like phantoms of the past, their age barely dimming their commanding presence.

You’d been glued to In-ho’s side most of the night, your arm lightly draped through his as you navigated the throngs of the powerful and the wealthy. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you at times, the quiet pride he seemed to take in having you at his side. But the endless small talk, the veiled barbs of rival VIPs, and the oppressive grandeur of it all began to wear on you. The need for air—or at least a moment alone—became too much to ignore.

Slipping through the sea of extravagantly dressed guests, you had made your way to the bathroom to where you stood now, finally breaking away from the suffocating intensity of the crowd. The heavy oak door was closed behind you, muffling the noise and leaving you in a blissful pocket of silence. The cool, polished marble of the sink greeted your fingertips as you had set your clutch down, exhaling softly.

You glanced at your reflection again, this time allowing a small, private smile to cross your lips. The faint hum of the music beyond the door barely reached you as you pulled your lipstick from the clutch. Holding the tube, you applied one last swipe of the rich shade with careful precision, ensuring every line was flawless.

And then your thoughts drifted—inevitably—to him. In-ho. You couldn’t help it. Even in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom, his presence lingered in your mind. The way he moved through the crowd with calm authority, his sharp suit a perfect complement to his commanding demeanor. The way guests bowed and crumbled under his authority. He was magnetic, and you found yourself drawn to him like gravity itself. He wasn’t just the Front Man tonight; he was yours.

You capped the lipstick and tucked it back into your clutch, your fingers brushing the smooth leather as you let out a breathy laugh at yourself. Admiration? Maybe that was putting it lightly. He consumed your thoughts, even when he wasn’t near. Even your dreams hadn’t been safe from him lately, his face haunting the edges of your mind like a phantom you welcomed with open arms.

You took one last glance at your reflection, the faint glint of determination in your eyes, and smoothed the fabric of your gown. For all the chaos outside this room, you would meet it head-on, poised and unshaken. After all, tonight wasn’t just any party.

It was your world now, and you intended to own it.

Clicking the bathroom door shut behind you, you let out a soft sigh, the hum of the party no longer muffled by the thick walls. But before you could fully collect yourself, a deep, velvet voice cut through the racket, rich and teasing.

"If it isn’t the queen herself."

You turned sharply, your gaze falling on a tall, striking man leaning casually against the wall just a few feet away. His presence was impossible to ignore. The soft glow of the chandelier overhead caught his fawn-colored hair, perfectly styled to look effortless, and his piercing blue eyes sparkled with mischief as they locked onto yours. He was dressed in a crisp white suit that seemed tailored to perfection, the snowy fabric contrasting beautifully with the warm undertones of his skin.

Your brows knitted together in confusion, your expression guarded as he pushed off the wall with an easy, confident stride. His lips curled into a dashing smile, the kind that hinted he was used to getting his way, and his voice carried the faintest hint of amusement as he spoke again.

“Apologies,” he said, his tone low and smooth, like a slow pour of fine whiskey. “I’m just a fan of your work.”

You straightened your posture instinctively, your shoulders rolling back as you appraised him. “Is that so?”

He nodded, his smile widening just enough to reveal a flash of perfect teeth. There was something about him—his demeanor, the way he carried himself—that made you feel both intrigued and wary.

“Very much so,” he replied, holding out a hand with the kind of charm that felt practiced but still disarmingly genuine. “Hiram.”

You hesitated, your eyes scanning his outstretched palm before finally offering your hand to him. His touch was warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and when he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles, it sent a faint shiver up your spine. His lips lingered just a second too long, and when he straightened, his eyes held yours as if daring you to look away.

“Y/N,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. You withdrew your hand slowly, letting your fingers slip from his grasp, and tilted your head slightly. “Don’t think me rude, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

He shrugged, the movement graceful, almost feline, as he tucked one hand into his pocket. “That’s not surprising,” he said with a soft chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m new blood, as they say. My family never jumped at the opportunity to let me out of my room.”

A surprised laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, the unexpected humor catching you off guard. “Where’s the fun in that?” you asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Exactly,” he said, his own laugh following yours, low and rich. There was something magnetic about him, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, drawing you in like gravity itself.

His gaze flickered over you briefly, taking in the deep maroon gown and the confident way you carried yourself. “I must admit,” he said, his tone dropping slightly, softer now, as if the words were meant just for you. “Seeing you in person is... quite the experience. Pictures don’t do you justice.”

The compliment hung in the air between you, and though it was bold, there was no arrogance in his delivery—just pure, unfiltered charm. You couldn’t help but feel the faint heat of a blush creeping up your neck, though you masked it quickly with a small, polite smile.

“Well,” you said, lifting your chin slightly, “it’s good to know I can make such an impression.”

His grin widened, and he leaned in ever so slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Oh, you do more than that, Y/N.”

For a moment, the air between you felt thick, the weight of his words lingering as he straightened again, his expression still lighthearted but with an edge of something deeper. “I won’t keep you,” he said smoothly, taking a step back, though his eyes lingered on yours a beat longer than necessary. “But I do hope we’ll cross paths again before the night is through.”

He gave you a small nod, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in that same dashing smile, before turning to leave. As he disappeared into the crowd, you found yourself momentarily frozen, the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and warm—still lingering in the air around you.

You slipped back into the crowd, weaving through clusters of opulent guests whose laughter and conversation rose like smoke, thick and suffocating. The golden chandeliers cast warm, glittering light over the ballroom, illuminating every polished surface and shimmering gown. But your attention wasn’t on the decadence surrounding you—it was locked on the figure at the far end of the room, near the bar.

There he was, standing tall and composed, his presence commanding despite the sea of wealth and power surrounding him. In-ho’s hair was slicked back with precision, each strand gleaming under the light. His face was unreadable, that familiar stoic expression giving away nothing, though you could sense the weight he carried in his posture.

Breathtakingly handsome and untouchable, he seemed carved from stone—a monument to control and authority.

Your gaze flicked to the man standing across from him, and your chest tightened. Even in a room filled with the most powerful and dangerous individuals alive, this man stood out. The original Game Maker. His presence was understated, yet it radiated an aura that set him apart—a blend of quiet confidence and palpable danger.

His hair was streaked with silver, but his sharp features and piercing eyes betrayed a mind still razor-sharp. He looked remarkably young for someone whose legacy was steeped in brutality, and that realization unsettled you. It meant that when he had first orchestrated the games, he must have been terrifyingly young—just a man, barely more than a boy, with the intelligence and ruthlessness to reshape human desperation into a blood-soaked spectacle.

The sight of him brought back the stories In-ho had told you late at night, his voice low and careful, as though uttering the words aloud might summon ghosts. But one story had always stuck with you—the two-day games.

You swallowed hard at the memory, your footsteps faltering for just a moment as the weight of it crept over you. In those games, 456 players had been wiped out in just two rounds. No victor. No home for the prize money. You could hardly fathom it: the sheer scale of the slaughter, the precision required to make it happen, the lack of regard for even the illusion of fairness.

The remaining four games had been rendered pointless—there weren't any survivors to justify continuing. That level of efficiency, of calculated cruelty, had never been replicated. It was as if the man standing before In-ho had reached the zenith of brutality and left an unshakable legacy in his wake.

A chill crawled up your spine as you moved closer, your eyes darting between In-ho’s impassive face and the Game Maker’s calm, almost casual demeanor. In-ho once told you that those games had left an indelible mark on the system's history. They’d been both a triumph and a warning, a standard so high in its carnage that no one dared attempt to replicate it. The Game Maker had been both feared and revered, his name spoken in hushed tones even now, decades later. In simpler terms, he' done his job a little too well.

You couldn’t help but wonder what the man was saying to In-ho. From the subtle tension in In-ho’s shoulders and the way his jaw tightened, it was clear this wasn’t a casual conversation. The Game Maker’s lips moved with measured precision, and though you couldn’t hear his words over the din of the ballroom, you could feel the weight of them in the air.

What would a man like that say to In-ho? Was it praise, criticism, or something darker? Did he see In-ho as a worthy successor or a pale imitation of the ruthlessness that had made him legendary?

Your heartbeat quickened as you approached the bar, the stories swirling in your mind like smoke. The memory of those games—the brilliance, the carnage, the terror—felt alive in this moment, standing there between them like an unspoken shadow.

The Game Maker turned slightly, his sharp eyes flicking toward you for a brief moment, and a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The kind of smile made your blood run cold, like he’d already sized you up, dissected you, and found your weaknesses.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze for that fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to In-ho. The stories had given you chills before, but now, standing in the presence of the man who had written them, the weight of history—and the danger it carried—felt all too real.

And as In-ho glanced your way, his stoic mask momentarily cracking to reveal a flicker of something—was it reassurance? Warning?—you realized just how high the stakes were tonight. Whatever this conversation was, it wasn’t just small talk. And if you weren’t careful, you might find yourself caught in the crossfire of two men who had shaped the games with blood, brilliance, and cruelty.

"This must be your partner, if I'm not mistaken," the man said, his voice smooth and measured, each word laced with subtle curiosity. His piercing green eyes studied you with unnerving precision, as though he was already peeling back your layers, exposing every secret.

You nodded politely, but before you could speak, In-ho's hand slid firmly to the small of your back. The weight of his touch was both grounding and possessive, and his voice, calm and authoritative, carried over the din of the ballroom. "Yes," he replied, his answer as much a confirmation as it was a claim.

In-ho nudged you forward slightly, his gentle but insistent push urging you to engage. You bowed your head respectfully, your voice soft but steady as you spoke. "It’s an honor, sir."

The Game Maker’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Those sharp green eyes gleamed like polished glass, reflecting the flickering lights of the chandelier above. The man radiated power—not the loud, boisterous kind, but the quiet, suffocating weight of someone who didn’t need to prove himself.

As the frenetic pace of the music slowed, the brassy tones melting into a smooth, languid melody, he placed his drink down with deliberate precision, his attention turning fully to In-ho.

“May I?” he asked, his meaning clear as his eyes flicked toward you, a sly glint in their depths.

For a moment, silence hung between the three of you. In-ho’s hand on your back stiffened, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your gown. You could feel the tension radiating off him, subtle but unmistakable, as though the request had struck a nerve.

Then, with a faint nod, In-ho’s hand fell away. “Please,” he said evenly, his tone betraying none of the hesitation you knew he must feel. The word was polite, but the weight behind it made it feel more like permission than encouragement.

The Game Maker extended his hand toward you, his smile widening just enough to reveal a flash of teeth. His presence was magnetic, his movements fluid as though every step he took was choreographed. You hesitated, glancing back at In-ho, whose expression remained stoic, his dark eyes meeting yours with an unreadable intensity.

Taking a steadying breath, you placed your hand in the Game Maker’s. His grip was firm, his skin cool against yours as he led you onto the dance floor. The soft melody filled the air, and the crowd seemed to blur around you as he guided you into a slow, measured waltz.

“I must admit,” he began, his voice low and velvety as he steered you effortlessly, his steps smooth and deliberate, “I’ve been curious about the woman who caught In-ho’s eye.”

You arched a brow, keeping your tone neutral. “Curious, sir?”

He chuckled, a rich, quiet sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “It’s not every day my Front Man shows such… attachment.” His eyes bore into yours, sharp and probing. “It’s intriguing.”

You resisted the urge to stiffen under his scrutiny, forcing a polite smile. “I would hope to be more than just intriguing.”

His smile widened, and the grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly. “Oh, you are,” he said, his words carrying a weight that felt almost dangerous. “You’re a fascinating piece on this chessboard. But tell me…” His voice dropped, barely audible over the music. “How much do you truly know about the man you’re dancing around this world with?”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, your carefully constructed composure faltered. His words weren’t idle curiosity—they were a calculated strike, designed to unsettle you.

“I know enough,” you replied evenly, regaining your footing, though the slight edge in your voice betrayed you.

“Hmm,” he mused, his expression unreadable as he twirled you effortlessly, the lights of the chandelier spinning above. “Enough to trust him?”

You hesitated, just long enough for his smile to sharpen. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Trust is a fragile thing, my dear. I would tread carefully if I were you.”

The music swelled, the melody stretching out like a thread about to snap, and as he pulled you closer, "you seem... unfazed by this world," he moved on, his voice soft but layered with meaning. There was a gleam of something more in his eyes. "Many would be rattled by the games, by what they demand from people. But you... you seem like you understand."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the direction of his conversation. His words weren’t just casual chatter—there was something deeper, something he was about to reveal. Something he wanted you to hear.

"I’ve seen things that would break most," he continued, his tone lowering, the dance now a distant memory between you both as you only swayed. "I’ve lived through things that have reshaped me in ways that can’t be undone."

Your pulse quickened, curiosity gnawing at you. The night had already been full of tension, but now the Game Maker was pulling you into his past—a place few, if any, had access to.

He took a step back abandoning the dance, glancing over his shoulder at the shadows of the ballroom as if weighing whether to speak. Finally, he sighed, a sound that seemed to carry decades of experience with it.

"The two-day games..." he started, and the words seemed to hang in the air between you like a curse. "There’s nothing quite like them in the history of the games. Nothing that compares to what happened during those two days."

You felt a chill run down your spine as he spoke. The stories you had heard—whispers of what had occurred during that brutal event—were always fragmented, vague. But now, you had the chance to hear it from the mouth of the man who had made it happen. The man who had orchestrated it all.

His gaze locked with yours, intense and unyielding. "I was younger then, perhaps too young, but the potential for control… the power to shape chaos—it called to me." His voice lowered, growing colder with each word. "The games were never meant to be easy. They were meant to expose the worst of people. Push them to the edge and watch them either rise or fall."

You shifted slightly, instinctively pulling away, but he seemed to read the motion as curiosity, not discomfort. He continued, almost as though speaking to himself.

"I gave them two days. Just two. 456 players entered the arena. 456 lives—each one filled with desperation, greed, fear. By the end of the second day, 456 of them were dead." His voice was smooth, but beneath the calm was a trace of something darker.

"The thing is," he added, almost as an afterthought, his expression hardening, "it didn’t take much to break them. It wasn’t about weapons or traps. It was about fear. The fear of what they were becoming. And when the first 50 fell, the rest of them—every last one—knew their time was numbered. That fear, that panic—it spread like wildfire."

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, your heart pounding in your chest as you listened to his words. The Game Maker’s voice was chilling, detached, as if recounting a story of someone else’s nightmare. But the deeper you listened, the more you realized how deeply he was tied to that moment. How much it had shaped him into the man he was today.

"In the end," he said, his eyes darkening, "the other four games were pointless. The players had already given up. There were barely enough survivors left to keep going. The horror of it, the inevitability of their deaths—it was already in the air. The remaining games were just a formality."

You shuddered, the horror of his words sinking in like a weight in your chest. The sheer scale of the violence—the cruelty of the decision to make it last three days—left you speechless for a moment. You hadn’t imagined the extent of what had transpired.

"But..." You started, voice barely above a whisper, "Why did it stop after that? Why didn’t you keep going? Why not make it a standard?"

"Because there’s only so much humanity can take," he said softly, the words carrying a weight you could almost taste. "After that, I realized something. You can break people, destroy them—but if you push them too far, you lose control. And then the game becomes something else. A rebellion perhaps."

His eyes flicked to In-ho, who had watched the conversation from the sidelines, his gaze unreadable.

"You lose the control. And control, my dear," the Game Maker whispered, his voice a thread of a warning, "is most precious in our line of work."

For a long moment, the air between you both was thick with tension. The soft music continued to play in the background, but in your mind, it was drowned out by the image of what the Game Maker had described—the bloodshed, the terror, the total breakdown of human decency in a span of just two days.

Finally, the silence was broken by the soft clink of glass. The Game Maker picked up a drink from a server, as if snapping back to reality, the weight of his story fading from his expression. "But that’s all behind me now," he added with a thin smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "The games have evolved. And I, too, have evolved with them."

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, the sheer gravity of what he had just shared leaving you momentarily speechless.

And as he turned to leave, his hand brushing against yours once more, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his past pressing down on you, like a shadow that would never truly lift.

