#taking down the original game too is wild

[dank-banshee]

This feel silly, but I'm so unironically sad about how ActiBlizzion handled Overwatch. 2016 buzzed with its hype. My friends shared theories about heroes and planned our team comps. I stayed up late reading all the bios and comics. Every animation drop was a pleasure. And to not only stifle development for years (no comics, animations, additional content) for a product they couldn't deliver... But to also throw it all away because loot crates weren't monetization enough? It's just sad to lose these characters and story potential and a legitimately fun team shooter. Because of game pass $$

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

May I say just Tyler pulling you close to him while you’re staying safe from a tornado hmmm

A lil protective moment with him is all I want 🫠🫠. Ask and you shall receive, my dear.

Pairing; Tyler Owen’s x reader

Word count; 1.2k (I got carried away just a little)

cw; tornadoes, rodeos, idk what else? FLUFFF AND a sprinkle of angst.

“Is this how they do it in Texas too?”

You looked up at the man beside you, his green eyes stilled on you. You were focusing on the rodeo he’d brought you to, men out on horses and bulls, taming the wild animals, riding their fears.

You looked back Tyler, he was still focused on you and not on the game. Heat rose to your cheeks, turning them into a red mess as you rubbed your hands nervously on the fat of your thighs. It was too hot to wear anything but jean shorts and a tank.

“Pretty much, not different from how they originally used to do back in the early days actually. But Texans have their pride.” You didn’t really have the accent to be taken as someone from Houston, but the badges- fabric patches with Velcro- you wore on your jeans at all times were evident enough of how proud you were to be from Texas.

The man chuckled, his eyes getting just a little smaller as crinkles formed around them, his cheeks lifting forming into a beautiful smile on his lips.

“Well ain’t that the right way to do it”

You both laughed, turning back to the rodeo. You tried to get a little bit comfortable in your seat, adjusting yourself before deciding to just sit a little bit straighter. Your hands reach for the arm rests, expecting the cold metal to make contact, but it never happens, instead your met with a warm, calloused palm of Tyler’s. He’s a little surprised at first, you both are, he slowly gathers the courage and weaves his hand through yours, helping you adjust.

You keep a hold of his hand, looking at him wide eyed and he’d say you look like a deer caught in headlights but that won’t do the justice to how beautiful your eyes look right now. The way sweat glistened on your body, your lips parted and slightly heavy breath of yours that fans his face. You’re mere inches away but it feels too far to him. He needs to feel you, feel those lips on his, caress your soft skin under his rough hands an-

A loud siren buzzes through the arena snapping the two of you out of it. A tornado siren. You felt the continuous buzz of the alert through your jeans, looking back at Tyler with the same look in your eyes.

We gotta get out of here.

And so, in a very calm yet hasty manner, you and Tyler take off. Calmly brushing past the crowd and scared civilians to get to his truck. It might not be enough to stay in there but you may have enough time to get somewhere safe.

Think think think, where is safe? And suddenly it hits you.

Your hands are still attached, his hand squeezing yours a little too tight when he feels like you might get swallowed by the rushing crowd.

“I got it!”

You finally get to his truck, quickly getting in and driving.

Tyler is scared, but the way a smile forms at your lips, he almost forgets you’re in the middle of fucking life and death.

“You got somewhere close?”

You nod, giving him the directions as he hits the gas on full. It’s an old bunker you found literally yesterday when you came out to explore the town. Trying to figure out places that could be safe for the people to evacuate to. It is small, enough to fit around two or three people and you hope it’s not jammed up for the two of you to seek shelter.

The tornado is not far behind. Gaining speed and strength as it chases the two of you. You’re not ready, this was not in the plan and you’re certain that today is not the day you’ll die. Not when you’ve just stared to get to know him.

Tyler strategically positions his car, activating the drills as the two of you exit, running towards the patch of metal in the middle of the farm field.

He gets to it first, letting go of your hand mid sprint to open it up for you. Letting you climb down before getting in, the metal trap door a little too heavy with the winds and rain for him to completely shut it. So he leaves it open, letting the cold rain pour down into the bullet as he reaches for you.

You’re holding onto the pipelines, not having it in you to move further because of the wind. You feel his hand on your waist, holding onto you for dear life as your grip on the pipes tightens. One hand holding onto you and the other onto the pipe right above you, Tyler grounds himself on the floor. His feet turned soon as he tried not to move. Your hand comes up to where his rests on your waist, clutching it tighter before he pulls you even closer, chest to back.

You can feel his heart pounding, like your own, against your back. You’re both heaving. Your heavy breathes turning into calmer ones as your eyes closed, trying to breathe in his scent, feeling the way his arm feels around you. Thinking about anything but the giant tornado above your head. The smell of him engulfs you and you find yourself thinking and wanting to feel is him, him, him, him.

It’s enough. The sheer skin to skin contact, the smell of your hair right under his nose, the feel of his hot breath on your neck. It sends shivers down both of your spines and in no time the sky clears and the wind and rain passes over. The tornado moved or completely died, you’re not sure.

But you’re sure about the man that is still latched to you. Holding onto for dear life. The way he’s nuzzling his nose into your hair, his lips brushing against your scalp and leaving tiny kisses you can barely make out.

“It’s gone” your voice is nothing but a whisper. You turn in his arms, his hand still attached to your waist as you look up at him through wet lashes.

He has this wild look in his eyes, concern, fear, and love all moulded into one. You feel them dart to your lips, and back to your eyes before his other hand comes up to brush some hair from your face.

“Thank you for that” he whispers, “if you hadn’t known about this place, I’d probably be dead”

You give him a smile, squeezing his arm before snaking your way out of his grasp.he reluctantly lets go of you, wanting to keep contact with your soft skin and that close proximity that kept you warm. But he lets you go, you’re shaken, just a little bit. This wasn’t your first tornado, but god it felt like you both were about to die there.

He helps you get back up, climbing up the ladder just behind you.

The walk back to the truck is quiet, you’re only half an arm length away from him but it feels too far.

He opened the door to the passenger seat, letting you in before getting into the drivers seat himself. Letting out a long breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in before deciding to break the silence.

“So, you know anymore rodeos that end like that?”

A/n; The ending feels rushed, idk? I hope you liked it!! Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, lovies🫶🏻🫶🏻.

[remxedmoon]

so all you need to do right now is disappear.

HHHHAPPY ISATVERSARY EVERYONE. here’s redraws for every single battle cg in the game. 36 drawings this time around, with 11 of those being custom (though admittedly a good portion of those are edits). combined with the portrait redraws i made back in september, i’ve made 114 redraws for this project! jesus christ! just like those redraws, these are completely free to use!! as long as i’m credited and it’s not for commercial purposes, go wild!! do whatever you want!!!

no i didn’t make these for isat’s 1 year anniversary this is just wildly good timing.

i genuinely can’t fit all of these cgs in one post even with the 30 image limit on browser, but i’ll still try to fit Most of them below the cut (without making this post horrifically long), along with some notes that might be important 👍

okay! once again, i labeled all of the custom art as such in the drive(UPDATE. NNOT TRUE ANYMORE. reformatted file names to be easier to mod in auau. apologies!), but if you want a full list, the customs are hatless siffrin jackpot, bonnie jackpot, bonnie special attack, bigfrin attack, and a bunch of alts which are definitely not related to any projects i’ve been thinking about don’t worry about it. and out of those customs, only like. 3 of them are actually completely from scratch.

while i did my absolute best to keep the aspect ratios completely the same as the originals, there’s 3 exceptions that i just couldn’t get to work.

isabeau’s hair in his special attack cg wouldn’t fit in frame if i kept things completely accurate to the og, so i moved his cg down a bit. it shouldn’t cause any issues with modding or anything, it’ll just appear slightly lower than it does in game. alas…

isabeau’s sleeve and mirabelle’s hair made their jackpot sprites a little larger than the originals? i’m hoping this doesn’t have too much of an effect (since the jackpot sprites have inconsistent sizes) but i can’t test this myself unfortunately. aaa feel free to let me know on discord if any problems arise!!

i managed to fix these, so they aren’t going to cause problems now, but my original drawings for mirabelle and siffrin in the final attack scene were a pain in the ass to fix. mirabelle’s sprite was slightly too talk to fit in frame and siffrin’s hat whacked bonnie in the face while i was editing everyone together. i’m only mentioning this because it took like an hour and a half to fix them and finish the scene.

all that aside, these were a fucking BLAST to work on. apparently this ended up taking 57 hours over exactly 10 days. which is a little worrying if you do the math on that but somehow i have not burnt myself out. i will be doing enemies at some point!!! but probably not for a little bit. i think my friends will actually kill me if i don’t take a break.

once again, happy birthday isat. you’ve ruined my life and i wouldn’t have it any other way (silly).

also, on an actual serious note, this little timeloop game has genuinely changed my life for the better? you guys are probably sick of hearing it at this point (or maybe not, i don’t talk about myself That Much. i hope), but i was practically a ghost for about 2 years before joining this fandom. it’s a little surreal to suddenly have friends (plural!!!) and people who Care about me, or even know i exist, honestly. it’s weird!! in a good way!!!

i don’t think i would’ve ever come back to social media if this community wasn’t so welcoming. i’ve met a lot of really great people through this game!!! so, uh, thank you isat, i guess. here’s to another year.

[stereoqueen]

good girls - m.rempe

summary: the hughes brothers find out that their little sister isn’t the good girl that they always knew. (based around good girls by 5sos) hughes!sister x matt rempe

Y/n Hughes was always a good girl. She was a straight-A student, a stellar lacrosse player, and a classic overachiever. She felt like she had to, being the youngest and only girl in the Famous Hughes family. Her whole life was academics or sports, with zero time for boys. In high school, her brothers were so happy that they didn’t have to worry about her getting into trouble or being boy-crazy over their friends. She was their perfect angel sister who could do no wrong in their eyes.

But secretly, Y/n (or El) Hughes was not just the angel but had a wild side. When she wasn’t at lacrosse, she was “studying” in the library with her friends, which was code for let me sneak out the back window to be with her secret boyfriend. No one ever caught onto her for years. She had the brains and the beauty — which landed her a full scholarship to NYU.

Now, as a college student, the stress of sneaking out dropped. The pressure of being a Hughes was still there, and upholding the reputation was, too. When she originally met her now boyfriend, they didn’t know of each other, which was refreshing. She was used to being known for her last name, and he was used to being known for his fights.

Matt Rempe proved to be the sweetest guy she had ever met. Him grabbing her coffee order was the best thing to have happened to her. A few dates later, she was his. After almost a year of loving Matt, he wanted to finally meet her brothers.

“C’mon babe, I should meet them by now,” Matt says as he takes another bite of pasta.

“Trust me, I know. But it’s so hard. I can’t just say hey! I have a boyfriend of over a year! Because they will blow up over that and not knowing. THEN they will blow up over the fact that he is not only a 6’7 menace on the ice, but on a rival team,” She tells him as she gets up to get more wine.

“Your parents love me! Your brothers will be mad at first, but hopefully, they will get over it,” he replies as he looks down at his phone.

“Quinn is just Quinn… Luke would turn into scolding Big Bro. Don’t even get me started on what Jack— “ She started to rant as she sat back down but was cut off by a kiss over the table. The kiss wasn’t long, but enough to stop her from rambling.

“Okay. I will wait a little longer,” Matt says softly as she blushes.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A few months passed and she knew Quinn was coming into New York for a game this week. She knew that this would be the prime opportunity to introduce Matt to one of her brothers. Quinn was the most understanding of her three brothers. He was the one that she could go to with any problem, big or small. He was nicknamed Huggy Bear for a reason. However, she never expected the first time they met each other to be like this.

The Rangers had just whipped the Canucks 5-3 despite Quinn’s best efforts to make things happen. He was tired and was annoyed about the loss, knowing playoffs were around the corner. The exhaustion wore off when he remembered that his sister wanted to meet him for a postgame dinner. Quickly getting dressed, he raced to the meeting spot she told him to meet earlier when he saw her.

She was not alone like he expected. She was kissing a very tall man. The same tall man had just “broken” his ankles earlier, trying to stop him from advancing. The pair didn’t see Quinn approaching, so he played it cool, leaning against the wall away from them. The two were in their own world, talking and hugging about the game when she looked down the hall to see her older brother on the phone.

“Oh my fuck,” she said as Matt turned around to see Quinn leaning against the wall.

“Good girl going for the bad boy? Classic, El-Bell,” Quinn states as he walks towards them.

“So, um, I wanted you to meet him at dinner?” She stated nervously as Matt put his toothpick back in his mouth.

“Oh, you didn’t want me to see you mackin on him in public?” Quinn jokes as Matt stifles and laughs. El hits Matt on the shoulder lovingly.

“Well, you’re early, Q this is—“ She started to say as Quinn stuck out his arm to Matt. “Rempe, pleasure, sorry for breaking your ankles today. Don’t check Twitter,” Quinn says as he shakes his hand, going into his older brother mode.

The boys’ faces are both in neutral facial expressions. Matt had a “I’m a big scary guy” face as Quinn put on his million-dollar death glare.

“Nice to finally meet you. I’ve been begging El for months to let me talk to you guys,” Matt says as they finish shaking hands.