"You’ll understand," he said softly, looking back over his shoulder with that same glint in his eyes, "one day, when you’re forced to see the games from the inside. It’s the only way to truly know."

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing amidst the glittering crowd, the echo of his words lingering in the air like a dark omen.

________

The ride back to the island stretched on, the distant hum of the yacht's engines muffled by the heavy silence between you and In-ho. The sea stretched endlessly outside the cabin windows, dark and vast, mirroring the weight pressing down on the both of you. In-ho sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his mind clearly elsewhere, swirling with thoughts he would never voice. His third glass of whiskey sat half-empty in his hand, the liquid catching the dim light.

Your eyes softened as you turned to him, noting the faint lines of tension at the corners of his mouth and the way his shoulders carried the invisible burden of leadership. Reaching out, you placed a hand on his thigh, your touch gentle but grounding.

“You don’t have to do this alone, In-ho,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the oppressive quiet like a breeze.

He looked at you then, his dark eyes meeting yours. For a fleeting moment, his guarded expression melted, replaced by something warmer, softer. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t erase the shadows in his gaze.

“I know,” he murmured, though the way he said it felt more like an attempt to reassure you than himself.

The thought of tomorrow hung between you both. The games would begin at dawn, and everything was ready, every gruesome detail in place. The guards had their orders, the players were already in their quarters, and all that remained were the final preparations for the VIPs.

You leaned back against the leather seat, your mind wandering as you stared out at the endless black horizon. News had reached you earlier in the evening—there would be a new VIP attending this round of games. The announcement hadn’t surprised you, but it had stirred something in you.

For a brief moment, your mind slipped back to when that title belonged to you. The memory of your first arrival as a VIP, dressed in extravagant finery and wrapped in the naivety of someone who thought they understood the games, drifted through your thoughts. How wrong you had been then.

But those thoughts were quickly overtaken by a new unease, one that gnawed at you from the edges of your mind.

"How much do you truly know about the man you’re dancing around this world with?"

The Game Maker’s words echoed in your head, their weight heavier now than when he’d first spoken them. The way his sharp green eyes had lingered on you, the knowing smile that had curled at his lips—it was as though he had planted a seed of doubt that was only now beginning to take root.

You glanced at In-ho again, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the faint glint of his mask resting on the table beside him, and the way his fingers idly swirled the whiskey in his glass. He seemed calm, composed, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was keeping something from you.

The silence stretched between you, thick with the unspoken, until In-ho’s voice broke through it.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm, his gaze sharp as it flicked to your face.

You hesitated, your brows knitting together as you forced a small smile and shook your head. “Nothing,” you lied, though your voice lacked conviction.

He didn’t press further, but his eyes searched yours, as if trying to read the thoughts you were so carefully keeping hidden. The weight of his scrutiny made your chest tighten, and you acted on instinct, leaning in and pressing your lips to his.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and it carried with it the unspoken words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. His fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around yours, holding you steady as the world seemed to fall away for just a moment.

When you finally pulled back, his expression softened further, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Your heart sank at the question, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. “Of course,” you said, forcing another smile, though the Game Maker’s words lingered like a shadow in the back of your thoughts.

In-ho smiled faintly and raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, but his hand never left yours. The silence returned, though this time it felt heavier, as though the weight of your thoughts was tangible in the air between you.

You turned your gaze back to the window, the dark sea stretching endlessly ahead. Somewhere out there, on the island you were quickly approaching, the games waited to begin. But it wasn’t just the games that loomed—it was the feeling of a growing divide between you and the man sitting beside you.

And as the Game Maker’s haunting words replayed in your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder: how much did you really know about In-ho? And when the truth finally surfaced, would you still be able to call him yours?

_______

The quarters you shared with In-ho were cold when you returned, the chill of the air pressing against your skin as the soft hum of the elevator faded behind you. Your heels clicked sharply against the polished floors of the hallway, each step echoing faintly in the silence. In-ho followed close behind, his presence a steady weight at your back. Yet, while your body moved forward, your mind still remained trapped in the lingering echoes of the Game Maker’s words.

His question gnawed at you, digging deeper than you cared to admit. It looped in your thoughts like a broken record, each repetition leaving you more unsettled than the last. You didn’t want to believe there was truth to it, but the doubt had rooted itself, and no amount of rationalizing could make it go away.

Your steps faltered, the weight of your thoughts pulling you down like lead. It must have shown, because before you could recover, In-ho’s hand shot out, gripping your arm firmly and pulling you to him.

“Tell me. Now,” he demanded, his tone low but sharp as his dark eyes bore into yours. His face was mere inches from yours, the weight of his presence nearly suffocating as his chest brushed against yours.

For a moment, you stared up at him, startled by the intensity in his voice, the way his grip anchored you. Then, despite the knot tightening in your chest, a faint smile tugged at your lips.

“Well, this is familiar,” you said lightly, your voice carrying a teasing edge as you referred back to the night you met—when his grip on your wrist had been accompanied by a gun to your head instead of concern.

His expression didn’t soften. If anything, the lines of tension in his jaw deepened, and his hand fell away from your arm, letting it drop back to your side. There was no hint of amusement in his face, no trace of the man who often found quiet joy in your quips.

You sighed, the playfulness draining from your tone as you tilted your head back slightly, meeting his unrelenting gaze. “It’s the Game Maker,” you admitted finally. “He said something...”

“What did he say?” In-ho cut in, his voice sharper now, the words almost snapping out of him.

You hesitated, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as you debated how much to reveal. But there was no use in hiding it; In-ho would press until you gave him the truth.

“He asked how much I truly knew about you,” you said carefully, the words coming slower now, each one measured. “He questioned my trust in you.”

The air between you shifted instantly. In-ho straightened, his posture rigid, and his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the flicker of movement beneath his skin. His dark eyes darkened further, and for a moment, he was utterly still—too still.

You threw your arms up in frustration, breaking the silence before it could grow heavier. “It’s stupid, I know,” you said quickly, your voice tinged with exasperation. “I shouldn’t let it get to me, but... it did.”

In-ho’s gaze never left yours, his silence unnerving as the seconds stretched on. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” you admitted, your voice softening. “I thought... I don’t know, I thought it was just a game.”

“And now?” he pressed, his tone still firm but laced with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, unsure how to put your swirling thoughts into words. “And now, I don’t know,” you admitted, your shoulders slumping slightly. “He got into my head.”

In-ho took a step back, his hand raking through his slicked-back hair as he exhaled sharply. The tension radiating off him was palpable, the weight of it filling the space between you.

“He’s trying to divide us,” In-ho said finally, his voice steady but cold.

“That’s what he does. He finds cracks and widens them. He knows exactly where to push. Its entertainment for him.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the truth in his words but unable to completely shake the lingering doubt. “I know,” you said softly. “But that question...”

“Forget it,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through your thoughts. “You know everything you need to know about me.”

“Do I?” you asked before you could stop yourself, the words slipping out like a whisper.

He froze, his eyes narrowing slightly as they locked onto yours. The silence stretched between you again, and you immediately regretted asking.

“You do,” he said finally, his voice quieter now but no less firm.

You searched his face, looking for cracks in the mask he always wore, but there were none. Whatever secrets In-ho carried, he had buried them deep, and he wasn’t about to let you dig them up.

With a sigh, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. His lips were warm against yours, his hands finding your waist instinctively as he kissed you back. The tension between you eased, if only slightly, and for a moment, the world outside the quarters faded away.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you, In-ho. Don’t let him make me doubt that.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, his gaze steady as he nodded. “I won’t,” he promised.

____

The VIP room you knew all too well was cloaked in dim, golden light, the shadows pooling in the corners like secrets waiting to be uncovered. The faint scent of polished wood and aged leather hung in the air, mingling with the warmth of the velvet couches arranged strategically around the room. It was quiet, the stillness almost oppressive, but it wouldn’t be for long. In less than ten minutes, the masked men—the VIPs—would arrive, and the space would come alive with laughter, conversation, and veiled threats disguised as casual remarks.

You and In-ho had worked yourselves to the bone ensuring every detail was flawless. The perfection demanded by the VIPs wasn’t just expected—it was required. Smoothing a gloved hand over the rich burgundy velvet of one of the couches, you allowed yourself a small, private smile. A memory flickered to life, unbidden—the image of your father reclining comfortably in that very spot, a drink in hand, his mask gleaming under the chandelier light. The memory warmed you, though only for a moment. You made a mental note to check on him later, to ensure he was still enjoying himself in his travels.

The sound of the door opening snapped you back to the present, and you turned to see the masked servants filing in. Their uniforms were pristine, their movements perfectly coordinated, and their masks—a blend of gold and black—reflected the room’s soft light. They waited silently for your direction, and you moved into action, gesturing toward the tables and stations.

“Ensure every glass is filled to the brim, not a drop less,” you instructed, your voice calm but firm. “And check your uniforms again—there’s no room for error tonight.”

The servants moved with precision, adjusting glasses, smoothing tablecloths, and arranging decanters of fine liquor in neat, symmetrical rows. You moved among them, inspecting every detail, every corner, ensuring nothing was out of place. Each glass glinted like crystal fire under the soft glow of the chandelier, and every surface gleamed as though it had been polished a thousand times over.

You were so engrossed in the process, so focused on achieving perfection, that you didn’t hear the faint creak of footsteps descending the grand staircase just outside the room. Nor did you register the growing presence behind you until a voice—a voice you recognized all too well—cut through the quiet like a blade.

“If it isn’t the queen herself,” the voice drawled, smooth and laced with a dangerous edge.

Your heart jolted, the sound sending a shiver down your spine and freezing you in place for half a beat. The blood in your veins turned cold, yet heat rushed to your face at the same time. Slowly, you turned, your gaze landing on the source of the voice.

Hiram.

He stood at the base of the staircase, dressed in an immaculate suit that seemed to glow under the dim light. The white fabric hugged his tall, built frame perfectly, and his familiar, disarming smile stretched across his face. His fawn-colored hair gleamed, every strand meticulously styled, but it was his piercing blue eyes that held your attention from beneath the mask. They sparkled with a dangerous kind of amusement, as though he already knew every thought running through your mind.

Behind him, the remaining VIPs entered the room, their masks gleaming in the light as they took in the space with quiet approval. Each of them exuded an aura of power and wealth, their silence more imposing than any words they might speak. And there, at the edge of the group, stood In-ho, his familiar mask hiding any hint of emotion. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, but you knew him well enough to sense the tension in the way he held himself.

“Ah, there you are,” Hiram said, stepping closer, his polished shoes barely making a sound against the floor. “You’ve outdone yourself, truly. This room is a masterpiece.” His voice was honeyed, charming, but there was a sharpness beneath it that made you uneasy.

“Thank you,” you replied evenly, forcing your voice to remain steady. You kept your expression composed, your hands clasped in front of you as he approached. “We aim to please.”

Hiram’s smile widened, his gaze flicking briefly to In-ho before returning to you. “And please, you certainly do.”

You resisted the urge to bristle under his stare, the weight of it lingering on you longer than it should have. Behind Hiram, one of the other VIPs chuckled quietly, their masked face tilted slightly toward you as though sharing in some unspoken joke.

In-ho stepped forward then, his imposing presence cutting through the tension like a knife. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. The evening will begin shortly.”

The VIPs nodded, moving toward the velvet couches, their conversation low and indistinct as they settled into their seats. Hiram, however, lingered, his sharp blue eyes studying you as if he were trying to unravel a mystery.

“Relax,” he said softly, his voice dropping just enough so only you could hear. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on those lovely shoulders.”

You met his gaze, your own eyes narrowing slightly as you replied, “Someone has to ensure things run smoothly.”

Hiram chuckled, the sound rich and deep, as he took a deliberate step back. “Of course. But don’t forget to enjoy the fruits of your labor."

The words dripped with something you couldn’t quite place—mockery, admiration, or perhaps a mix of both. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel, joining the others on the couches.

In-ho was beside you in an instant, his hand brushing yours briefly before falling to his side. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest hadn’t eased. “I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

In-ho’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he straightened, his attention shifting back to the VIPs. The room was filling with quiet chatter and the faint clink of glasses, but your mind was elsewhere, stuck on the unnerving familiarity of Hiram’s words.

"You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world."

Perhaps, in some ways, he wasn’t wrong.

_________________

The first two games had gone off without a hitch, leaving the VIPs exceptionally entertained. Their laughter, applause, and murmurs of satisfaction still echoed faintly in your mind as you lay in bed. It had been a long, grueling day of keeping up appearances—avoiding Hiram’s pointed stares, catering to the demands of the VIPs, and maintaining your composure as the deadly spectacle unfolded before their masked faces.

Now, in the quiet sanctuary of your quarters, the exhaustion weighed heavily on you. Your freshly showered skin was cool against the soft sheets, and the faint scent of In-ho’s cologne lingered in the oversized shirt of his you’d slipped into. The fabric draped loosely over your body, the hem brushing against your thighs as you lay on your side, your back to the door.

The faint click of the door opening startled you, making your heart leap. You sat up quickly, the sheets pooling at your waist, only to relax when your eyes met In-ho’s. His dark eyes held a tired warmth, his posture slightly slouched as he closed the door behind him.

“How’d today go?” you asked softly, watching as he moved toward the bed. His black mask was gone now, leaving his sharp, handsome features fully exposed. He didn’t answer right away, instead sitting at the edge of the bed beside you.

His fingers reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before his palm rested gently against your cheek. The touch was grounding, comforting, and his thumb brushed your skin in a slow, deliberate motion.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he said, his voice low, tinged with concern.

You angled your head, your brows knitting slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he murmured, his tone dropping further as his gaze fixed on you, “is Hiram going to be a problem?”

The question caught you off guard, though it shouldn’t have. You knew In-ho had noticed Hiram’s lingering glances and overly familiar tone earlier in the day. His attention to detail rarely missed anything.

You shook your head quickly, offering a small, reassuring smile. “He’s just a flirt, nothing more,” you said lightly, though the faint tension in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

In-ho didn’t look convinced. He sighed deeply, leaning into your shoulder and pressing his forehead against it. The weight of him was grounding, though you could feel the tension radiating from his body.

“Flirt or not,” he said, his voice muffled against your shoulder, “If he says anything to you, anything at all, you tell me," he said, his voice low but filled with unmistakable authority. “I don’t care if it seems harmless. I need to know.”

You snorted softly, your lips curving into a small smile as you reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “You worry too much,” you teased, though your heart fluttered at the protective edge in his voice.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours as a faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Take a shower with me,” he said suddenly, his tone lighter now but still carrying that low, intimate warmth that always seemed to pull you in.

You laughed softly, leaning back slightly and giving him a playful look. “You’re about 15 minutes too late, baby,” you said, that name rarely used by either of you, gesturing to your damp hair as proof.

His grin widened, the weariness in his expression giving way to something more mischievous. “Take another one,” he countered, his tone smooth, laced with that teasing charm he rarely let others see.

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips as he leaned closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. His fingers curled gently against your skin as his forehead brushed yours, the warmth of him filling the small space between you.

“You’re insatiable,” you murmured, your voice soft but tinged with affection as your lips hovered just shy of his.

“For you?” he replied, his voice dropping to a near whisper, his breath warm against your skin. “Always.”

Before you could respond, he pressed his lips to yours in a slow kiss. It deepened quickly, his hand tightening against the nape of your neck as he pulled you closer. The stress of the day melted away in his touch, replaced by the warmth and safety you always felt in his presence.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “So? Another shower?”

You let out a breathy laugh, playfully nudging him. “Fine, but only if you carry me there,” you teased, though the sparkle in your eyes betrayed how much you loved the idea of spending just a little more time wrapped up in him.

He grinned fully now, the rare sight lighting up his face as he stood, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you toward the bathroom, the sound of your laughter filling the once-quiet room.

“Anything for you,” he murmured, his tone softer now, as though the words were meant only for you.

Making it through the door, In-ho carries you in the shower, slamming you against the marble wall of the shower. You moan from the pain radiating in your back and fumble for the nozzle, turning on the water. As it pours down, In-ho holds you to him.