Quinn looks to El, who has a nervous look on her face. He cracks into a smile, “Wait, I’m the first brother you’ve met?” He asks menacingly.

“Yeah, she said you’re the most—“ He started as El quickly cut him off, “Matthew, you finish that sentence and walk to dinner. AND home.” The trio of them laugh as the start walking down hall.

“You’re in for a treat, bud; you looked like you were about to shit your pants about meeting me; the devils’ brothers will make your life a living hell,” Quinn jokes as he slaps Matt on the shoulder as they walk out of the arena.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The dinner with Q went surprisingly well. He approved almost immediately after seeing how well he treated her. Getting to know Matt brought much context into why his little sister never tried to get Matt to meet the boys. Their parents already knew, Jim fangirling and Ellen being the loving boy mom that she is. She asked Quinn for advice on what to do about Jack and Luke.

Does she wait until the lake? Does she wait until the off-season?

Jack is already hurt for the season, so he’s extra clingy and pissy. Luke is living his best life thriving on the road and didn’t want to throw off that groove.

They decided that there was no good time.

“I vote you just let it happen organically,” Quinn says as he sits on the couch, sharing snacks with Matt. Matt nods, fist-bumping him. “Told ya, sweetheart,” he knowingly says to her, as that was his take on the situation all along (despite the constant pleas to meet them).

“Shut up, Matty, Quinn, you know there is nothing organic about our family!” El says as she walks over, stealing the box of Oreos.

“Okay, then you have some options. Invite Jack and Luke sometime over and have Matt show up, meet them after a game with him like you did me, and pray that Jack doesn’t have a public meltdown or wait until the lakehouse. That’s all I got,” Quinn lays out his ideas as the gears turn in the couple’s heads.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A few weeks later, El was working on her French homework when Matt let himself in her apartment. He walked in, dropped his stuff off, and immediately flopped beside her on the couch. She was writing a paper about the Three Musketeers while watching it on TV and in French while writing her paper in French.

About 15 minutes and a page later, she turned to him, shutting her laptop off. “Bonjour, mon amour (hi my love),” She said lovingly as Matt pulled her on top of him. He attacked her lovingly with kisses all down her neck as she pulled on his hair. The makeout session turned heated, shirts off, tension building as Matt pulled her in deeper. Disconnecting their lips, he flipped her so she was underneath him on the couch. “I missed you extra today,” He mumbled into her neck as she bucked her hips up into him.

“Care to show me how badly, mon coeur? (my heart)” Her voice was sweet as honey to him in his ear. He groaned at the sound of her French accent, needing her desperately as ever. “Oh angel, you have no idea what you and your French do to me,” Matt groans again as she arches back into him even more. They kiss again deeply as Matt rakes his hands down her body, moving to her sweatpants. His hand delicately diving lower and lower. He can feel how wet she is due to how her body is physically squirming when he hasn’t even touched her. “Matt—“ She started until the booming knock at the door brought them to reality.

The pair stare at each other, matching looks on their faces, surprised. “Um, did you order takeout or something?” Matt asks as El puts a hand over his mouth.

“Open up Sista!” Luke says as he knocks again.

“Go to my room!” She says quickly as Matt not so quietly runs across the living room into her room.

“Anyone home!” Jack says as he knocks, too.

“Yeah! One second!” She tells her brothers as she turns the TV back on, then runs over to fix herself in the mirror near her front door. Frazzled, she opens the door to find her two older brothers standing there with food in their hands.

“Brought your favorite pad thai!” Luke tells her as they walk through the doorway. Her expression changes from frazzled to a soft smile.

“Thanks, Lukey! I really was starving, I have a big French paper to finish.” She tells the pair as they bring the food to the kitchen table.

Jack sets the food down and then kicks off his shoes near the door. He looks down to move his out of the way to see a large pair next to El’s. He returns to the kitchen to see Luke’s shoes still on. Analyzing the rest of the room, he doesn’t find anything else out of the ordinary… or so he thought.

“Sis, I’m going to use your bathroom,” He says as he snoops around the apartment. Luke and El were chatting over last night’s games when Jack returned.

He returned with her 6’7 boyfriend in tow, held by his ear. “Ow Ow Ow,” Matt says as El marches over, grabbing Jack by the ear, leaving him to drop Matt. Luke is cackling at the chain of events.

“What the HELL!” El says as she throws him onto the couch. “That’s what I should be saying! WHAT THE HELL IS MATT REMPE DOING IN YOUR BEDROOM!” Jack booms as he points at the tall ranger.

Matt was now sitting with Luke at the dining room table, opening the takeout boxes together. “You two were the ones to randomly show up!” El retaliates to her older brother as he sits back on the couch, fuming.

“I can’t even. My angel sister, with HIM!” He says angrily as Luke stiffles another laugh. “What are you laughing about over there, Moose?” He continues.

“Our sister is NOT an angel. Devil in disguise more like it,” Luke tells him as Matt laughs. “Got her there, Hughesy,” Matt replies as Jack’s face drops. “El has always been an angel. Straight A’s, never in trouble, no boys, perfect more like,” Jack says as El shakes her head, “Well……”

“I saw El making out with Will Smith a few times during my senior year of high school. I also got Ethan to confess that she kissed him a few times at the lake two summers ago. Quinn told me that she had a boyfriend named Johnny for two years, too, but never told anyone. Every time she was at the library, they were making out in his truck — want me to go on, sister angel?” Luke explains as Jack and Matt’s faces drop. El, annoyed and embarrassed, runs to Luke to slap him across the shoulder (and to run from Jack), “LUKE WARREN!!!”

Jack is now dumbfounded on the couch, not even feeling the rage from before. Flabbergasted by his goodie girlfriend, Matt can’t even think straight as he watches her play fight her “older” brother.

“You kissed Will Smith?” Matt teased as Jack stood up, walking over to his two siblings play fighting, “You did WHAT with WHO?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“So what I have learned from this story is that good girls are bad girls that haven’t been caught?” Trevor clarifies as El nods, leaning into Matt’s hold. The newly engaged couple was explaining the story of how all of the brothers found out Matt was dating her, in the classic Hughes fashion — told around the fire at the lakehouse. It had been two years since the rivalry meeting (how Jack labeled it) and a few months since Matt asked El to marry him. “Yep. Never count out the good girls,” Matt says as Jack brings him another beer.

“I now realize that even though my sister isn’t the good girl, she brought home a good guy.” Jack tells the group as he daps up Matt.

“Who would have thought that the man who prays on the rangers downfall is now going to be in-laws with one?” Luke jokes as the group laughs.

“Probably the craziest thing about the relationship honestly,” She tells the group as Luke laughed loudly.

“What now brother?” She asks as Luke stops laughing.

“The craziest thing about this relationship was how calm Q was. I thought I’d be the calmest since I knew before hand!” He says as the brothers freeze.