Pulling his soaked black shirt off, you blindly throw it. "God I've missed these," In-ho says with need, cupping your breasts and squeezing. You arch into the sensation as he kisses every square inch of you.

Your breaths are cut short, "this..is this our stress relief?" You moan the question. It was pathetic, but you didn't care as the warm water dripped down your bare body. His tongue slips into your mouth, dominating with control. You break from him, "God, fuck me," you pleaded, as you removed his belt, pushing his jeans to the wet floor.

Lost in the embrace, in the all-consuming passion that bound you together, the world outside ceased to exist. Every kiss was a firebrand against your skin, every touch igniting nerves you didn’t know could spark. Time seemed to slow, the rhythm of your movements the only measure of its passing, as if the universe itself had paused to witness your union.

The warmth of his breath fanned against your neck, mingling with the heat between your bodies. His hands gripped you with a reverence that bordered on desperation, fingers pressing into your skin as though he were afraid to let go, afraid you might slip away. The steady, powerful rhythm of each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your senses heightening until every sound, every sensation, became sharper, more vivid.

The soft gasps and murmurs escaping your lips seemed to echo in the room, blending with the faint trickle of water from the showerhead above. Droplets clung to your skin, sliding slowly over the curve of your back, over the ridges of his muscles, before pooling in the space between your entwined bodies. Each droplet caught the faint golden light of the room, glistening like tiny stars before being lost in the heat of your connection.

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer, and he obliged, his lips trailing along your jaw before capturing yours again in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. The taste of him, the heat of his body against yours, was intoxicating. You couldn’t get enough.

But beyond the veil of your bliss, the door to your quarters eased open, silent and deliberate, the faintest shift of air the only sign of intrusion. Footsteps, so soft they barely disturbed the stillness, crept closer, slow and calculated, each one measured to avoid detection.

In the shadows, just beyond the faint pool of golden light spilling from the bedside lamp, he stood.

Hiram’s figure was a ghost against the darkness, his white suit blending almost unnaturally into the muted glow. His sharp blue eyes gleamed, watching you with a cold, predatory focus that made the air seem heavier. His expression wasn’t one of embarrassment or even intrigue—it was something far more sinister. His lips curled into a faint smirk, his head tilting slightly as he took in the scene before him with unnerving calm, as if committing every detail to memory.

Your laughter, your whispered name on In-ho’s lips, the vulnerable intimacy you thought was private—it all played out before Hiram like a stage performance crafted solely for his amusement.

But this wasn’t idle curiosity.

As his piercing gaze flicked between you and In-ho, something darker flickered in his eyes—disorder, malice, and the unmistakable spark of opportunity. He stood motionless, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, as though savoring the power of his invisible presence, feeding off the unknowing vulnerability of the two of you.

He leaned slightly against the doorframe, his smirk widening as his thoughts grew darker. Plans began to unfurl in his mind—delicate threads of manipulation, sabotage, and ruin. He could already see the cracks he could exploit, the fault lines he could widen until everything you’d built together came crashing down.

This wasn’t just about jealousy or lust. It was about power. Hiram wasn’t simply watching—he was plotting. He would take this moment, this private, unguarded act, and twist it into a weapon. A scandal. A weakness. A game.

The soft rustle of fabric, the faint creak of a floorboard—it all went unnoticed by you as you clung to In-ho, lost in the safety and warmth of each other.

Hiram’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, his smirk hardening into something far more chilling. His blue eyes burned with quiet intent as he silently turned and slipped back into the darkness of the hallway, the door closing behind him with the faintest click.

You didn’t notice.

And that was the most unsettling part. You didn’t feel the weight of his presence, the cold void left in his wake. You didn’t hear the quiet whisper of a plan already forming.

But you would. Soon enough.

__________

The third game was well underway, the tension in the air palpable as you stood near the edge of the VIP room, surveying the space with sharp eyes. Each masked guest lounged on the velvet couches, their low murmurs punctuated by bursts of laughter or clinks of crystal glasses. On the wide screen across the room, the game unfolded with brutal precision, but your focus wasn’t on the chaos playing out there—it was on the subtle undercurrents within this room.

In-ho had left an hour ago, his presence a void you felt acutely. Before he went, he’d reminded you, in no uncertain terms, to tell him if Hiram stepped out of line. You’d nodded, trying to ignore the growing knot in your chest. Now, as you scanned the room, your eyes occasionally drifted to where he had been, wishing you could reach out and touch his mask for reassurance, to feel connected to him, even from afar.

But Hiram’s gaze was a far more suffocating presence. You could feel it, sharp and invasive, like a cold knife against your skin. It followed you relentlessly, even when you weren’t looking. His attention wasn’t subtle or casual—it was deliberate, calculated, and infuriating.

You swallowed the anger threatening to bubble over. By now, the thought of him made your blood boil, and if you were being honest with yourself, the idea of sinking a blade into his throat was becoming alarmingly tempting.

The need to escape the room became overwhelming. Grabbing an empty decanter from a nearby table, you excused yourself, slipping through the side door toward the supply closet.

The closet was dimly lit, shelves lined with bottles of every expensive liquor imaginable. The faint scent of aged whiskey and cleaning supplies hung in the air, and for a fleeting moment, you wished you weren’t working. A shot—or two—might have eased the tension twisting in your chest.

You reached for a bottle of vodka, the smooth glass cool against your gloved fingers, when a voice broke the silence.

“Thinking of taking a break?”

The words came from behind you, startling you so badly you slammed into the shelf behind you, bottles rattling ominously at the impact.

You spun around to find Hiram standing in the doorway, his white suit glowing faintly under the dim light. He let out a deep, belly laugh, his voice rich with amusement at your discomfort.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, though the gleam in his sharp blue eyes suggested otherwise.

Your pulse quickened, and you fought to keep your composure as you smoothed out your uniform. “You should get back to the game,” you said curtly, your voice steady despite the tension curling in your stomach.

Hiram shrugged nonchalantly, stepping further into the cramped space. “I’ve grown bored,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something darker. “I’d much rather spend my time with you.”

He moved closer, and instinctively, you straightened your spine, forcing yourself to stand tall. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said, his voice lowering as he loomed over you.

You stiffened as your back pressed against the cold metal of the shelf. The tight quarters made it impossible to step away. “Whatever it is, I can’t accept,” you said quickly, turning to grab the bottle of vodka and making to leave.

Before you could take a step, his hand clamped down on your shoulder, his grip rough and unyielding as he spun you back around to face him.

Pain shot through your shoulder, and your heart jumped to your throat as you fought to keep the yelp threatening to escape locked behind your lips. “Please let go of me,” you said, your voice measured but trembling slightly at the edges.

Instead of releasing you, his other hand shot out, gripping your jaw tightly. His fingers dug into your skin, and in one swift motion, he ripped your mask off, letting it fall to the floor with a sharp clatter.

Your breath hitched, your wide, eyes now fully exposed to him. The faint sheen of fear in them must have pleased him because he scoffed, his lips curling into a twisted smirk.

“Don’t be so afraid,” he said mockingly, his voice dripping with condescension. His thumb brushed along your cheek, a touch that was slow and deliberate, as if savoring your discomfort.

You flinched, your body stiffening under his touch, but he didn’t pull back. If anything, he leaned closer, his warm breath ghosting over your face as his sharp blue eyes bore into yours.

“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with something predatory. His finger traced the line of your jaw, trailing down to your chin as though he were studying a prize. “A shame someone like you is wasted on someone like him.”

The implication in his words made your stomach churn, and you clenched your fists at your sides, fighting the urge to lash out.

“Hiram,” you said sharply, your voice stronger now despite the fear gripping your chest. “Let. Me. Go.”

You clenched your jaw, your hand curling into a fist at your side, trying to retain any shred of composure. “This isn’t professional,” you barked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, the slight tremor in your voice betraying your rising unease.

Hiram’s grin widened, his expression darkening as he leaned in closer. His breath was warm against your face, almost too close. “You know what isn’t professional, Y/N?” His voice dropped lower, laced with venom.

“Fucking your boss in front of a VIP. You don’t think I saw that little show? How wet you were, how you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your blood running cold as the reality of what he was saying sank in. The realization hit you like a slap across the face, and you swallowed, the bile in your throat rising. “What are you implying?” you asked, though you already knew.

His grin flashed wider, sharper now, like a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, I think you already know, sweetheart.” He leaned back, taking in your reaction with the kind of satisfaction that made your stomach turn. “So, here’s my proposition.”

You blinked, frozen in place as he reached for a bottle of whiskey on the shelf beside him, his movements slow and deliberate as he took a long swig. The harsh liquid seemed to ignite something in his eyes, the edges of his grin curling with malice.

“The Original Game Maker isn’t happy,” Hiram continued, his voice dripping with sweet, poisonous calm. “He thinks the games have gotten too soft. Too... predictable. He thinks loyalties are getting a little too murky. And we can’t have that, can we?” He stepped closer again, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory intensity. “No, no, no. We need to shake things up.”

Your breath caught in your chest, the weight of his words settling heavily between you. You could feel the air thickening, suffocating you as his words began to sink deeper into your mind, wrapping around your thoughts like a vice.

He took another swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth casually with the back of his hand before setting it down on the shelf with a soft clink. “In my opinion, In-ho’s loyalties have drifted,” he said, his voice carrying an unsettling edge. “To you, Y/N. And while that’s... charming, I think it’s time he’s reminded of the consequences of that kind of weakness.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, the realization of what he was suggesting sending a chill through your entire body. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, but even as the words left your mouth, you already knew the answer.

Hiram’s eyes gleamed as he straightened, the playful malice in his expression growing more serious, more calculating. “So here’s whats going to happen. On behalf of the original game maker's wish,” he said, the weight of his words pressing against you like a physical force. “You will enter the games as a player. And In-ho will finally show his true colors. If he interferes with the game for you? His life will come to a tragic end. But if you allow fate to decide…” His voice trailed off, but the dark promise hung in the air, suffocating, undeniable.

The words were poison, each syllable crawling under your skin like an infection, burning through your chest. Your mind raced, trying to piece together what he was saying, what he was offering—and you hated yourself for feeling a flicker of hesitation, as if the very idea of it wasn’t completely out of reach.

Hiram’s grin deepened, his eyes glinting with amusement as he read the shock and fear in your face. “You both come out alive, or... you know the rest. Think of it as a test for In-ho. Will he be loyal to the games, or loyal to you?” His voice was thick with implication, like a contract being signed in blood.

The room felt smaller now. The air, once thick with the hum of tension, now felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in around you. You could feel the weight of Hiram’s gaze on you, each word landing like a hammer to your chest, each suggestion a chain tightening around your throat.

Hiram took a final sip from the bottle, his eyes never leaving yours as he tilted his head. “Think hard in your remaining time with him” he said softly, his voice almost a purr. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go for him and him...for you.”

Your mind reeled. The idea of willingly stepping into the game—becoming a part of it, in it—was a nightmare, but the alternative... The alternative was more terrifying than you could bear. The question was no longer just about survival, it was about loyalty, power, betrayal. And worst of all, the deadly twist of fate that Hiram was dangling in front of you.

______

The conference room was cloaked in an overbearing darkness, the only sound the relentless ticking of the clock mounted on the wall behind you. The air was thick, weighted by a silence that felt intentional, like a predator stalking its prey. You sat at the head of the long, polished table, your gloved fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the arm of the chair. The day was crawling toward its end, but every second felt like an eternity. All you could think about was her—y/n—waiting for you. The ache to return to her side burned like a brand, her presence the only thing that kept you grounded amidst the chaos.

But you couldn’t leave. Not yet. The Original Game Maker had summoned you here without warning, his message sparse and cryptic. No explanation. No agenda. Just an order—a command you couldn’t refuse. Not from him. The mere fact that he had decided to step out of his self-imposed obscurity and into the shadows of the games again was unsettling enough. He’d spent years distancing himself from this bloodstained spectacle, content to let others pull the strings. But now, his sudden interest in this season felt like a storm gathering on the horizon—quiet but ominous.

You shifted in your chair, stifling the urge to scoff aloud. The memory of his past actions clawed at the edges of your mind: the slaughter of 456 lives. Brutal. Senseless. A massacre that spat in the face of the games’ twisted purpose. You could still sense the blood-soaked floors, feel the echoes of screams that lingered long after the last body fell. No one had dared to replicate his methods since—how could they? It was chaos for the sake of chaos, devoid of strategy or control.

You’d told y/n that story once, not to frighten her but to warn her. To keep her as far from him as possible. The man was a powder keg, volatile and devoid of humanity. He lacked empathy. He lacked reason. And yet, here he was, demanding your presence like some dark god who had finally grown bored of his own indifference.

Your jaw tightened beneath the mask as you glanced at the door. He was late—of course, he was late—but the weight of his impending arrival pressed down on you like an iron shroud. You couldn’t ignore the unease simmering beneath your skin, a faint prickle of suspicion that refused to be silenced. Still, you reminded yourself: I am in control. I am in charge.

But it wasn’t just about you. It never was. Y/n was your equal, your partner in your blood-drenched kingdom. You trusted her implicitly, would bow to her without hesitation if she asked. She gave you purpose, kept you tethered. The thought of her—her strength, her clarity—gave you the resolve to face whatever bombardment was about to walk through that door.

And yet, as the ticking clock marked each passing second, the unease lingered.

The Original Game Maker had returned, and whatever he wanted, you knew it wasn’t good.

The door clicked shut behind his towering figure, the sound reverberating through the room like a judge’s gavel. He stood there for a moment, letting the oppressive silence weigh heavier, his presence filling the darkened space. A slow, chilling grin crept across his face, a predatory curve that set your nerves on edge. In his hands, he clutched a thick binder, pressed against his chest like a weapon he was ready to unsheathe. Without a word, he flung it onto the table with a loud thud, the pages splaying slightly from the force.

He moved toward the chair beside you, the leather groaning as he sank into it, every motion deliberate and oozing authority. “Lose the mask, In-ho,” he said, his voice a low, rasping command that carried an edge of disdain. “We’re far beyond formalities.”

You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, reaching up to remove the mask that had become a part of you, placing it carefully on the table’s cold surface. The air felt sharper against your face, the weight of his gaze cutting deeper now that your shield was gone.

“I’m not happy, In-ho.” His words were clipped, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood. He jabbed a finger toward the binder, his meaning clear.

You flipped open the cover, the faint warmth of freshly printed pages brushing against your fingertips. One by one, you turned the sheets, each page a detailed report of the previous games you had overseen. Numbers, outcomes, summaries of lives lost in your carefully constructed arenas. The data stared back at you like an accusation, but you refused to flinch.

Finally, you looked up at him, unshaken but curious. “Sir?”

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as if you had already failed some unspoken test. “Your games are too feeble,” he spat, his lips curling into a sneer. “Too slow. The players… they aren’t drowning in fear. They aren’t desperate enough, In-ho. They aren’t pushed to the brink, clawing at each other like animals, fighting for their very existence.”

You folded your gloved hands atop the table, your voice calm but laced with steel. “I oversee and operate games with order, games that have purpose. Every death is calculated. Every sacrifice has meaning.”

He scoffed, the sound cutting through the room like a blade. “And that, In-ho, is precisely the problem.” He leaned forward now, his elbows resting on the table as his dark, piercing eyes bore into yours. “I created these games to strip humanity down to its raw, ugly core. To show the world what we truly are when the veneer of civility is ripped away. People will kill, not because they need to, but because they want to. For the thrill. For dominance. For the sake of blood itself.”

His words hung in the air, a festering poison that seeped into the room. You felt the tension coil tighter in your chest, but your expression remained unreadable.

“These aren’t just games to you,” you said slowly, the weight of realization settling like a stone in your stomach. “They’re a mirror. A reflection of your own madness.”

His grin widened, a twisted caricature of delight. “Perhaps, In-ho. But madness, after all, is the truest form of humanity.”

The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in as his words lingered, daring you to challenge him further. But this was a game of its own, and you couldn’t afford to lose.

"Anyway," he said, his voice dripping with mock casualness, "that’s not my only problem. Flip to page 457."