“What? You knew?” Jack says as Luke shrugs. “I knew she was seeing someone, then Quinn confirmed it,” El whips her head around to see Quinn nosedived into his beer. He looks up to see everyone staring at him.

“Mancini got traded and said that Matt’s girlfriend looked like sis and I just knew. Then at the game when I saw you two it confirmed it and I texted Luke. No biggie,” Quinn states as everyone agrees that it’s fair.

“WHY AM I ALWAYS THE LAST TO KNOW!” Jack huffs, giving a noogie to Luke as he sits back down.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[echo-exco]

OLD WORLD, NEW ADVENTURE

yandere!batfam x trainer!reader x yandere!oc

❝ 𝗚𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗮 𝗖𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 '𝗘𝗺 𝗔𝗹𝗹 ! ❞

We all know how this goes. One of the fandom’s favorite tropes to write and read: “neglected!reader” by the Batfam — with the small (and not-so-surprising) twist that the reader is actually from our world.

And not only that, it won’t be her who suffers all the Batfam’s abuse and neglect… but her sister instead.

Here, our MC (reader) mysteriously dies in the real world, with no memory of how it happened. She wakes up as a small child in the DC universe, with no idea where she is at first.

Quickly becoming a reincarnated!reader.

Everything is confusing — like, dying and transmigrating to a new world while trying to figure out how and where you even are. And why this whole place feels so strangely familiar to you.

Reincarnated!reader spends her early years in a normal family, living with her mother, stepfather, and sister. One day, her mother and stepfather die, and she disappears. Everyone assumes reincarnated!reader died too, though her body was never found.

In reality, reincarnated!reader is transported to the Pokémon world! Her knowledge of the games might not be perfect, but she knows the world well enough to immediately realize something’s off.

Reincarnated!reader quickly notices she’s not exactly in the Pokémon world she remembers… Wait, weren’t those Pokémon from Insurgence? That’s not even canon!

Reincarnated!reader who immediately realizes she’s landed in some kind of alternate canon where a lot of things have changed—but hey, at least she can still enjoy her own adventure at age 10.

And honestly? She took the whole dying and waking up in a fictional universe thing surprisingly well.

Reincarnated!reader who only has faint fragments of what her past life used to be.

Reincarnated!reader who, strangely enough, still seems to retain her full memories of the real world, which makes her care a lot less about her previous life.

Reincarnated!reader who becomes trainer!reader and actually ends up living a pretty great life in the Pokémon world—spending years surviving, growing, and forming deep bonds with all kinds of creatures, people, and legends. Traveling across the multiverse, through space, time, and realities—doing all kinds of wild things, like saving the world from an angry red alien while riding a giant green lizard.

Trainer!reader who’s genuinely content with her current life, even if she can barely remember her old one. Not that it really matters—sure, there’s curiosity about who she used to be… but it’s not like there’s anything she could do to change it anyway.

Eventually, Arceus—being the grumpy, unfunny bastard he is—decides it’s time to send her back to the world she came from. Not because he wants to, but because that was never her final destination… and she still can’t die yet.

Trainer!reader is told she’ll be sent back to her original universe with no way to return to the Pokémon world, but hey, at least she gets to bring all her stuff with her!

And when trainer!reader returns to DC, years have passed since the last time she was there. Her memories hit her like a bullet, and suddenly, everything makes sense: the world she reincarnated into the first time was DC Comics—more specifically, Gotham City.

Seriously, how the hell did she forget one of the most dangerous fictional cities ever created by mankind?

Trainer!reader honestly doesn’t know what to do now. Traveling the world, space, time, alternate realities, taking down criminals, talking to gods, and doing the unexplainable? Easy.

Dealing with her own family drama? Hard pass.

Trainer!reader who discovers that her sister—the only surviving member of her original family—ended up in Gotham City under the care of Bruce Wayne, the biological father of both girls. But, as is typical in neglected!reader stories, Bruce ignored her, and the sister suffered deeply because of it.

So basically, another character (an OC in this case) takes on the role of neglected!reader, while the actual reader lives her own epic adventure in the Pokémon universe—before finally being forced to return permanently to the DC world.

[k1mbe3rly]

i absolutely love your writing!

can i request an nsfw alphabet for namgyu?

omg thank yewww🩷🩷

Nam-gyu NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Nam-gyu is def the type to just lay there after sex, maybe a towel or two but after that he’s so done for, so tired.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part about you is your thighs, he likes to grip (especially when he’s eating you out) and lay on your thighs a lot

His favorite body part about him would prob be his hands, he knows you like them especially with the rings on😩

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

When nam-gyu cums his favorite place to cum is inside you or on your ass, he loves getting messy with cum, either your cum all over the place or his

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His dirty secret is wanting a threesome with thanos, or just watch you get fucked by him

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He is experienced, lowkey feel like he was that player type so he knows what he’s doing

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

def doggy style, he loves to see his hips crash against your ass and likes to watch his dick go in and out of you, but he also does like to see your face so maybe a mirror or missionary

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I’ll say in the beginning of sex he’ll maybe just do one joke than get into it

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Maybe just small hairs not completely shaved but mot TOO hairy as well

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Nam-gyu is very INTO the moment he honestly takes sex very serious for him cause that’s like his addiction besides drugs.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon

He does jack off every once awhile but obviously when you’re not there to help him with his boner

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

he def likes to pull hair, degrade you, and spank you maybe even light slapping on the face

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the bed, the bathroom, the floor, the living room, the kitchen, the walls, honestly anywhere

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

just by looking at you he can get hard by imagining things and also by you trying to tease him

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

probably like hard core hitting, or like gun play

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he loves receiving head a lot but he would also eat you out anywhere

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Nam-gyu IS NEVERRR gentle. It’s always fast, rough, hard.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he is SO down for quickies, he loves fucking you anywhere, he just loves the thrill of maybe getting caught, and also has an excuse to go even rougher, “I’m just trying to hurry up”

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He does take risk, honestly doesn’t care where yall are, he would take the risk just for a quick fuck

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

OOF hunni.. he can all day and all night, this man doe NOT stop or wants to stop, but originally 5-6 rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn’t really use toys but he does own a vibrator

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he does tease a LOT, especially in public

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s not very vocal but maybe just groans and growl

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He would wake you up to fuck you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s about 6 inches..? 7 when he’s hard

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

ermmm high enough, he does fuck you a lot so he does crave more sex than NORMAL people

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s fr into a deep sleep, right after he pulls out he’s already half asleep.