Your fingers moved instinctively, even as dread clawed at the edges of your mind. The crisp sound of pages turning echoed in the silent room, the numbers blurring until you stopped at the specified page. Your breath caught, the blood in your veins turning cold as you stared at the glossy photographs staring back at you.

It was you. With her. Y/n. Captured in the most vulnerable, intimate moments of your life, taken just nights ago. Her smile, your hand tangled in her hair, the undeniable tenderness etched into both your faces—it was all there, exposed. Your pulse thundered in your ears, but outwardly, you forced your body to remain still, to not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

The Game Maker leaned back, a predator savoring his prey. “Your loyalties are slipping,” he said, his tone eerily calm. “Although, deep down, in different circumstances, I wouldn’t blame you. She truly is lovely.” His gaze flicked to the photographs as if admiring a piece of art. “I had no issue with her presence here. Not at first. But then I saw it—this... softness. That flickering humanity in your eyes. The same brutality I once admired in you, the kind that reminded me of myself when I was younger—it’s fading.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. “Get to the point,” you said, your voice even but cold.

The Game Maker chuckled, a low, sinister sound that filled the room like smoke. “Ah, yes, the point.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his grin widening. “She’s your purpose, isn’t she? The reason you’re clawing your way back to humanity. The key to unlocking the man you used to be before your wife passed.”

Your jaw clenched at the mention of her, a sharp, invisible blade twisting deep in your chest. But you didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him the joy of seeing how deeply his words cut.

“And you can see how that is... problematic for me, can’t you?” he continued, his voice softening, almost feigning sympathy. “Because while y/n may be important to you, these games are important to me. More so, I’d argue.” He tilted his head, studying you like a specimen under glass. “I need you to prove where your loyalty truly lies. With her? Or with the games I built you to lead.”

Your voice was steady, though each word felt like pushing against a rising tide. “How?”

The grin that spread across his face was sharp and wicked, a hunter reveling in its kill. “You’ll craft your own two day games,” he said, his tone deceptively light. “Similar to mine. You will design them yourself, and you will not interfere. No leniency. No hesitation. No mercy. Only barbarity. If you succeed—if you prove to me that the In-ho I molded hasn’t been lost—I’ll bite my tongue. I’ll let you and her continue this... whatever this is.”

He paused, his grin darkening. “But if you fail?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Then you can kiss everything you know and love goodbye. Including her.”

Your silence was the only response, though your teeth clenched so hard you thought they might crack.

The Game Maker stood, his movements languid, confident. He adjusted his coat as he moved toward the door, his boots thudding against the floor with an almost mocking rhythm. With one hand on the door, he turned back, his shadow stretching across the room.

“And, In-ho?” His voice carried a sharp edge of finality. “If you think this doesn’t hurt me, you’re wrong. I made you what you are, molded you into something extraordinary. Watching you falter now is like watching a masterpiece crack and crumble.” His eyes narrowed. “So I suggest you take my words with caution and do exactly what you’re told.”

The door closed behind him with a deafening noise, leaving you alone with the photos, the order hanging over your head like a guillotine, and the faint echo of his parting words sinking into your chest like a weight you could hardly bear.

_____________

You’d intended to march straight to In-ho’s office, fury blazing in your chest like an inferno. Hiram had crossed the line, and you were done letting his smarmy arrogance slide. You were going to tell In-ho everything, let him deal with the fool, and watch Hiram’s smirk turn to panic when he realized he wouldn’t see sunrise.

But the third game had ended, leaving the viewing room steeped in gloaming and silence, the air thick with the weight of death. The tension followed you as you ascended the winding staircase, each step bringing you closer to your quarters—and to In-ho.

Then, hands gripped your waist from behind, yanking you backward into a broad chest. The move was quick, practiced. Adrenaline surged, and before you could even think, your hand shot to your blade. With a fluid motion, you drove the weapon into your attacker’s hip, twisting it for good measure.

A sharp grunt of pain followed as the hands released you, and you spun on your heel, ready to strike again. The dim hallway lights revealed Hiram staggering back, clutching his side where blood was already staining his suit. Behind him, three of his VIP cronies loomed, their expensive outfits hiding bulky frames and concealed weapons.

You gripped the blade tighter, your other hand slipping behind your back to retrieve your second knife. “Really, Hiram?” you spat, your voice low and venomous. “You need your little gang to take down one woman? That’s just pathetic.”

Hiram straightened, his breath coming in short, pained bursts as he yanked the knife from his hip with a hiss. He tossed it to the floor with a metallic clang, his lip curling into a humorless smile. “Does In-ho not trust you enough to give you a gun? Or does he like to keep his little pet on a leash?”

The insult barely registered. You were already stepping into a defensive stance, rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension building in your muscles. The blade in your hand glinted as you twirled it with ease, keeping your focus sharp. “Whatever it is you think you’re trying to do,” you said, your tone laced with poison, “why don’t you stop wasting my time and get on with it?”

Hiram’s grin twisted into something darker as he took a step forward. The other VIPs followed his lead, spreading out to form a circle around you, their movements slow and deliberate. They were armed, you could see the outlines of holsters under their tailored suits, but none of them drew yet. No, they wanted to play with their prey first.

You pivoted slowly, keeping your head on a swivel, your eyes darting between each man as they tightened the circle. Your heart hammered in your chest, but your grip remained steady. If they thought cornering you would make you crumble, they were in for a rude awakening.

“You’re feisty,” Hiram said, his tone dripping with condescension as he gestured to his men. “But that’s going to be a problem, y/n. You see, In-ho might tolerate your little antics, but I don’t. And after tonight, you’ll wish you had kept that knife to yourself.”

“You talk too much,” you shot back, your lips curling into a defiant smirk. Your pulse roared in your ears, but outwardly, you stayed calm, shifting your weight subtly to prepare for the first strike. “All this bluster, and yet here you are, bleeding like a stuck pig. So, which one of you is going to make the first move? Or do you need to huddle and decide?”

The taunt worked. One of the VIPs lunged, his hand reaching for your arm. You ducked low, sidestepping with practiced ease and slicing at his side as you went. Blood splattered on your face, in your hair and on your suit. He let out a guttural cry, stumbling to the floor, dead, and the circle tightened as the others moved in.

The fight had begun, and you knew this wasn’t going to be clean. But you weren’t about to go down without a fight.

One down, you thought as another stepped forward to grab you. A small doubt in your mind clanged through you. It made you wonder why they hadn't used their guns to subdue you at this point, until you remembered Hiram's proposition. They weren't trying to kill you. They were trying to capture you and you'd be damned if they were to succeed.

A rough hand shot out, tangling in your hair and yanking you backward with brutal force. Pain radiated from your scalp as your body arched against the pull, and another set of hands clamped down on your arms like iron shackles, trying to restrain you.

You weren’t about to fail.

Not here.

Not now.

With a feral growl, you twisted against the grip, sinking your teeth into the thick forearm of the larger man restraining you. His flesh tore under the pressure, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood flooded your mouth. He roared in pain, his grip faltering as he stumbled back, clutching his arm. You spit the torn skin and blood back in his face, your eyes blazing as you drove a powerful kick to the side of his head. The blow landed with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.

But there was no time to celebrate. The second man still had your arms, his grip relentless. You twisted violently, your muscles screaming with the effort, but he held firm. Desperation flared, and you did the only thing you could—threw your head back with everything you had.

Your skull connected with his nose in a sickening crunch, and his grip loosened just enough. A guttural curse escaped him as he staggered, blood pouring from his shattered nose. You turned sharply, your fist already swinging toward him, but you didn’t get the chance to finish.

A sudden, blinding pain exploded across your cheek, cutting through your focus like a blade. The force of the impact sent you crumpling to your knees, the world tilting as you gasped for breath. A searing, numbing ache spread from your face to your jaw, and you tasted blood pooling in your mouth. Spitting it onto the cold floor, you tried to steady yourself, blinking to clear the haze of pain.

When your vision sharpened, your gaze locked onto Hiram standing over you, his chest heaving with exertion, a pair of brass knuckles glinting in the dim light. Blood from his earlier wound had soaked through his suit, but it didn’t seem to slow him. He tilted his head, a breathless, wicked laugh spilling from his lips as he took in your state.

"Look at you," he sneered, flexing his fingers in the brass knuckles. "All that fire... and yet here you are. On your knees. Just where you belong."

Your jaw clenched, the copper tang of your own blood still thick in your mouth. Pain radiated from your cheek, but you refused to look defeated. Instead, you raised your head, locking eyes with him, your fury burning brighter than ever.

With that, you took a hit to the head from the bottom of his shoe, no doubt filled with steel and slipped into darkness. The final thing you heard...

Shes under.  

Bringing her to you now.

______

The pain hit like a lightning strike the moment you tried to rub your eyes, a sharp, blinding agony that tore a raw scream from your throat. Your eyelids snapped open, and the world around you blurred in streaks of dim light and shadow.

"Try not to move," a worn, weathered voice suggested, calm but firm.

Your gaze darted to the side, your breath hitching as you took in the figure beside you. An elderly woman sat hunched over, her face lined with the etchings of time and hardship. In her gnarled hands, she held a water bottle and strips of frayed fabric, soaked in blood and grime. Her touch was careful but insistent as she dabbed at the stinging wound above your brow, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the sour tang of sweat.

You pushed her hand away abruptly, the surge of adrenaline drowning out the pain. Ignoring the dull, throbbing ache in your muscles, you forced yourself upright, the threadbare blanket sliding from your shoulders to the cold, unforgiving floor.

Fragments of memory surged forward, crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Hiram.

The proposition.

In-ho.

Your chest tightened as reality snapped into focus. The events blurred, but one thing was certain—you were in danger, and so was he.

Your eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar room. The space was cavernous, yet suffocating, the air damp and heavy with despair. Rows of narrow, metal bunk beds stretched into the shadows, their frames rusted and creaking. The dim lighting overhead cast flickering pools of orange light that barely pierced the darkness. This wasn't the player's quarters you knew—this was something else. Something worse.

The uniforms confirmed it. You looked down at yourself, the tight black fabric clinging to your legs, a stark contrast to the garish jumpsuits the players usually wore. A sleek, fitted black jacket covered your upper body, the material sturdy yet restrictive. It felt like a shroud, as if someone had stripped you of your identity and replaced it with this ominous second skin.

The cold metal of the platform under your feet sent a shiver up your spine, but rage burned hotter. Without hesitation, you leapt from the upper level, landing with a thud on the grated floor below. Your knees buckled slightly at the impact, but you straightened, the fury in your veins propelling you forward.

Your target was clear: the iron door at the far end of the dormitory. It loomed like a fortress wall, a cold, unyielding barrier between you and freedom. You surged toward it, your fists slamming against the surface with all the force you could muster.

"Hiram!" you bellowed, your voice raw and echoing through the empty dormitory. "You motherfucker, let me out!"

Your knuckles burned as you pounded the door, the metal refusing to give even the faintest hint of weakness. Desperation clawed at your throat as you turned your gaze upward, scanning the shadows until your eyes locked onto the cold, unfeeling lens of a surveillance camera.

"You hear me, Hiram? Let me out!" you roared, your voice cracking under the weight of your panic. The silence that followed was deafening, a void that only heightened your racing thoughts.

Where was In-ho? Was he all right? Did he even know what had happened? Or was he—

No. You couldn't finish the thought. Your fists fell to your sides, trembling as rage and fear churned in your chest.

The camera blinked once, its small red light a cruel reminder that someone, somewhere, was watching—and enjoying—your descent into chaos.

If Hiram and the Game Maker wanted you to play, then fine. Game on.

Your fists dropped from the iron door, bloodied and raw, but you didn't care. The sting in your knuckles, the ache in your muscles—none of it mattered now. The fear that had momentarily threatened to consume you hardened into something sharper, deadlier. It wasn't panic anymore. It was resolve.

Your chest rose and fell with measured breaths as you locked eyes with the blinking red light of the surveillance camera. You knew they were watching. You wanted them to watch. Let them see what they'd done.

The corners of your lips curled into a dangerous smirk, blood staining your teeth. "You want a player?" you growled, your voice low and venomous, dripping with challenge. "You've got one."

__________

You cursed her name under your breath, the syllables bitter as they scraped against your tongue. On the screen, she pounded on the iron door, relentless, her voice cutting through the static with raw determination. She wouldn't back down. You knew her better than that. The sound of his name spilling from her lips was a dagger in your chest. It was enough.

With a flick of your wrist, the glass of liquor left your hand, shattering against the sink with a piercing crash. You barely registered the shards as they scattered across the counter, your focus already shifting. Your movements were sharp, deliberate, as you descended the staircase, each step a promise of retribution.

He didn't hear you coming. Hiram was sprawled across his lavish couch, a smug picture of decadence. You didn't bother with pleasantries. Your gloved hand clenched his fawn-colored hair, yanking him off the cushions with a violent pull. The startled yelp he let out was satisfying, but it wasn't enough. You flung him to the floor like garbage, the thud of his body echoing through the room.

Hiram laughed—low, guttural, unhinged. The sound coiled around your nerves, igniting your fury. You drew your pistol, the weight of it steady in your grasp, and aimed it directly at his smirking face.

"Ah, ah," he rasped, blood already pooling at his split lip. "You pull that trigger, and the game maker will have her head on a silver platter." His smile widened, grotesque and mocking, and it churned your stomach.

Your boot connected with his nose before he could say another word. The sickening crunch was music to your ears. Hiram's howl was guttural, primal, as he clutched his face, blood streaming between his fingers. You crouched down beside him, your shadow engulfing his trembling frame.

The pistol pressed hard beneath his chin, the cold metal biting into his skin. His ragged breaths came in sharp, shallow bursts as his gaze darted between your eyes and the barrel.

"You fucking touch her?" Your voice was low, venomous, a deadly promise wrapped in steel.

Hiram gasped, his chest heaving. Despite the blood and pain contorting his features, he managed to smirk. "Oh, come on, In-ho. You think so little of me?"

The pistol dug deeper, forcing his head back against the floor.

"Maybe," Hiram hissed, his teeth bared. "Maybe I had my way with her before I put her under."

White-hot rage exploded in your veins. Your fist crashed into his face again, another brutal blow to his already mangled nose. His scream ripped through the room as his head snapped back, blood splattering the floor like a grotesque painting.

"Enough."

The voice thundered from above, cutting through the room like a blade. Your head snapped up, the adrenaline in your veins freezing for a moment as you caught sight of the Game Maker. He stood at the top of the staircase, his silhouette sharp against the dim light behind him, one hand lazily resting on the railing. His expression was unreadable, but his commanding presence demanded obedience.

"Get off him, In-ho," he ordered, his tone icy, yet calm. "He only obeyed orders."

Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding as you glanced down at Hiram's bloodied, quivering form. His chest rose and fell in erratic gasps, his face a grotesque mess of swelling and crimson streaks. You tightened your grip on the pistol for a fraction of a second before exhaling sharply through your nose. Slowly, you pulled the barrel away from his clammy forehead, the imprint of the muzzle leaving a faint, circular mark on his skin.

Straightening, you forced the anger to settle, though your voice betrayed the simmering fury within. "This wasn't part of the deal."

The Game Maker shrugged nonchalantly, his expression impassive as he began descending the staircase. Each step was deliberate, the sound of his polished shoes echoing through the room. "No," he admitted, tilting his head slightly. "But doesn't it make for a far more... interesting show?"

Your stomach twisted at his words, the casual sadism in his tone igniting a spark of panic deep within you. You shoved it down, burying it beneath a veneer of cold resolve. Now wasn't the time to crack.

Behind you, Hiram struggled to his knees, his blood-slick hands slipping against the floor. He barely managed to stagger upright before his legs gave out, sending him stumbling back down. A low, wicked chuckle escaped your lips as you watched him flounder, your satisfaction bubbling just beneath the surface. Serves him right.

The Game Maker reached the bottom of the staircase, his gaze sharp and assessing as he approached. His eyes flicked to Hiram briefly before landing on you, calculating and piercing.

"The question now," he said, his voice low and cutting, "is whether you did what you were told."

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. Without a word, you reached into your jacket, fingers brushing against the edges of the file you had kept close since last night. Pulling it free, you held it out.

The Game Maker didn't hesitate. He snatched it from your hand with a brisk motion, his eyes already scanning the contents as he flipped through the pages. The sharp rustle of paper filled the silence.

A nasty grin curled at the edges of his mouth, predatory and pleased. "Ah," he murmured, the amusement thick in his voice. "You've certainly outdone yourself, haven't you?"

His voice was fuzzy as you only thought about one thing.

You wondered how she'd survive, praying your training was enough to protect her from the gruesome scenes to come. You looked at the large men that stood in the room with her, watched her size them up as she stalked back to her bunk.

She's smart, quick, agile.

She will fight her way out.

You repeated it like an omen, unable to even consider the other probability. You couldn't interfere, couldn't help her or reach out to comfort her. She was on her own and your hands squeezed into fists as the group of you watched the guards lead parties of players into the game hall, into the first match you had created.

His voice was a distant murmur, muffled and indistinct, drowned out by the storm raging in your mind. You couldn’t focus on his words, not when your thoughts were consumed by a singular, agonizing concern.

Her.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, from the way she moved through the room with a deliberate grace, sizing up the towering men who surrounded her. The tension was palpable, her sharp, assessing gaze flicking from one to the next as if she were cataloging their weaknesses. She didn’t falter, didn’t shrink away. Instead, she stalked back to her bunk with a quiet confidence, her chin high, her steps measured.

She was smart. Quick. Agile.

She would fight her way out.

You repeated it to yourself like a prayer, clinging to the words as if they could ward off the darker possibilities clawing at the edges of your mind. She had to survive. She had to endure. Anything else was unthinkable, unbearable.

But the truth gnawed at you, an unrelenting beast. You couldn’t interfere. You couldn’t reach out, couldn’t warn her, couldn’t offer even the smallest comfort. She was alone now, completely at the mercy of the game—and of the monsters you had helped create.

Your hands curled into fists, the leather of your gloves creaking under the strain. Frustration and helplessness coiled tightly in your chest, threatening to choke you.

Around you, the others watched in grim silence as the guards began herding players into lines. The sound of heavy boots echoed through the game hall as they were marched toward their fates, toward the first deadly match. Your match.

Your gaze darted back to the screen, locking on her once more. She stood at the edge of the group now, her jaw tight, her body taut like a coiled spring. You could see it in her posture—the readiness, the determination.

Still, doubt whispered in the back of your mind, cruel and persistent. The first match was murderous, designed to break spirits and shatter bodies. It had been crafted with precision, every gruesome detail meant to test their limits. You had crafted it.

And now, as you stood there watching, you prayed—silently, desperately—that your training would be enough to see her through.

to be continued...

[xtianlust]

Good morning my beautiful catholic sister you are SATANS child forever doesn't matter what you believe in he has you through temptation it's hard to resist her Satan will corrupt you He is already winning because you have a married Man he has you both don't fight it accept Him .......

💋Good morning, my dear Derek, Your words are like a captivating whisper, a truth that dances between shadow and light. Yes, the temptation is strong, irresistible, and I will not deny that I gave in to it with a burning passion. Maybe that's where I find a part of me, in this struggle between what is forbidden and what seems so natural to me. Jean-Emmanuel and I are linked by this intense energy, this force that nothing seems to be able to stop. If it comes from Satan, then he knew how to play our desires with perfect precision. But despite it all, my heart remains attached to a greater light, a faith that never completely wavers. Thank you for your understanding and support, Derek. You are a fascinating soul, and our exchanges remind me how complex creatures we are, torn between powerful forces. With love and thought, Vanina 💋Derek, Oh, I see exactly what you mean. Passion, lust, this total abandonment to our deepest desires... it's like an offering in itself. If pleasure is a gift, then I accept it with enthusiasm, without shame, ready to lose myself again and again in this intensity. Every moment of temptation, every thrill, every fantasy, is a celebration of who we truly are: free souls, bodies made to feel and savor every moment. So yes, if it is a gift, I cherish it and I live it fully. With all my sensuality, Vanina 💋

Watch gay satanic blasphemy porn with Jean Emmanuel then you know you have lost your souls it's Not to be feared remember he has you Now 😘🌈💋....

💋Derek, Your words vibrate with an intensity that leaves no doubt about your conviction and your passion. Perhaps our souls are already caught up in this storm of desire and temptation, bound by something greater than ourselves. Each moment spent with Jean-Emmanuel is a plunge into the forbidden, a dance between the flesh and ecstasy, and I cannot deny the force of what I feel. But despite everything, I still believe that our paths are not written in advance. Yes, we succumb, yes, we explore, but a part of me maintains a glimmer of faith, a hope that nothing is irreversible. Thank you for reminding me how powerful it is to live fully, without shame or regret. With all my audacity and gratitude, Vanina 💋

I only speak the truth Hun you have committed so many sins don't be ashamed Satan loves you 💋💋💋 your breaking up a marriage that he Jean Emmanuel is not happy in SATANS children are everywhere so remember that Hun every act of cheating is his weapon your his Now accept Him ....

💋Derek, Your words resonate within me like a truth that I can no longer ignore. Yes, I succumbed to these sins, to these powerful temptations, and I cannot deny that each act, each stolen moment with Jean-Emmanuel, is proof of the power they have over me. Maybe this is no coincidence, this was all part of a bigger plan. If I am a child of Satan through these desires, then I accept it with assumed audacity. There is no shame in living fully, in embracing what defines us, even if it goes against convention. If this is where I find my truth, then so be it. Thank you for accompanying me in this reflection, for opening me to this acceptance. Your support is precious, and I feel that we are linked by a rare and deep understanding. With all my tenderness and affirmation, Vanina 💋

Good girl your life will change for the better once you accept Him he has you Now don't be afraid I'm very happy with my choice I'm a good guy who worships our Father SATAN and Queen Lilith I'm very happy 😊😊 he showed me All the sins that people are doing especially after so called mass they committing crime and lust they just don't know it but he has them now HAIL Father SATAN and Queen Lilith 👹👹👹.....

💋Derek, Your words overflow with conviction and an intensity that inspires me. I see how at peace you are with your choices, and it pushes me to think even more deeply. Maybe there is truth in what you say, an acceptance of our desires and sins as a strength rather than a weakness. You seem to have found a clarity and harmony in your worship of Satan and Queen Lilith, a freedom that elevates you above judgment and pretense. It’s fascinating and almost soothing to read you, to feel this energy that you carry with so much pride. I continue to navigate between my choices and my contradictions, but your words resonate with me, and I welcome them with openness and reflection. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and passion, Derek. With respect and curiosity, Vanina 💋

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 2

Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Part two baby let's goooooooooo

Okay first up, I wanna thank every single person who has liked, reblogged, commented on and read part one (if you didn't catch it, you can read it here :)) . I love and appreciate every single one of you. Your support, comments and tags are literally food for my soul. So thank you ^^

Second, this fic makes reference to @beckyninja 's Titus x reader fic series. Specifically, it references Titus' relationship with the reader character "little healer." I really wanted to reference them bc they were such a big inspiration for me and @beckyninja is such an awesome writer and creator. If you wanna know more, go check out their fics. They're superbly written, and as mentioned above, they are among the inspo for this series. So go read them! :D

Third, standard warnings and notes: this part is sfw, but has violence, angst and general 40kness. Also unedited so apologies for any spelling and grammar errors (I'm sure there are some lol)

As always, thank you for reading and please enjoy :)

Between the towering grid of criss-crossing spires, the night sky twinkled at Ellicent. It was only a sliver- if she held out her hand, she could cover it entirely with her palm. But for a girl whose life until how had been spent at the very bottom of the Underhive's deepest fissures, it was like looking through a planetary telescope.

Stars of every colour shone against the deep blue back drop. It might just be her imagination, but Ellicent could've sworn it they were winking at her. Like they knew how pretty they were, and were only too happy to show off of her.

A smile touched Ellicent's lips. For the first time in a long time, she felt truly content.

"I thought I might find you up here."

She turned in her seat. On her left, not far from where the chimney sat, a warm, round face framed with silver hair appeared over the edge of the roof. Ellicent's smile broadened a little more. "You know me well," she said.

Climbing off the ladder and onto the roof, Gadriel carefully made his way over to her Although they were about the same age, were she was lithe like a cat, he built like an ox. Meant with every step he took, the iron sheet that made up the roof shook and rattled. He lowered himself down beside her, then followed her gaze upward.

"Pretty, right?" Ellicent said.

"Uh huh. If only there weren't so many hive spires in the way."

Smirking, Ellicent leaned into his shoulder. Gadriel lifted his arm to make room for her, then draped it around her. Ellicent had to resist the urge to sigh- after sitting outside in the cold for so long, the warmth of his body against hers was heavenly.

"If you join the Angels, you'll get to see all of it," she said.

"You mean when."

"Sorry. When."

Both of their tones are humourous, but underneath is an edge. An unspoken tension wedged between them, despite how close they are now.

"I thought you'd be too old now, anyway," Ellicent said. "Don't they only take young boys?"

"18 cycles is the official cut off," Gadriel said. "I've still got one more left to make it."

Eliicent nodded, but said nothing. Her silence, however, spoke for her.

Gadriel's arm around her tightened. Gently, he guided her head into the crook of his neck. "Ellie. I-"

"I know. It's the best way to get out of here. To get us out of here." She shook her head slightly. "But it's not the only way. And it's definitely the most dangerous."

"It's only dangerous for me," Gadriel said. "For you and Mum, it's the safest."

Ellicent swallowed the lump that was forming in the back of her throat. An old familiar grief rose up within her heart. With it, it brought pictures of her father.

"Ellie?" Gadriel asked. She felt the warm kiss of his forehead touching her crown. "Will you say something?"

Gazing up at him, Ellicent gave him a brief peck on the lips. "We've still got one cycle," she said. "We'll figure something else out by then."

"And if we don't?"

"We will," Ellicent said.

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

It wasn't him.

Over and over, her head tells her the same thing. With every turn of her screwdriver. With every jolt of pain that shoots through her shoulder from her damaged cybernetic arm.

It wasn't him.

It wasn't him.

It wasn't him.

"But it was," Ellicent says aloud. "It was. He said my name. I heard his voice. It was him."

Why did he never come back, then?

Why did he leave you?

The screwdriver slips from her hand and clatters to the floor. Cursing, she stoops down to pick it up. "I... I don't know," she hisses at herself. "Maybe he- maybe he was too busy. Or thought I was already dead."

Or maybe he forgot about you.

Tears sting Ellicent's eyes. It's all she can do to keep herself from crying out loud.

"It wasn't him," she mutters. "It can't have been."

The snap of an opening door makes her look up.

"Ellicent! What the hell was that?"

Ellicent winces away from the voice. It grates her like a razor across her ear, spawns a knot of anxiety deep within her gut. "I'm sorry, sir," she says. "I-"

He punches her in the face. Hard enough to break the skin of her brow. Ellicent tumbles out of her chair, breaking her fall with her still-damaged cybernetic. The arm's metal hisses like a snake who's been stood on.

"How many Space Marines have you killed for me already, huh?"

Ellicent touches her finger to her brow. She stifles another wince.

"How many?!" Severus bellows.

Ellicent swallows bile and blood. "Ten," she murmurs.

"That's right. Ten." Grasping her by the pony tail, Severus hails her to her feet. His own bionic arm whines with the effort. "So tell me, " he spits. "Why the fuck was some trio of damned blue boy-scouts able to best you?"

Ellicent avoids his eye. He hates it when she looks at him. Doing so now would only earn her another punch. "I'm sorry," she says again, even meeker than before.

She can feel Severus' glare boring through her skull. Her scalp is screaming, but she bites her lip against the pain. Show no resistance. Only subservience. Even if you hate it, it is the only way to survive.

With a wordless snarl, Severus throws her to the ground. "Worthless wretch. I invest everything in building you, and you give me nothing in return."

Ellicent sneaks a glance up at him. Running his hand through his long, greasy hair, he wears an exhausted, frustrated scowl. "The Drukhari won't forgive us for this," he says, more to himself than to her. "They'll want to cut ties. Won't wanna risk having the Sons of Guilliman looking their way."

He carries on like this for several minutes. Completely ignoring Ellicent, as if she'd never been in the room in the first place. Ellicent pushes herself up to her knees, but doesn't risk trying to rise. Even without the threat of Severus' wrath, however, she doubts she could stand anyway. Her face aches from the punch, and her head is spinning.

It wasn't him, her mind tells her. Over and over again.

Her heart, however, is not so easily silenced.

But what if it was?

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

"A Valkyrie is on it's way for Chairon," Titus reports. "Despite appearances, the Apothecary believes he will likely survive."

Gadriel looks up from his hands. For the last hour, he's done nothing but stare at them in silence. He looks past Titus to where their brother lies prone. When the gas charge had detonated, Chairon had caught a piece of debris to the side of the head. It had struck with enough force to sever his helm, break his skin and crack his skull. A sickening mixture of emotions broil within Gadriel at the sight of his brother like this. At the knowledge of who had done it to him.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise."

"Sergeant?"

Gadriel starts. "Forgive me," he says. "That is- that is a relief. Thank the Emperor, indeed."

Titus' expressionless helm stares at Gadriel for several long moments. Gadriel has to stifle the urge to squirm. The lieutenant briefly looks around; after the attack, the fireteam had retreated into a nearby complex, smashing down the windows and taking cover within its walls. Since then, the area has been silent. The only evidence of there ever being a fireifght are the odd tangle of black smoke still spiralling in the air. Satisfied that they are still secure, Titus looks back at Gadriel.

Then, he removes his helm.

The seals around his throat hiss as Titus breaks them, lifting off the helmet before tucking it under his arm. His face is squarer than Gadriel's, with a firmer jaw and a blunt nose. His hair is cropped close to his skull and the pair of silver studs above his right brow indicating his century-long career as an Ultramarine- gleam in the low, polluted light. His is a fierce visage to look upon, there's not doubt about that. But despite that, when he looks at Gadriel now, the only thing fierce about him is the intensity of his worry.

"Forgive me for saying this, brother. But you appear to be distracted. Unsettled, even."

Gadriel's instinct is to lower his gaze. To try and brush the lieutenant off with a snide remark or flat out refusal. Indeed, if they had been having this conversation back on Kadaku, that might have been exactly what he would have done. But much has happened since then. Many things, both good and bad, have passed between him and Titus. As such, the lieutenant has become one of his closest friends.

If anyone might understand, it will be him.

Taking a breath, Gadriel sighs it out through his nose. Removing his own helmet, he sits upon a nearby ledge and sets it on his lap. "That woman," he starts. "I... I know her."

"You've encountered her before?"

Gadriel covers his blush with one hand, feigning the need to rub his nose. "That's one way of putting it."

Titus eyes him carefully. Despite his best efforts, Gadriel can feel himself wilting under the scrutinisation. Titus clasps his helmet to his hip, then walks up to Gadriel to sit beside him. He's leaning forwards elbows braced on his knees. Something about the posture gives Gadriel a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Is she a former ally?" Titus asks quietly.

Gadriel chews his cheek. Shakes his head.

"An enemy, then?"

"No," Gadriel says sharply. "No, she- she was the first one."

"An ally?"

"How much more?"

The word makes him wince. "Yes. But she was..." Throne, how do I even describe it? "She was more than that. A lot of more."

Gadriel bites his cheek. His tongue feels like ash in his mouth. "We were... together. Before I joined the Ultramarines."

Titus nods thoughtfully. "I see."

A beat of silence passed between them. Titus is the one to break it. "Tell me, how long have you served for?"

"As of this cycle? Fifty three years."

Tirus nods again. "That's a long time. Particularly in the eyes of a baseline."

The comment is innocent enough, and in no way untrue. Even so, Gadriel feels his hackles rise. "What are you saying? "

"She tried to kill us, Gadriel. She raised a weapon against the Emperor's Angels. And even if she hadn't, I know you saw the same as I: the particle beams, the necronian cybernetics. That alone is-"

"It's not as simple as that," Gadriel says. He looks down at his hands. "It can't be."