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:29」 — c.san

» ateez menu | san menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ werecoyote!San × fem chipmunk hybrid!Reader wc: 2.9k summary: San’s favorite thing about his roommate is that as a hybrid, she triggers his prey drive which makes him want to chase her around their apartment, and even if it’s not her favorite thing ever, she doesn’t mind indulging him. It usually ends with her pinned on the couch or wall before San will playfully nip at her and let her go but this time, it ends with her pinned against his bed, triggering more than just his predator drive. genres/themes/au: fluff, smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female hybrid reader, supernatural and horror themes, MC is scared of San for like a brief moment, mentions of: fear, hiding + seek; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this San was an absolute joy to write and I absolutely adore this couple. I may or may not come back to them in the future but only time will tell! Only two more parts in the original line up after this and they're both Seventeen! This has been a wild ride from start to finish and I'm sad to see this come to a close but excited to move onto new things! The days that have been skipped will be added on at the very end (Mingyu, Woosung, Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Jisung, & Christian) so please stick around for those! If you'd like to see what I've got planned for the holidays and rest of the year, please stay tuned for the final parts of Kinktober! Thank you so much for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), predator/prey dynamics, hybrid!Reader, oral (f receiving), biting (f receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do this pls), use of pet names (hers: little squirrel, baby; his: Sannie), and that's all of them! If I missed any, please let me know and I'll fix it! kinks: predator/prey + hybrids dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Why are you shaking? You’re not scared of me are you? ❜❜

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“Come out, Y/N,” San called, his voice low and full of excitement as he stalked through the house, keeping his eyes open and listening for even the slightest movement. He stopped, turning slowly on the spot as his eyes swept the hall. He raised his head, taking a few sniffs, the smell of your sweet scent mixed with the stench of fear permeating the air.

He followed the smell, moving slowly and cautiously while listening for any movement or any sound.

This had become the new norm, coming home from a stressful day at work to the house you shared together and spending the weekend playing this little game of hide and seek. It helped him with his insane predator drive.

Most of his friends had said it was a bad idea, moving into a house with a chipmunk hybrid but you and San had been best friends since you were kids despite your differences. San would never hurt you. You were far too precious to him. He just liked to chase you around and hunt you down to let the predator drive out of his system so he could enjoy the rest of the weekend and spend the week not worrying about it. As he moved, keeping his steps as light as possible, he passed the door to the laundry room where he was hit with a sudden blast of your scent. San hesitated, turning towards the open door. He cautiously leaned in, peering into the room. He stepped in, checking every hiding place he could think of.

As he was searching under the counter in the hamper, a creak overhead caught his attention. A grin spread over his face as he exited the laundry room, darting down the hall and climbing the steps as quietly as possible. Your scent was even stronger up here and he was certain you were hiding somewhere on the second floor.

It was only a matter of time before he found you.

Your tail twitched nervously as you hid in the darkness of your closet, hiding deep in the corner behind clothes hanging and your hamper. You’d taken a few blankets and pillows off the top shelf and stacked them in front of the hamper and sat down in the small area between the wall and the hamper.

It was a good hiding spot, one you’d never used before so you hoped San would have a harder time finding you, especially after purposely leaving your scent all over the house.

Initially, you had taken cover under your bed when you had gotten his text that he was on his way home from work. You worked from home so it wasn’t an issue. You quickly went around the house, peeling off your clothes and leaving them in random places like the laundry room, the garage, the pantry, his room, the office, and even the closet downstairs by the front door.

You’d raced upstairs, pulled on clean clothes and scurried under the bed, leaving your phone on silent, turning off the vibration and turning down the brightness. Your bed had one of those frilly bed skirts that hid the underside of your bed and you from view.

You stayed there for at least an hour before you heard the front door open and San’s voice calling out, announcing his arrival. Not that he expected you to answer. He knew you were already hiding and ready to run at any given moment. He had a method to his search with this game you played. He always started in the garage. Not that there were many places to hide but he still took his time searching thoroughly before moving onto the basement which was only accessible from the garage.

If you had wanted to change hiding spaces. This is where you would have done it. But as you contemplated, you ran out of time and heard him exit the garage entirely, shutting the door behind him. You could hear him move through the house, no doubt following the scent of your expertly placed bait in the form of flinging your clothes into random rooms.

You heard him call out again, telling you to come out but you knew that he knew you weren’t going to do anything of the sort. No, he needed to find you. That was the point of this game. You decided the bed was no longer a good hiding spot and considered leaving your room entirely but as you made your way to the door, the floorboard creaked and you cursed mentally.

You knew San would have heard it and immediately made for your closet which was where you were currently sitting as he climbed the stairs. Despite being as quiet as possible, you could still hear the wood give under his weight. After hearing his steps carry him past the office and his room, you heard the door to your room creak open and San slowly entered the room.

“You’re in here, aren’t you little squirrel?” he whispered, a tone of excitement in his voice. You stayed quiet as he neared the closet, sniffing before he threw the doors open. “Are you in here?” he whispered, starting to move your clothes aside but somehow he missed you cowering behind the hamper as he pulled back and shut the doors.

“Or are you under the bed?”

As he made his way to the bed, you quietly and carefully moved from behind the hamper, making sure not to make a sound as he neared your bed. You watched through the slats of the closet doors as he slowly knelt down beside your bed. “The scent is strong here,” he murmured as he reached a hand down to grab the edge of the ruffled bed skirt.

You quietly turned the knob of the closet door, making sure to keep quiet as he leaned down to peer under the bed. Once he was part of the way under your bed, you threw open the closet door and bolted for the door with a squeak. San let out a whoop and gave chase but you were took quick, darting into his room and sliding under the bed.

San followed you into the room and as he dove for the bed, you scrambled out from under it as he tumbled over the opposite side of the bed as you made a break for the door. San was hot on your tail as you tried to take the turn to head down the hall for the stairs. He tried to catch you but you ducked, slipping from his grip as you doubled back for your room as he tried to scramble to his feet.

You made it to your room but before you could find a hiding place, San tackled you onto your bed, laughing as you tried to wriggle free. “Not this time, little squirrel,” he said as he wrestled with you. Your ears flattened back against your head as you tried to free yourself from his iron grip.

“I’ll bite you!” you threatened, your voice coming out as a squeak. San laughed as he overpowered you easily, pinning you down against your mattress as he held your wrists on either side of your head. “So feisty today,” San said as he stared down at you, that familiar excitement in his eyes as you tried to squirm out from under him.

The two of you stared at one another, your ears flattened against your hair. San tilted his head, a wolfish grin appearing on his face in place of the smile that had been there before. “You’re shaking,” he noted, moving his hands up to yours, lacing his fingers with yours but keeping them pinned against the bed. “Why are you shaking?” he whispered as he leaned closer. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

You said nothing but he chuckled, knowing he was right. On a normal day, San was anything but scary but during these moments, when he had you pinned with that excited look in his eye, your subconscious couldn’t tell what was real and what was pretend. For a brief moment, you truly were scared. San leaned down, using his weight to hold you down.