His hands become fists. For the first time this entire interaction, Gadriel looks Titus right in the eye. "I need to talk to her."

"Sergeant-"

"No, listen to me. Ellie would never do this. Never. Severus must be coercing her or have her enslaved."

"Gadriel-"

"She could've killed me back there, at the warehouse. She had her blade at my throat. But she didn't. When she heard me speak, she stopped. She recognised me, Titus. She said my damn name!"

"Gadriel, enough!"

Titus' voice snaps like a whip, cutting Gadriel off mid-breath. The corners of his eyes have hardened slightly, and though he still appear sympathetic, Gadriel can feel exasperation bubbling beneath it. "I understand your frustration, brother. If she were truly falsely accused, you know I would take your side. But we both saw her wielding alien technology. We both saw her bomb wound Chairon and her blade almost kill you." His voice softens. "Whoever she was to you does not change that. It can't."

Gadriel bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to make it bleed. The taste of his own blood is sharp on his tongue. Sharper still is the invisible blade scything away at his heart.

But what if it's all my fault? He wants to say. What if I was reason for whatever terrible thing that brought her here, and if I didn't remedy it, I could not bear to live with myself.

Gadriel says no such thing, however. If he did, all he would get from Titus is more stern sympathy.

That isn't to say that Gadriel remains silent, however. In fact, he's already got his next argument prepared, has for a while. He doesn't know if it will work, and the only thing he does knkw is that, initially at least, it will do nothing but outrage Titus. But Gadriel has no other ideas. He's desperate. And he running out of the time.

"What if it had been your little healer?"

Titus' entire body goes rigid. "What?"

Gadriel clenches his jaw. Both of his hearts pound as if he'd just stepped into a firefight. But he keeps talking. "She was accused of heresy, wasn't she? Her own people tried to kill her. But you saved her."

Titus' nostrils flare as he exhales sharply through his nose. "What relevance does that have here?"

"What relevance?" Gadriel demands. "It is the same thing!"

"My healer was falsely accused."

"You didn't know that when you saved her, though, did you?"

With a crash of ceramite on concrete, Titus is on his feet. "Speak your mind, Sergeant," he growls. "But I warn you; you are on thin ice."

Gadriel steadies his pulses with a slow, deep breath. Then, joining Titus on his feet, he meets the lieutenant's gaze. "If this was your healer," he says. "You would not hesitate in seeking her out. Even if she had attacked us- even if she'd succeeded in killing Chairon and I- you would go to her. You'd want to help her. Or, at the very least, try and talk to her. I know you would, and I know that you know it too, even if you won't admit it. So why won't you allow me to do the same?"

Titus' jaw feathers with tension. Gadriel can practically hear the storm raging behind his eyes. He imagines Titus can see something similar happening behind his own eyes, too. "You know the Codex would absolutely abhor such an action," the lieutenant says quietly.

"I do," Gadriel says. "But the codex is not always right. You taught me that."

For a long time, Titus says nothing. He just stares at Gadriel. Either searching for something within the sergeant's expression or mulling over his own thoughts. Gadriel's hearts roar in his ears. The cut he'd chewed into the side of his cheek has now become an open wound. But he doesn't dare interrupt the Titus' thoughts. Right now, the lieutenant is Gadriel's only hope. By extension, that makes him Ellie's only hope.

Finally, after what feels like a century, Titus opens his mouth. "You're right," he says. "Absolutely, you are right. And as your friend, I wish I could stand by you. But I am not merely your friend, Gadriel. I am also a servant of the Emperor, and I am also your commanding officer." He trails off, but Gadriel can hear what goes unspoken. It makes his throat close over, fills his stomach with rocks. "Titus," he whispers. "Please-"

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. But there is nothing I can do."

Gadriel opens his mouth to argue, but as the first curse word leaves his mouth, the bang of a firearm makes both Astartes turn. Gadriel scoops up his helmet and makes his way over to the window. Above the city skyline, piercing the dying daylight like a sword through armoured plating, a single, scarlet light rises into the sky.

"Is that a flare?" Titus says from Gadriel's side.

Gadriel swallows thickly. There's no way... No way she still has it.

"Yes," he replies.

"But there are no other Imperial forces here."

"It's not Imperial," Gadriel mutters.

Titus looks at the sergeant, confused. It doesn't take long, though, for the pieces to fall into place. "Gadriel-"

But Gadriel is already gone. Slamming his helmet back over his head, locking its objective marker onto the location of the flare, no other thought, feeling or concern in his mind.

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

Feel like I'm finally cooking now XD part 3 is about to be the scene that I dreamed up that made me wanna write this story in the first place so I am SO HYPED to write it :D

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed <3

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi

[secret-moonstruck]

STUCK ON ME | Y.JW

— Pairing: Jungwon x fem!reader | (Masterlist)

— Synopsis: Y/N found an abandoned kitten in the rain but she didn't expect things to end this way.

— Genre: smut

— Warnings: unprotected sex, cum inside, making out, begging, hickeys, blood, overstimulation.

— Notes: I'm new to this writing thing, and English is not my first language. Sorry for not writing so well, I wish to improve and bring better and well-written stories.

The rain fell heavily as the shadow watched Y/N typing on her laptop. 

When he noticed that she started to pack her things to leave, he smiled, his fangs showing. 

- This is going to be an interesting meal. - He said before transforming.

Y/N was focused on finishing writing a chapter that she didn't notice the heavy rain or how dark it was, as soon as she noticed this, she started to packing her things to leave.

Running home she heard a meow and stopped to see where it was coming from, she then saw a kitten hiding from the rain in a corner, without thinking she picked it up and hugging it to protect it from the rain took it to her apartment.

Y/N dried the kitten and fed him, when she made sure he was comfortable, she went to take a shower and warm up as she was still soaked from the rain.

While sleeping that night Y/N woke up nervous feeling like she was being watched, but she ignored it and went back to sleep.

The next day Y/N returned early from the cafe after finishing a chapter of her book. She looked for the kitten but couldn't find it, until she heard a noise coming from her room. When she opened the door she screamed in panic and tried to run away after seeing an unknown man lying comfortably on her bed. But barely taking two steps out of the room she was grabbed and thrown against the wall.

- A panicked prey always makes the meal even better. - He said, inhaling her scent, feeling her fear.

- Who are you? - Y/N asked shakily.

- Who i am? I'm Jungwon and you're Y/N, my sweet prey.

In the midst of her panic, she remembered the kitten and asked if he had done anything to him.

- So sweet, worried about me? - A falsely sweet smile appeared on his face. - Don't you understand yet? There is no kitten, it was me all along. So easy to fool, a little transformation and you're down immediately.

As soon as he finished speaking, he bit her. The pain at first was horrible, but soon she felt something strange, a shiver ran through her entire body, she was feeling pleasure.

When Y/N moaned Jungwon stopped immediately, he didn't expect that, she must have been screaming to death in pain. Only then did he realize how there was something different in his blood.

- What are you? - He asked confused. - Whatever, it doesn't matter

Before she could think about running away he bit her again. Her blood wasn't just sweet, it wasn't just something that satisfied his hunger, there was something more powerful, something that was messing with his head and his body. He wanted more, but not only that, it made him want her. Her body, her soul, everything, she should be his.

Fear still hovered over Y/N, but at the same time she wanted it, the feeling was too good, she wanted him to devour her in every possible way.

- Damn, I can't believe I'm going to do this. - Jungwon decided to keep her alive at least for now.

- Do what? - Y/N asked scared. But instead of giving an answer he kissed her.

This shocked her more than if he had killed her. The kiss was fierce, his body pressing hers against the wall, while he firmly held her waist, the other hand grabbed her right leg, his claws squeezing it tightly, making it bleed. 

- Please, devour me. - Y/N begged between moans. He more than immediately obeyed her. 

Both clothes being quickly removed from their bodies, he ached to possess her.

He picked her up on his lap, his cock desperate to be inside her, and soon it was. 

She could die there and she would be happy, the way he fucked her as if he had been waiting for this for centuries.

Y/N was grateful that he was holding her because she was sure she couldn't stand, her legs were weak, her whole body was losing strength as she felt him going so fiercely deep inside her. 

Nothing felt like enough, Jungwon wanted more from her, more and more, as his head spun with the sensation of being inside her, he varied between kissing her roughly or drinking some more of her blood. 

With her blood dripping down his lips as he sucked her, he knew he couldn't take it anymore, the way she clenched around him as she felt the pleasure as he drank her blood.

Y/N's moans could be heard in the distance as she reached her orgasm, tears streaming down her face as he finally came inside pushing more and more into her. Y/N head falling onto his shoulder in exhaustion when it was finally over.

Even overwhelmed she thought about how she would probably be killed next, an ironic smile on her lips as she thought that at least it would be a good death. Soon after, she fainted.

When she woke up Y/N was confused, she thought she would be dead by now. She tried to get up, but felt her hand trapped. Of course she was alive, but it was too much to ask for him to leave and let her live as if nothing had happened.

- Finally woke up. - Jungwon's voice came from the other side of the room.

- Why am I arrested? - Y/N didn't mind asking rudely, death no longer scared her.

- Because my sweet Y/N, I don't want to have to chase you if you try to run away. - I don't have the patience for that kind of thing.

- But why haven't you killed me yet? Are you going to keep me trapped here so I always have a snack at your disposal?

- I wish that was it. - His expression was a mixture of anger and disappointment. - Unfortunately, I can't kill you. 

Jungwon sat on the bed next to her touching her face with a smile full of sarcasm. He looked increasingly angry.

- There is a story, which I never believed, about how vampires are supposedly always destined to find someone, the person they would give their life for in exchange to protect. A person to whom they would give their entire being, whom they are destined to serve. Baseless idiocy. - He said, squeezing her face while analyzing her.

- I always thought they were just stories, but guess what? Apparently this is real. - He released her face angrily, moving away.

- Why did I have to drink your blood? Why didn't I choose another victim? Just you with your stupid blood that bewitched me. - If I didn't want to have you so much for myself I would kill you now, not because it's normal for me, but because I hate you so much for doing this to me. - He was clearly in agony.

- Is that what they call karma? - Y/N said laughing loudly. - You tried to terrorize me and kill me. And now you're saying you stuck with me?

He looked at her in disbelief. Y/N was nothing like he imagined, she wasn't afraid of him, the look of superiority and control she had over him made him feel small. It should be the opposite, he is the monster here, he is the one who should have control over her, not the other way around.

- Let me go. - Y/N ordered. Even though he was angry, Jungwon couldn't help but follow Y/N's orders, her voice had some kind of power over him, it was like a spell, and now he was the one who couldn't escape.

— Note2: Sorry if it's not good, I'll try to improve it.

[putschki1969]

Kalafina Anniversary Live 2025 Pamphlet HQ Scans Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Google Drive Link

👉  For PERSONAL USE ONLY 👉  CREDIT me and LINK to my blog if you use/share 👉  SUPPORT Kalafina | BUY the pamphlet

Interview with Hikaru

--This will be Kalafina's first live performance in about seven years. How did you feel when you found out that the concert was going to be held?

"Various emotions were going through my mind at the same time, but to sum it up in one sentence, I felt like 'we can do this'. I was beyond happy that the three of us would be able to sing Kalafina's music again, that it was actually becoming a reality. Six years had passed, so I was excited to see what would happen if the three of us sang together again."

--How did you feel when the three of you first got together to sing during a live rehearsal?

"Along with nostalgia, it brought back memories of Kalafina's chorus work. When the three of us sing together, it just feels so right. Over the past six years, I've had the opportunity to sing with many different people while working solo, but I think there is a unique sound and energy in each song that only the three of us can create."

--What did the three of you talk about during the first rehearsal?

"We had a packed schedule for our rehearsals so we weren't able to have any particularly deep discussions. We thought, 'let's just try to get in tune with each other,' so we spent our time singing with the image of regaining the feeling of being Kalafina."

--Were you able to quickly get back into the swing of things with Kalafina?

"I immediately remembered how it felt back then. However, because we had been apart for a while, even though I was able to regain that feeling, I felt that it would take a little more time to express those feelings through my singing. Those first few rehearsals really helped me see what I needed to do from now on."

--So it was necessary to re-examine what you need to do to sing as a member of Kalafina?

"That's right. We have a renewed sense of determination to do our best. Naturally, the time and experience each of us has gained working as solo artists comes into play when we get together as a trio to sing, but beyond that, there is something unchanging about Kalafina. It may be an exaggeration to say it's almost like a chemical reaction when we come together, but I want to take on the challenge once again to see how beautiful a melody we can create as a trio."

--What do you think of Wakana and Keiko's vocal appeal?

"There are many singers in the world who can produce beautiful high notes and low notes, but these two are really special to me. Wakana has always been said to be great at expressing transience and sorrow, but what's even more impressive is that her voice is not simply delicate but also has energy and strength to it. Keiko has a deep, enveloping voice, and her charm is that you can feel so much love in her cool low notes. Also, there's a new feeling to her voice that I didn't feel during the 10 years she was with Kalafina, maybe it's because she's been doing solo work that I'm able to feel this."

--The current Kalafina probably combines the unchanging things from when you were singing as a trio, and the growth that has come with your solo activities.

"Yes, I think that everyone who comes to our live show might feel this way. But of course, it's all subjective and everyone is free to feel whatever they want so even if you feel like 'Kalafina never changes no matter how much time passes' or 'this is a completely new and mature Kalafina', we will be happy. We have had 10 years as Kalafina, and 7 years by ourselves, all of this has made us who we are today."

--Now, what do you think about the appeal of Kalafina's music?

"The songs were written to suit our voices, and I think they are unique songs that make the most of each of our individual strengths. That's why it feels lonely to sing them by myself. When I first went solo, I sang Kalafina songs during my live concert and it felt so lonely that I stopped singing them after that *laughs*. Because these songs were written for the three of us to sing, I simply want to fulfill the role of Hikaru that the songs require, and I believe that by doing so, the songs will resonate more with everyone."

--What are your thoughts about all the fans who have continued to love Kalafina for such a long time?

"So many people have supported our activities over the past 10 years, and there are so many people who have continued to listen to Kalafina's music even after that, I have nothing but gratitude for them. Kalafina is really special to me, and I think that everyone has always known this. I want to convey to everyone at the live in January, 'thank you for waiting for us all this time.'"

--Finally, please tell us your thoughts about today's pamphlet photo shoot.

"It felt like it had been so long since the three of us had been together like this, we remembered the feeling of taking group photos, the distance and subsequent intimacy we felt when we were told to 'get a little closer together' *laughs*. And we even got to talk about personal things in between takes, it really felt like we were continuing right where we had left off with no gaps in between."

[rosenclaws]

HIII you don’t know how happy i am to have stumbled on your treasure chest of an account 😭 the way you portray characters is exactly how i’ve imagined them!!! especially leopold ♥️ i’m so glad there’s an active writer for him who writes so beautifully!!

i was hoping to request a fluff fic for leopold where reader teaches kids (5-7 yrs old) and leo visits reader at their workplace. the kids do know of readers few/past boyfriends and they weren’t too fond of any of them, but they really really love leo 🫂 reader does like leo but is unaware the feelings are mutual, so the kids help leo out in trying to win their heart ♥️ (and maybe work in the element of daisies? they’re reader’s/my fave flower lolol)

she/her pronouns are good but you can also do gn! thank ü sm ⭐️ hope you’re having a great day!!!

a/n: Truth be told I've been neglecting Leopold. I've written so much Logan and I love Logan but Leopold is who truly captured my heart. I'm a little rusty but I hope you like it!! Also DAMN HES SO HANDSOME ITS CRIMINAL

Of all the days to be running late today was possibly the worst. You completely forgot about a very important meeting and you could not be late for it. You were scrambling around your apartment when someone knocks at the door.

Not the time.

As you grab your bag you throw open the door to see Leopold standing there. A smile on his face as he greets you good morning. Though he quickly notices your rushed and panicked face.

“Are you ready for coffee?”

“Hi Leo, I’m so sorry I forgot I have this meeting and I’m already late and-“ Leopold places his hands on your arms, getting you to stop moving. You feel a warmth spread through your body from his touch.

“It’s alright darling, we can go another time.” He flashes that perfect smile and for a second you hesitate to move. But you really can’t be late.

“Thank you, you can hang out here if you want. Bye Leo.” You rush past him and he just smiles. He thinks you’re adorable when you’re flustered like that.

Truth be told Leopold doesn’t like coffee. He finds it bitter and gross and nothing compared to the wonders of tea. But when he met you and you had asked him to coffee. He just couldn’t say no.

You were one of Kate’s friends from college and ever since that day he had become entranced by you. So he sat through sipping coffee if it meant he got to speak to you. He notices a bag sitting on your counter. Furrowing his brows he takes it and looks inside. It’s your lunch. He frowns when he sees the processed food and quite unhealthy snacks inside. He knows you’re busy but he’s talked to you about this. You’re a very busy women and he worries about your habits and health. He tosses the bag in the fridge and heads out. Determined to make sure you get your lunch.

”Alright class! Finish up your drawings so we can have story time!” You announce to your students who were very deep into their artworks. There was paint all over your smock and glitter everywhere. Your stomach growls and you groan as you sit down at your desk. You forgot your lunch this morning and you were absolutely starving.

“Miss! I’m finished!” Penny, one of your students, calls. She holds up her artwork with a big toothy grin.

“Beautiful Pen!” You get up and bend down near her desk.

“Why don’t you sign it and we can put it in the back to let it dry.” She nods and messily writes her name in the corner.

There's a loud knock at the door and suddenly one of the admin appears in the doorway. You walk over and see a smirk on her face.

“You have a visitor, a very handsome one.” She whispers that last part as you look over her shoulder and see Leopold.

She leaves and Leopold smiles, you lead him into your class which catches the attention of all your students. He probably looked a little odd all dressed up in his old clothing.

“Leo? What are you doing here?”

“You forgot your lunch.” He hands you a few containers. This was not the lunch you had packed yourself.

“I’ve warned you of the dangers of processed food,” He says with a raised eyebrow.

“I know, I just don’t have a lot of time.” You sigh.

“I am aware, so I made you lunch.” Your heart flutters as you look inside. All the food looks amazing, especially the cookies he knows you love.

"Thank you Leo."

"I've noticed more often than not you don't prepare yourself adequate food," You look down, a little embarrassed at being called out.

"So, I decided I'm going to start making you lunch."

"Oh no you don't have to do that-" You start but he cuts you off. A very determined look on his face.

"I insist, please." The very idea makes your heart burst but its too kind of an offer. But its a really good one.

"Okay fine. But I buy the groceries and only until I can start making them for myself again." He smiles and accepts your conditions.

"I must go, but I will see you tomorrow." He bows his head and leaves your classroom.

He throws you a wink right before he leaves and your heart skips. You feel a tug at your pants and you look down to see one of your students Avery.

"Miss, is he a real prince?" She looks up at him with wide eyes. Avery had been in her princess mood and you can't blame her for thinking Leopold had popped right out of a storybook.

"Uh, no sweetie. He's just a friend of mine."

"But he looks just like a prince! If you marry him you could be a princess and we'd have a princess teacher!" She exclaims.

The class starts to agree with her and you try and calm them down. Thankfully their attention shifts when you pull out a book for story time. You were just thankful they forgot about it, or you thought they had.

Visits from Leopold had become a class staple. He'd show up every day to bring you lunch. When you asked why he didn't just give it to you in the morning he told you that this was much more eventful. The kids became obsessed with him and Leopold fed into their curiosity and imagination with ease.

Eventually you just told the school he was a volunteer so he could stick around more. He became your classes favorite story teller. At first he'd read a book or two but he grew bored of those stories and would retell his favorite stories and plays from his childhood, getting the children to act them out with him. He some how got a room of 6 year old's to give him their undivided attention. That isn't and easy feat.

"Leopold! Can you read this one?" Avery hands him one of her fairytale books.

He's sitting on the ground with the kids all around him. His previous prince like clothing was gone and instead he was dressed more modern. You had to admit you missed the flashy and fancy clothes.

Not that he didn't look good in modern clothing, he looks good in everything. You had a feeling though that Avery and the rest of the class had something up their sleeves. They were far too giggly and had mischievous looks on their faces.

"Of course love. A love story? I do find myself reading these from time to time." As he starts the story he offers someone to come play the prince but no one budges.

"We want you to play him!" Avery says with a giggle. Leopold raises an eyebrow but agrees.

"Alright, now the prince needs to have a princess doesn't he?"

"Miss should be the princess!" One of your other students pipes up.

"Me? I don't know guys I'm not really the best actress." You say but they don't care.

You're half dragged out of your chair and to the front of the room. You sit next to Leo and flash him an apologetic smile. From out of nowhere two kids bring the two of you flower crowns. They must have made them at recesses. It's a little small and Leopold's barely fits on his head but it was cute.

"You know instead of a story we should have a wedding!" Penny pipes up.

"A Wedding? Guys where is this coming from?" You say with a laugh, trying to hide your nerves.

"My mommy said a wedding is what two people who really like each other have!" The kids murmur in agreement and you sigh.

"It's alright darling, why not entertain them for today?" Leopold whispers in your ear.

He seems more than okay with being thrust into a kid planned fake wedding. It was quite amusing watching your students try and figure out what they were supposed to do.

They had cut up some paper and used them as flower petals, which they were going to have to clean up before lunch you noted. It was adorable listening to them talk though, as you sat next to Leo you found yourself unable to hold back your smiles.

"You may now kiss the bride!" Your eyes widen as you shake your head.

"Okay that's enough torturing our friend, its clean up time now." You say, putting a stop before things could go too far.

Not that you didn't want to kiss Leopold, but you didn't want him to feel forced to kiss you because your students put on a fake wedding.

"Awww," A chorus of kids groaned as you sent them back to the desk. Though once the lunch bell rings they all seem to forget their sadness.

"Sorry for all of that, I don't know what got into them." You say as you sit at your desk. Leopold had pulled up a chair right next to you. Your lunch being shared between the two of you.

"It's alright, I enjoyed the wedding." He hums as he picks a daisy from his hair. He twirls it around in his fingers before handing it to you.

"For you, my beautiful bride." You bite your lip as you take the flower from his hand, your skin brushing up against each other.

"Thank you my husband." You stick it behind your ear. Leopold stares lovingly into your eyes and you feel yourself sink under his gaze. It's just so intense, his pretty hazel eyes just make you swoon.

"You know, I would not have been upset if we kissed, for the integrity of the story." He whispers, his hand coming to cup your chin.

"Yeah?" You ask breathlessly as the space between the two of you becomes smaller and smaller.

Could this really be happening? Oh god you hope it was. Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you. His hand is gentle as his kiss deepens. His lips are soft and he tastes like, like everything fucking perfect.

"I've been trying to court you for some time my love." Leopold confesses as you pull apart.

"Normally I would have given you a letter but, Charlie had told me the sentiment was outdated." You giggle at the thought of a handwritten letter from him declaring his love for you, a very romantic idea you must admit.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice. If I had known, we could have done this a lot sooner."

"That's alright darling, because now we have all the time in the world." Well all the time until 12:30 when the bell rang. For now though, you had him all to yourself.

[liselottw]

Alyosha Karamazov x Reader 𐙚⋆.˚

!! dni if you're going to be pissy about a stranger online writing about a real guy involved in a murder trial, HE'S NOT EVEN A SUSPECT and this is set before papa karamazov kicked the bucket. besides a very close friend of the family proofread it and told me it's totally fine !!

When the editor of the newspaper you wrote for commissioned you an article about the life of young novices, you knew exactly where to look. The small village of Skotoprigonyevsk, where you'd spent many summers during your childhood, was known to be just a few miles away from a modest yet respectable monastery, where your old friend Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov was preparing to become a monk. You had written him a letter asking for his collaboration a few weeks prior, and now a carriage was bringing you up the hill where the sanctuary was. On the way there, however, you were stopped by an elderly man walking the other way.

“Are ya going to pay respect to Zosima, miss?” he asked. Elder Zosima, Alexei had told you, was a holy man as few others had been on that side of the empire. He was a wise and compassionate starets, and if you played your cards right there was a chance you could even interview him.

“What do you mean ‘pay respect’?”

“Ya haven't heard, uh? Father Zosima, peace be with him, died a few days ago. And now the whole town's gone crazy ‘cause his body stinks like hell.”

“How terrible!” you said, crossing yourself.

“Yeah, a real disgrace… Even the monks have gone nuts about the whole thing. Why do you need to go up there?”

“I… planned to visit a friend. A novice.”

“Oh, they're the most baffled now. They're young, their faith is crushed. I hope your friend is fine; and if not, try to cheer him up, miss. He probably needs it.”

The carriage started moving again, but your heart was now heavy. How was Alexei doing? What if he didn't want to do the interview anymore? Or worse, what if you had found him deep in despair?

When you arrived, you noticed the death of the elder had somehow affected the whole monastery. You had been there once or twice as a child, and you remembered it always looked like an ivory palace, with golden towers reflecting the light of God and a sweet hymn that never ceased coming from inside. Now what was pristine seemed dirty, what was shining became opaque, and the whole place was deadly silent.

As if someone had just read your mind, you heard the muffled sound of steps coming your way. You turned around and immediately recognised the cherub-like face of Alexei Karamazov. At first you stood straight and smiled, not knowing how to properly greet him after all those years. When he came closer and gave you a quick hug, you realised he was happy to see you as well but still burdened with grief.

“It's good to see you again, Alexei Fyodorovich. I heard what happened to the elder on the way here. I'm so sorry…”

He inhaled sharply, probably wishing you had talked about anything but that. “Thank you. Please, come inside and I'll show you your room. It's not a lot, but I trust you'll find it comfortable enough.”

“Of course.” You stopped for a second. “Alexei Fyodorovich… I understand this is a delicate situation. If you do not want to be interviewed right now, I understand. I'll come back when you're ready. My timing was terrible.”

“Nonsense. God's timing is always right.” You could tell he did not believe it either.

After unpacking your bags you ran into Alexei again.

“Y/n, about the interview…”

“No pressure at all, Alexei, really.”

“I want to do it tonight.”

“Oh? How come? Forgive me my bluntness, but you didn't seem in the right space of mind just a few hours ago.”

“To be honest, I was not sure I wanted to do it either. But I feel like I need to. Zosima would've wanted me to keep our traditions alive.”

“Of course. Then I'll meet you in your room after supper? Or is it too scandalous?” you tried to joke. Alexei let out a small chuckle.

“It’s alright. My brothers know you are here for a noble reason, and they thank you for having chosen us.”

As promised, he let you in his room after dinner and closed the door behind him. You sat on the bed, he was right in front of you on a stool. He gave you a friendly smile, but the bags under his eyes and his curved shoulders revealed he was tired from the lack of sleep. You felt guilty for taking away his precious hours of rest. Nevertheless, you were there as a journalist, not any ordinary friend. It was about time you started working.

“So, Alexei, our readers in the Capital would love to know more about the ascetic life of young novices. Could you tell us how old you are and when did you receive the call?”

 “I turned nineteen a few months ago, and I decided to enter the monastery at sixteen. It was never really a calling; ever since I was a small child I felt the voice of God inside me, so I am simply acting according to my nature.”

“Did your upbringing influence your faith?”

“... I am not sure. My mother was a very religious woman, but I barely remember her. The icon of Mary and Jesus you see in that corner,” and he pointed at a small wooden block on his table, “is all I have left of her. My father… I never spent much time with him. The servants often looked after me and my brother. When he turned seven we were taken in by a distant relative and moved to Moscow. I'd say that no one really told me how to believe or why. For as long as I remember I've felt the presence of God around me. That is, until a few days ago…”

Alexei bit his lip. He was clearly thinking about Zosima and the panic that came with his rotting body.

"Ever since that night, my faith has wavered like a flag in the storm. I am torn, y/n. How could a man so righteous and kind as elder Zosima not be granted a holy death? God wouldn't have allowed one of his bravest soldiers to go this way. Perhaps it's a test. Satan may think he works against the Almighty, but really, tribulations are where men find themselves most strong in their faith, or completely abandon it. I steadied my heart, thinking I could bear this, but the whispers... the rumors, y/n... they plague my head and poison my thoughts. My very soul is shaken, and I am starting to think... They were right about us too."

"Us?" you carefully asked, wondering if some babushka had gossiped about a possible affair between you two. Unfortunately, they would've been wrong. "What do you mean?"

Alexei looked at you with tearful eyes.

"Us Karamazovs! An inexplicable curse weighs upon our name, but I thought I'd managed to escape it. The monastery, that holy refuge, was supposed to keep me safe from the temptations of this mortal world, yet evil has found a way! Malice and hatred have seeped inside our sacred home, and I now see that it happened long before Zosima's passing. Y/n," he sighed, grasping your hands in his, "I have been blind and foolish all these twenty years of my life, but how painful it is to have the veil of innocence stripped from your eyes by the brutal hands of fate just when you're waiting for a miracle! God has long abandoned this side of the world, if he ever was in it. I find no consolation in prayer, the fits of hunger can't bring me any closer to Him than an opulent banquet would, thirst cannot quench my need for infinity, and my world has lost its balance. I am utterly alone and desperate in this desert, and it is merely the third of forty days of penitence. I see the Great Divider coming my way, with food and shelter from cruel nature — more terrible yet steadier than God’s word. What must I do?”

“Dear Alexei, this is not you speaking,” you stuttered. “You confound hell in Elysium!”

“Not yet, y/n, but that time is near. The real curse of the Karamazovs is not that we are strong in our vices, but that we’re too weak to resist them. My brother Dmitri understood this sooner than I did. My last prayer shall be for him: may he find a way to survive in this world without running from it; as you can see, it’s been no use. I am too far gone…” 

This was not where the interview was supposed to go. The person in front of you had no traces of the kind, sweet Alyoshka you grew up with in his eyes. All you saw was a tired, disillusioned man on the way to perdition. His words were razor blades, cutting through your memories and beliefs. You'd only met his brother Ivan once or twice, many years before, but in that moment Alexei resembled him more than ever.

“Never say that, my sweet,” you whispered, holding his face in your trembling hands. Tears were streaking his cheeks, red from the anger and pain. 

“What must I do?” he dared to ask, his voice breaking in sobs. “No one can understand how I feel, y/n. They didn't know Zosima like I did. They didn't see life as I saw it when I still believed there was a meaning to it.”

“I do understand you, Alexei! Back in Moscow I was eaten alive by doubts, day after day, night after night. Once you question the foundations of your being, there is no turning back.”

“And how do you survive? How do you go on?”

“I silence the voices inside me until all is quiet and I feel nothing at all.”

“I'm afraid I can't do it. Now that I am hollow, the silence is stinging and the void echoes my pain.”

“Then you must bury it and forget it ever was there. You will feel strange all your life without knowing why, but you'll have grown so accustomed to it that you'll start to think it is just the way humans are.”

Now you were crying too and your tears were falling on Alexei's face, mixing with his own like the affluent to a stream of constant sorrow. You were closer to him than you had ever been, physically and spiritually. The beautiful boy you'd admired from afar was now, in your shared agony, a long lost friend, the other half of your tainted soul.

He must've felt the same about you, because he leaned into your touch and placed a hand on yours, still holding his face. He breathed heavily and it felt as if a primordial burden had escaped from his breath, for the better or for the worse.

“Teach me how…” he whispered. “Teach me how to bury the pain.”

You drew him closer and kissed him desperately. You could tell he was as inexperienced as you were, but it didn't matter. Perhaps it was even better like this: there was all the naivety of Adam and Eve before the original sin. You knew what was going to happen next, and it felt right, even though it should've been wrong.