“San,” you whined as he pressed his nose against the skin under the shell of your ear, inhaling deeply. You felt him nip at your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. The feeling of his lips against your skin and his weight on top of you had an unintended side effect and as he moved, his groin brushed against your cloth covered sex and you let out a moan.

The atmosphere changed in an instant, almost like with the snap of your fingers. San lifted his head, eyes meeting yours. In addition to the excitement, there was curiosity, confusion, and what you could only assume arousal. “Y/N,” he started, his voice soft as you stared up at him, cheeks burning in embarrassment, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as your shorts started to grow damp.

“Are you… turned on right now?” he asked. Before you could answer him and try to deny it, his pupils widened as he sniffed the air. “Oh,” he finally said, chuckling darkly. “You are,” he confirmed as the scent of sexual arousal started to fill the room. “Sweet little squirrel,” he murmured as he moved your hands above your head, holding your wrists with one hand as the other moved to cup your cheek.

“Likes it when I hunt her down? When I chase her? When I overpower and pin her down?” he asked, his thumb moving to brush over your bottom lip. “Why did you tell me sooner?” he asked as his eyes dipped down to look at your lips. “We could have implemented a new part to this game.”

“Wh-what part?” you asked, stuttering over your words as his hand slid down the side of your neck. “Had I known, I could have spent more time teasing you after catching you instead of immediately letting you go,” he continued, his eyes widening suddenly as he came to a realization you were about to hear.

“Is that why you always insisted on taking a shower afterwards?” he asked, chuckling as he leaned closer, his lips mere inches from yours. “Needed time to rub one out before you could face me again? Wash yourself off so I wouldn’t smell how much I affected you? And all this time, I thought it was just the smell of fear coming off you. Never would have expected it to be the scent of lust, too.”

You let out a whine, staring up at him and trying to free your hands. His grip tightened. San’s lips ghosted over yours. “I just need you to answer one thing,” he whispered, his breath hot against your face. “Do you want me to stop?”

You stared up at him, your heart beating against your chest. That was a good question. Did you want him to stop? After all, San was your housemate and your oldest friend, not your boyfriend. You lived together. If you said yes, you didn’t know how to come back from this. You weren’t sure if you could ever partake in this game of his ever again but If you said no, then everything would change between you. So you asked yourself again; did you want him to stop?

You shook your head. “Absolutely not,” you whispered, eyes flickering between his. “Don’t you dare stop Choi San.” With your permission to continue, San let out a relieved groan, capturing your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss as he released your wrists, moving his hands to the sides of your neck as he parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth, groaning at the taste.

You let out a whimper as you felt him rut against you, grinding against your cloth covered core. “Mmmfmmh,” San mumbled against your lips and you moved your hand to his chest. “What?” you asked incredulously. “I said do that again,” he whispered as his hands moved down to your hips, pulling you against him as he grinded against you again.

You let out a moan, head falling back against the mattress. San leaned over, pressing kisses down the side of your neck to your exposed collar. “Can I take this off?” he asked, fingers skimming the lacy hem of your tank top. You nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he sat back, hands sliding up your sides. He pushed the fabric up until he could tug it off, tossing it aside and leaving you half naked under him. 

You hadn’t had time to put on a bra or bralette when you dressed in haste earlier and now you felt extremely exposed under his heated gaze, moving your hands to cover yourself out of instinct but San grabbed your wrists and pulled them away. “Don’t,” he said simply, giving you a pointed look.

“Don’t you dare hide yourself from me,” he added as he leaned over pressing a kiss to your collar, leaving a trail of scorched skin as he kissed his way down your chest, stopping to take one of your pet nipples in his mouth, the tip of his tongue swirling around the nub before he sucked lightly.

You let out a gasp as you felt his teeth lightly graze the sensitive flesh, your fingers tangling in his hair as you guided one of his hands up to your neglected breast. He cupped the mound, kneading gently as he teased your nipple, drawing soft moans and whimpers from you.

He pulled back, dragging his tongue over your skin before he glanced up at you, giving you a grin and a wink before he continued kissing down your stomach until he settled between your thighs. He met your gaze, kissing over your thin shorts. “No panties?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t have time to put them on,” you whined, cheeks burning in embarrassment once more.

You heard San chuckle before you felt his tongue press against you over the fabric. “I’m just teasing you, baby,” he murmured as his hands moved to your hips, fingers curling under the elastic of your shorts and starting to pull them down. You lifted your hips as he slid them off, leaving you truly bare and exposed to him, the cool air of your room hitting your throbbing heat.

San licked his lips as he settled back down, eyeing your glistening cunt as he spread your folds. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about this,” he said in a low voice as his tongue slipped out, licking a wide strip up your sex before he licked his lips once more. “Tastes better than you smell. Almost sweet,” he added.

You tried to respond but your words died in your throat, replaced with a moan as you felt his lips wrap around your clit, the tip of his tongue teasing it as he threw himself into it. Your cheeks and neck were burning from embarrassment from the sounds he was making. Groans and grunts as well as lewd slurping sounds came from him as he ate you out like he was starving.

Your thighs tried to close around his head as he drove you closer and closer to orgasm but he held them open, giving your clit a few more slow licks as he looked up to meet your gaze through heavy lidded eyes. “Saaaaan,” you whine, head falling back. He chuckled, his breath hot against your sex. “You’re so cute when you whine,” he said as he pulled away, kissing up your stomach and between your breasts before taking you in a searing kiss. 

You tasted yourself on his tongue as his hands moved to your hips. “Roll over for me.” he whispered against your lips. You did as he asked as he pulled back, peeling his own clothes off until he was just as naked. He reached over you, grabbing one of your pillows and folding it in half. “Lift your hips for me, little squirrel,” he said. You did as he said, lifting your hips so he could slip the pillow under your stomach.

You rested against it, your ass propped up as he moved behind you, spreading your legs with his knees. “You sure about this?” he asked as he took his cock in his hand, giving it a few strokes and spreading the precum that gathered at the tip as you nodded. “Yes,” you breathed. “Please Sannie,” you added, wiggling your hips, your tail swishing out of the way.

San guided the head of his cock to your slit, brushing the tip against your sex, gathering the wetness that was basically dripping out of you before pushing into you. “Oh fuck,” he hissed as your walls sucked him in, guiding him deeper until he bottomed out. “S-Sannie,” you whimpered into the sheets, fingers curling into the material as your cunt stretched around his cock.

“You okay, baby?” San asked, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. You nodded silently, licking your dry lips. “I need to hear you say it, little squirrel,” San said, squeezing your hips. “Yes,” you answered immediately. “I’m okay. F-feels so good,” you gasped as you felt him start to pull out. He gave you a hard thrust, hips snapping forward and his skin hitting yours, making you cry out.