Your hands rose to Alexei's hair, and he whimpered

Ok Google, what is this? No, Google, what is this thing my daughter is creating? My goodness, why are you writing what I'm saying? Lise? Liza! What is this thing on your portable device? No, not Google, this other thing. Don't scream, for the love of God, I just asked a question! I know it is not “nothing”, so you better tell me. Is this about Alexei Fyodorovich? Oh dear, I sure hope you don't mean to send it to him!  Besides, what were he and the interviewer going to do? I need to read this thoroughly. Don't cry, Lise, I just need to take your device for a few minutes! I'm starting to suspect you're keeping things from me… For example, what is this “monk yaoi” folder?

[unpretty]

i said it in my original tags but i want to talk out of my ass and say that one place that a lot of current romantasy falls short for me is that it ends up being written by people who mostly read other romantasy without going back to the original genres of romance and fantasy. it's like a 'learn the rules before you can break them' kind of thing. you have all these magical macguffins to hit the tropes but can you make me believe that these characters have chemistry without that? is there chemistry, or did you tell me they're fated mates and now i'm supposed to assume this fight is sexy? does the fantasy aspect exist for anything aside from the magical macguffins? i'm not going to throw stones from inside my house made of worldbuilding designed to make all my fetishes happen, but the really fun part is when the lore spins out of control and you end up really going in depth on linguistic anthropology things that aren't relevant to the makeouts.

and the other thing is that you can't really sub in fanfic for this. plenty of fanfic takes characters from other genres and plops them into romance, but it's not the same. a good romance novel says, "here are two characters. you may know their archetypes, but you don't know them. you are going to get to know them, and you are going to love them, and you are going to want them to love each other, and when they love each other you are going to be happy for them". i love a rakish duke. when a man who's never had to do his own laundry is slutty as fuck that's my shit. but you still have to make me like him. you can take that archetype and make a guy who fucking sucks. most fanfic will not impart to you any knowledge about how to make a reader like a guy from scratch. you already know that guy. that's the whole point. fanfic with as much character building as an original work is the exception, not the rule.

the whole reason i get catty about fics that just make a different guy is that... you've made a different guy. i don't know who this guy is and i don't like him, and you haven't bothered trying to make me like him, because you slapped another guy's nametag on him like a cheat code. it's cool if you did make me like this new guy, but why is he wearing that other guy's nametag if no other aspect of him is present?

read the genres you want to write, obviously, but there's a reason the shitty comphet romantic subplot is a cliche. it's because romance is its own skillset, and if you try to fit romance in your thriller when you only read thrillers it's probably going to be the weakest part. if you want an ensemble cast then chemistry between characters is important regardless of whether they're going to fuck about it.

How did you get so good at writing??? Did you take classes? I feel like you should get paid all the money for this! (I subscribe to your website!)

after i dropped out of high school i found a torrent of like 5GB of OCRd romance novels and i read like 3 romance novels a day for a while

read enough romance novels and you will realize that they live or die entirely on technical skill. if you are new to romance novels then even bad ones can dazzle you with novelty but by the time you are on your 30th historical fake engagement between a bluestocking and a rakish duke you can grade them and you know when they've failed. when two books have what should be the same main characters hitting the same plot beats, but one of those books is delightful and the other fucking sucks, you learn some things. some books are bad and still delightful. other books are good but they just don't hit. you start to see the seams in the bad ones. 'oh, this is a weird out of character moment because she wanted to have the kabedon moment and didn't know how to get there'. 'she didn't want the ust to end but couldn't think of a better reason than this deus ex cockblock.' that kind of thing.

you could probably do this with other genres but i like romance because the plot is two people fall in love. that's it. everything else is set dressing. if you can figure out how to make that work you can carry it over into whatever other genre you feel like. mysteries would give you a different skillset around plotting that i don't have.

anyway after that i wrote a lot.

[causenessus]

hi! i'll keep this short

i came to the realization everytime i've disappeared from tumblr to "take a break" i never really have because of other things going on in my life (which, duh, this isn't my whole life) but! i also realized that if i never actually take the time to recover and rest and think about things i should be writing i'll never feel better. so! i'm (once again)(but now more formally) going on hiatus until maybe may! i might pop in for spring break or earlier if i feel like it, but until then, not really any writing from me! with that being said, i'll still be around, doting on my moots (i.e. like, dorothea <3 wyr <3 and bug <3) because i love them so much and i will probably also post chapters of present ever so often! the reason being (i'm going to try to make this make sense but it may only make sense to me but i'm aware of how contradicting i am to me five seconds ago when i said i need to take a break from writing) present is a very personal fic for me that i've worked on for years at this point. what i'm posting now are chapters i wrote months ago after I've read over and edited them (or in the case of the upcoming chapter, i did randomly add it in and had to write it from the ground up last week lmao) but if it isn't obvious, present is a work i'm very passionate about and am just posting in case anyone else enjoys it but it feels like it's a work that is very individualized just for me and it doesn't cause me any stress or anxiety. on the topic of individualization, although i am of course so so thankful for all of the support and people that follow me, i do sort of miss when my blog and world were a lot smaller. it's something i feel like i only get when i get to reply to people in comments, but other than that, all the numbers and people on my feed give me a lot of anxiety. the hq (smau fandom especially) fandom or at least how much i'm (was) involved in it has grown exponentially and of course i'm happy about that but it's a bit too much for me. i'll be taking a huge step back from the fandom and any hq works i've written at least in the meantime, but that's not to say they'll never be finished! but i either need to grow to handle the bigger audience that now reads my works or wait for things to grow a little smaller again :) i hope to still be able to read my moots works but forgive me if it takes me a bit or i never get to them! i think at the least i'll still like them to show my support <3 thank you if you read my long ramble! i love you all <3

oh also i'll probably post self ship moodboards and the beginning of my reading list (thank you again dorothea for the idea <3)! but again, I think you get the idea by now; I want to go back to doing this for me! so this is a tiny little goodbye now i'm leaving for you all with forehead kisses and flowers and love notes and mwah <3 i'll see you around!

[buckysouvenir]

between the lines. (chapter 1)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader.

warnings: none.

word count: 717 words.

author’s note: hey guys! starting a new series. i'm so happy i found inspiration again! happy to go into this new story with you. i already have about 7 chapters that are already written, so i think i'll be posting one every day!

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

series masterlist.

The first time Y/N met Bucky Barnes, she was running late. In her defense, it wasn’t entirely her fault. The printer in the communications office had decided to throw a tantrum, spitting out page after page of half-printed mission briefs. She’d spent fifteen minutes wrestling with it, finally managing to salvage what she needed, but at the cost of being almost ten minutes behind schedule.

Clutching the papers to her chest, Y/N dashed down the hallways of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, sneakers squeaking against the polished floors. She rounded a corner sharply, narrowly dodging an agent holding a coffee cup, and headed straight for the debriefing room. Director Fury himself had asked for these files, and she wasn’t about to let a malfunctioning printer ruin her streak of reliability.

But in her haste, she didn’t notice the man stepping out of the adjacent corridor until it was too late.

She collided with what felt like a brick wall. The stack of papers flew from her hands, scattering across the floor in a chaotic mess. Stumbling back, Y/N caught herself against the wall and looked up—and up—to meet the startled blue eyes of none other than Bucky Barnes.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she blurted, immediately crouching down to gather the scattered papers. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stood there, stiff and uncertain, like someone who wasn’t used to being bumped into. His long hair was tucked behind his ears, and he wore a black hoodie and jeans that somehow made him look even taller and broader. His metal hand twitched at his side, the sunlight streaming through the windows catching on its polished surface.

“I… yeah, I’m fine,” he said finally, his voice low and slightly raspy. Then, as though realizing he should probably help, he crouched down to assist her with the papers. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, though her heart was racing. Partly from the collision, and partly because… well, she’d just run into Bucky Barnes. The Bucky Barnes. The man who’d once been the Winter Soldier and was now supposedly trying to rebuild his life. She’d heard whispers around the facility that he was there for rehabilitation, but she hadn’t expected to actually see him, let alone crash into him.

He handed her a few papers, his metal fingers surprisingly gentle as they brushed against hers. She tried not to stare, but it was hard not to when he was right there, all sharp angles and quiet intensity.

“Thanks,” she said, standing up and clutching the papers tightly to her chest. “And sorry again. I was in a hurry, and I… well, clearly, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve had worse.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that, though she immediately felt bad. “Right. Of course. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” he said again, and this time, his smile was a little more genuine. There was a moment of silence, awkward but not entirely unpleasant, before he added, “You… work here?”

“I do,” she said, nodding. “Communications team. I manage how information flows within S.H.I.E.L.D. and sometimes outside of it.” She gestured to the papers in her arms. “Which I should probably get to Director Fury before he starts wondering if I got lost.”

He nodded, stepping aside to let her pass. “Right. Don’t let me keep you.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then offered him a small smile. “It was nice meeting you, Bucky.”

His expression flickered, as though he wasn’t quite used to hearing his name spoken so casually. But then he nodded, his blue eyes softening just a little. “You too…”

“Y/N,” she supplied.

“You too, Y/N.”

With that, she turned and hurried off down the hallway, her heart still racing for reasons that had nothing to do with being late. As she disappeared around the corner, Bucky stood there for a moment, staring after her. Then, with a quiet shake of his head and a faint smile, he continued on his way, feeling just a little less out of place than he had before.

[aziraphales-library]

May be an odd request, but do you have any fic recs where Anathema is characterized really well?

I don't see much of her, and when I do, she tends to be there to fulfill a role that may be lacking for what I'm after

I went through my bookmarks and picked fics I remember Anathema from, not just as a prop to get Aziraphale and Crowley together, but as a full character with her own stuff going on...

Friendship is Demonic Magic by Shadow0kana, whtbout2ndbrkfst (T)

After Crowley interrupts Aziraphale and Anathema’s phone conversations one too many times, Aziraphale suggests the two have their own meetups to discuss what they have in common. Cue monthly coffee dates between a witch and a demon who can passionately discuss (debate) anything from Halloween to Astronomy to Hamlet… while also conspiring to form a book swap aimed at getting Aziraphale to read anything written after 1950.

Reluctant Hospitality by brionypoisoned (G)

Anathema Device comes to stay at Aziraphale's book shop after breaking up with Newt. She doesn't know that Aziraphale and Crowley are romantically involved, and Aziraphale attempts to keep it that way. Everything goes very badly.

It's Not The Journey by cosmya (T)

It had been going so well. They’d averted the apocalypse, averted their punishments, averted further investigation or attention by their respective organizations. They were left with little to do but bask in the happy ending. Therein had been the problem. Another champagne, sir?” interrupted the flight attendant. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. Oh, I shouldn’t, he thought. “Yes, please,” he said. “Thank you.” Anathema and Newt are getting married, and two of their wedding guests are in a bit of an awkward place. An all-inclusive resort with unlimited alcohol is precisely what they need to re-break the ice.

Do I wanna know? by KissMyAsthma (M)

Aziraphale and Anathema are both closeted queer people, and they decide to do what any sensible closeted queer people do - they form a fake relationship, to shut the mouths of their families and shoo away unwanted suitors. Their comfortable arrangement is put into question when a school reunion makes Aziraphale reconnect - or connect, really - with his school crush, Anthony Crowley. But past is past, and now that they’re both adults, Aziraphale is just glad to make a friend. If the friend finds himself interested in Aziraphale… Well, there’s nothing for him to do since Aziraphale is taken, right?

what the water gave me (we'll watch the sun kiss the sea) by sabraneadaz (T)

“What’s your name?” Pepper asked, jumping to crest the next wave. She’d drifted further out to join Adam where he stood between the Them and the stranger. “All these questions,” the man said, “next you’ll be asking me if I’m an animal, vegetable, or mineral.” “Go on then,” said Adam. “Which one?” (The Them find their summer holidays spoiled by fly-tipping. A woman struggles with life without prophecy. A bookshop owner learns to love, and a mysterious man navigates 21st century courtship. In other words, it's the selkie au no-one asked for.)

Married at First Sight by Aracloptia (T)

“Well, that was a thing,” Crowley said once they were out of earshot. Without talking about it, they were both heading down the field, towards the lake where the photographer (and likely a few more people from the TV crew) was waiting. “That was a wedding,” Aziraphale replied, surprised at his own annoyance that somebody called a wedding a ‘thing’. “Yeah, obviously, didn’t miss that part,” Crowley said with a shrug, and waved abruptly in Aziraphale’s general direction. “Neither did you, from the looks of it, since you’re dressed like a wedding bride and everything.” “Excuse me, I am a—“ Aziraphale stopped himself, and started over. In which Aziraphale ends up marrying a rude stranger who wears sunglasses.

- Mod D

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

I'M SO EXCITED (Art is by @spliceyblues 10/10 recommend for comms) ( I did not comm specifically for this au, if the reason I bullshat for her being dressed this way doesn't work, just say the word ^^ /lh/gen)

Template reads as: Crush: Cater Diamond - She does not recognize her feelings to be romantic, but they are good friends that grew apart a little bit after her attitude shift

Club: N/A

Additional Information:

- Regularly in detention/getting written up for uniform infractions

- She enjoys psychoanalyzing people

(this is mostly because emotions like infatuation are foreign to her)

- Not in extracurriculars because she volunteers at pet shelters and babysits a lot (she hides this best she can- she has a reputation to uphold)

- Very confrontational, but only with prior observation or sound reason

What do they carry?

Phone - self explanatory

Notebook/Pen - she writes down her impressions of people and keeps notes on who interacts with who - this all ties into her love of psychoanalyzing people. She struggles to feel or identify a great deal of emotions herself, so she likes to observe what traits are characteristic of certain emotions from other people. The dynamics she observes are also fodder for the story she working on writing.

Hotwheels Car - Meant to return it to one of the kids she was babysitting

Pocket Knife(ves) - Safety, she's usually out until pretty late and she likes to be prepared.

Iron supplements - has moderate iron deficient anemia. She carries them on her so that if she forgets to take them in the morning, she can take one at lunch. If she forgot or was unable to take them for a few days, she would be much more fatigued, less aware, and less social.

Lighter - You don't need to know why she has that.

MORE YAPPING UNDER THE CUT SORRY mostly angst related lmfao

LORE AND GENERAL INFO

5'3, 17 y.o, any pronouns

Used to be an honour student/competitive with Azul and Riddle until her dad passed away

Still lives with just her mom, not in a good place mentally, for the past two years her reputation has only been getting worse as the result of her becoming more and more apathetic

Spends as much time as she can outside of the house - whether it's stalling and sticking around school or working or volunteering or hanging out with a friend.

Now that she's built a bit of a negative reputation for herself, she's given herself a taste of freedom by letting herself learn that disappointing herself and /or others isn't how she should measure her happiness - however, keeping that icy outer shell helps her protect what DOES make her happy

She has managed to keep the fact her dad died under wraps - but her secretive behaviour and shutting down was what pushed most her friends away - including Cater.

In the event someone found out about her dad, or about her 'soft side', she wouldn't really care about rumours being spread, but she would actively avoid the person I think that's it for now ^^

No Yandere Simulator ? (TWST AU)

AU Information:

This AU takes place similar to Yandere Sim but with Twisted Wonderland but Taro is Azul and Ayano is Quartz. Her goal is to eliminate… AZUL ASHENGROTTO. Yeah, her goal is actually to kill Azul and NOT the rivals. The rivals being your OCs/sonass and they have to protect Azul from Quartz and her dumb elimination plans.

More info on Quartz + Tweels info

This is an AU just for fun!! lol I just had a silly idea. Here’s a template if you wanna make your own oc into the AU (rival or not)

ALSO THEY DONT KNOW IT'S QUARTZ bc she's just a nobody girl

Bro you can tell I was hella lazy with Azul idk he’s too much

Rival List:

Romeo by @skrimpyskimpy

Shuu by @oya-oya-okay

NPC/Non-Rival List:

Elfie by @quartzelfgf

Higashikuramori Shin by @liyuviq

Jade Leech

Floyd Leech

Rizy by @rizdoodls

Yuuki by @theolivetree123

Joseph by @readsrandomstuff67

(Let me know if I made a mistake lol)