“That hurt?” he asked, stroking your skin gently. You shook your head. “N-no,” you replied. “Feel good, Sannie. Just surprised me, that’s all.” San leaned over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Good,” he murmured, giving you another harsh thrust and quickly setting a rough and relentless pace as he rocked into you, his cock repeatedly hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Cause we have a long night ahead of us, little squirrel.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[maevesheart]

only angel (2)

FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!READER

note: wasn’t originally planning on making a part two to this but it just seemed so unfinished??!?! and i love ruthless reader idk she’s a queen

summary: through your alliance with katniss, you and finnick rekindle some buried feelings.

wc: 5.2k

tw: violence, death, brutal!!reader, blood, allusions to forced prostitution

only angel (1)

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER, THE 68TH HUNGER GAMES

Brutus and Enobaria sat in front of you and Mace, your district mate.

They reminded you of strategies that you had been taught your whole life, ensuring that as long as you two played into the Capitol’s hands, you’d get plenty of sponsors and come out alive.

Mace and you had never been close back home, but you saw him in the shopping centers, had some mutual friends. It was someone familiar, and even though your two mentors spent more time perfecting your wielding of knives and crocodile tears, you hoped Mace could somehow make it far in the games. Like you knew you would.

Enobaria and Brutus had introduced you to the various other Career Tributes, taking their time to butter up the other mentors, ensuring a ticket for your survival.

You were small compared to the other tributes, even the girl from Twelve was bigger than you.

But you trained, and you trained hard, showing off the various knife and sword tricks that had been engraved in your brain since you were a child.

Enobaria helped with your endurance, shocked by how fast you were. She had instructed you to not show that off to the other tributes, don’t give too much away.

After the private sessions with your mentors, you were stronger, faster, and more agile than Mace could even dream. You almost felt bad, the way Enobaria and Brutus were setting him up for death.

But, at the end of the day, only one can make it out alive.

Enobaria was strategic, determined for you to win. She instructed you to not show too many strengths in the private session with the Gamemakers, just enough to get a respectable score for someone from a Career District.

You followed her instructions to a tee, refusing to be one of the 23 fallen.

For the interviews, Ceasar laughed at your innocent comments and jokes, complimenting the head piece you wore, noting how it looked like a halo.

“Beautiful, like an Angel,” he smiled, the crowed cheering in agreement.

You giggled, smoothing down the uncomfortable golden dress they had sewn you into.

The crowd roared with your unwavering confidence, the arrogance paired with your baby-face and innocent smile was enough to send them into a fit of convivial.

It was just too easy.

The night before the games you had snuck out of the floor for Two, going up to the rooftop in hopes of having a moment to yourself.

You perched on the ledge, a small nightgown barely covering your shivering body.

You closed your eyes to relish in what could possibly be your last moments of peace, before being snapped from your trance by footsteps echoing.

You whipped around, teeth barring and senses on high alert. You were already acting like the wild animal Enobaria had been training you to be.

“Not in the arena just yet,” a smooth voice sounds out, a boy a few years older than you coming into view.

You recognized him as Finnick Odair. He had won a few years back, and was now returning as a mentor.

You ignored him, turning back to the outline of the Capitol.

He approached you slowly, leaning his body against the glass railing you were propped against.

You looked up to him, tired-eyes meeting his, somehow seemingly sparkling.

“Unfortunately,” you spoke, your mouth in a straight line. Enobaria had introduced you to him during the parade, but his tributes were not ally-material.

He laughed at your response. You stared at him, unamused.

“Feisty,” he smirked, watching you look away from him and back to the skyline.

“Not really in the mood to talk about my fate,” you said, his eyes still burning two holes into the side of your face.

His smile dropped slightly, having once been in your position himself.

He reminded himself you were only 15. A year older than he was when he won.

He had only won 3 years ago, and stood on this same rooftop. Looking out on the same city skyline.

Your peripheral vision caught him lean both his forearms onto the glass, shifting closer to you.

“Is it just as scary as it seems?” You ask. You were a child. A child that had been trained to hunt and kill. But deep down, you were just a scared kid. How would you kill all those people?

Finnick hums, acknowledging the same question that wracked his mind the nights before his games.

“It is,” he recognized your fear, but refused to give you false hope that it wouldn’t be as brutal as it truly is.

The words Enobaria had spoken to you earlier bounced around your brain, it’s just killing. Self-defense. All of it. Don’t be scared to kill someone who isn’t scared to kill you.

You let out a long breath, closing your eyes.

“I don’t want to die,”

It was quiet, but Finnick heard it, head perking up and turning to stare at you.

The role as a tribute was meant to bring great honor to someone from your district, but you were terrified. You were young, passionate. You had so much to give and so little time to give it all.

“Enobaria told me to hide my strengths, and I did. I’ll be able to kill them, once it comes down to it. But how will I live with myself?”

Finnick asked himself the same question everyday. How did he kill all those people? Sure, it was survival. Him or them. But how do you continue your life, pretending like you hadn’t murdered people on live national television?

“I—“ Finnick fell short, eyes still watching the side of your face.

“How do you cope with it all?” You finally turned to him, salty tears on your cheeks.

He knew you were preparing yourself for the inevitable. He had heard Enobaria boast about you, and had seen you in training. Other tributes would be frightened to get close to you.

He didn’t answer, swallowing thickly. You would soon understand, you would be in his position.

You choked out a sob, hands wrapping around your body.

He watched with wild eyes, before pulling you into his warm chest, head burrowing in his body.

You made no move to remove yourself from his body, and his arms were snug against your back.

“Kill as many as you can, as soon as you can. Then lay low, hunt. Don’t fall for any of that ally-bullshit.”

His voice was rushed, eyes filled with emotion. He felt for you, a scared child. He remembered his fear all too well.

You sniffled in his chest, hands balling at the thin fabric of his top.

And you listened to him.

In those next few hours, during the bloodbath, you killed two, both with knives to the chest. The Capitol citizens cheered as your face reflected the highest kill-count. You knew it was nothing to be proud of.

That next evening, while the rest of the Career pack slept, you stole the boy from One’s — Yves — backpack, shoving their weapons into it as quietly as possible.

Your small size came handy, being able to stealthily move around them, you were lucky the arena was a desert, sand not making a noise.

The girl from One — Aithon — began to lightly stir, and you knew it was now or never. Finnick’s words from the night before mixed with Enobaria’s, and that was all you needed to take a sword in each hand and take down the two tributes from One.

Their deaths were quick, the canons sounding out and Mace waking up, his laying figure looking up at you. Small but powerful.

You stood over his body, one foot on each of his arms, keeping him from reaching up to you.

His face twisted in confusion, looking over to the blood pouring from Yves and Aithon, each who had just been sleeping soundly next to him.

Your knife neared his face in milliseconds, and you had to force your arms down as he began to scream.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper, guilt beginning to cloud your senses.

But you pushed past it, knowing you had to come out alive. No other option.

“Y/N! Please!”

And then there was silence.

He wasn’t anything special, but he was from home.

You held in tears as the canon sounded, running from the three as quickly as you could.

Whilst you hid behind one of the large cacti around the arena, Enobaria grinned as Capitol citizens celebrated her and you, her star tribute.

Finnick watched, heart tugging, knowing that he had encouraged the killings, he had told you to trust no one. And you had listened.

And from then on, you became the Capitol’s angel, their winged symbol of purity, despite the blood and deaths of many on your hands.

When Snow placed the crown on your head, you smiled, naively, and thanked the crowd. Thanked them for their donations, and their belief in you from the beginning.

But that’s all you were to them: a spectacle. A little girl who killed five in one day, a little girl who’s life had been dedicated to these games, to win. A little girl who would never get her purity back, never get to sleep without seeing Mace’s terrified face before she killed him.

He didn’t deserve it, none of them did. But it was life or death. And there was no way you were going to die.

PRESENT DAY, THE THIRD QUARTER QUELL

Your group continued up to the Cornucopia, you and Finnick taking the tail.

Peeta and Finnick drew a map in the dark sand, you leaned against the side of the metal Cornucopia, Johanna plopping down next to you, and Katniss on your other side.

It all happened in a blur. One second, Wiress was singing her song about a mouse and the clock, and the next, Gloss was on top of her, knife straight into the heart.

Katniss’s arrow struck him, you grabbing your swords to get Cashmere who was standing behind him.

Finnick rushed after you. He knew you could take Cashmere, but what happened if Brutus appeared? Brutus had never been kind to you, and it was doubtful he would start now.

Your sword stuck Cashmere in the leg, and she screamed, falling onto the little amount of ground that the middle sector offered.

She turned over, knife in her left hand, grazing your ankle slightly. Luckily your stylist had dressed you in thicker socks; she had been an absolute idiot about most things, but at least she had your back in the arena.

Your thigh was still slightly burning with pain, but you pushed through it, sticking both your swords into Cashmere’s chest, a strangled gasp leaving her lips and her head falling back against the ground.

The canon sounded out, but you continued to pull your swords out and drive them back into her chest, more blood pouring out.

You were grunting now, mind hyper-aware of your actions, but refusing to stop.

You kept driving the sharp tools into her chest, her body slightly moving up when you retracted the metal, and then caving in as you pushed them back.

You weren’t going to die; you refused to.

Hands were on your shoulders, pulling you backwards, and you turned, swinging.

Finnick let go and backed away, hands held up. He knew you’d never hurt him, but once you’re in the killing mindset, it’s very hard to break it.

You dropped the weapons to your side, a long breath leaving your lips that you hadn’t realized you’d be holding in.

Finnick pulled you along with him, hand on your side as he brought you over to everyone else.

All of them were staring with wide eyes — besides Johanna of course.

Katniss knew you were brutal, but she didn’t realize how quickly you did turn into the angel of death. One second you were smiling, laughing at something Johanna had said.

Then your eyes were lit with a fire, teeth out, and running, faster than Katniss had ever seen someone move.

She had watched you kill Cashmere in seconds, continuing to drive the weapons into her, sounds of exasperation leaving your lips but you were unrelenting.

You felt like you were fifteen again, scared and angry, brutal to anyone who crossed your path. Your swordsmanship was uncanny, and Katniss dreaded the moment that she had to try and kill you.

And then the Cornucopia began to spin, extremely fast. You grabbed onto Finnick, a sword sucking down into the water, your other tight in the palm of your opposite hand.

You and Finnick fell to the ground, grabbing at the hard rocks to keep from flying to the water.

And then you heard Peeta scream Katniss’s name, and the two of you both yelled a loud, “shit!”

You pushed off the hard ground, crawling to the side of the island, hand reaching down to grab Johanna’s axe and try to hoist the two of them up.

You grunted, holding onto a small portion of the metal that wasn’t sharp. Your feet dug into the ground, sword shoved into the rock to keep you grounded.

You watched as Katniss went flying down, and then Johanna was on top of you, the two of you gasping for oxygen when the spinning stopped.

You and Johanna were back on your feet, rushing to help Katniss out of the water.

You all made your way back onto the sand, where it was relatively safe.

You discussed strategy, your fingers tracing different shapes into Finnick’s thigh.

“Who’s left then?” Katniss asked, eyes flickering between you and Johanna, the two of you having a conversation with your eyes.

“Brutus and Chaff, I think that’s all,” Peeta announced, all eyes shifting to you at the mention of your district-mate.

“I get Brutus,” you spoke clearly, eyes hard.

“Y/N…” Finnick spoke, hand smoothing down your arm.

“Just… I know him. I can handle it, I swear,”

He had helped train you, of course you would know his methods like the back of your hand. You had been seeking revenge for years, waiting for the day you could get him back.

What had the games done to you? Fantasizing about killing someone?

And then you were back there, back to the moment your life really ended.

You were dressed in clothes Snow had picked out, a hairstyle Snow had picked out, makeup Snow had picked out. You were his newest doll, malleable to his every demand.

It was your victory tour, and Enobaria and Brutus were accompanying you, helping you with speeches and coming to terms with your new life as a Capitol pet.

You were finishing up in the Capitol, the final destination. Snow had laid out his conditions for you: your pride and body now belonged to the Capitol, and with it, they could do what they pleased. Your company came with a high price.

He had threatened your family back in Two, describing in detail what would become of them if you didn’t comply with his wishes.

You had gone back to the train and told Enobaria and Brutus, eyes spilling hot tears when Enobaria pulled you into her arms, hands stroking your hair. At least she was kind.

Brutus, however, was not.

His boisterous laugh rang off the walls of the train, your eyes peeking out from Enobaria’s embrace to glare at him.

“Let me know when you start, sweetheart,” he smirked, a scowl overtaking your features.

You had been waiting to get him back, to show him that weren’t a little slave for his disposal. Finnick understood your rage, more than any other person could.

He wanted to kill Brutus just as badly as you did.

No one else asked any questions, and for that you were grateful.

And then the screaming started, and you jumped to your feet, eyes frantic and scanning the area.

Whoever it was, they were screaming for Katniss, and rather brutally as well.

And off she took. You were the fastest, so you caught her first, arms around her shoulders to steady her, but she kept moving, screaming back to the voice.

She stopped abruptly, and shot an arrow into a large black bird that was flying over your heads.

The screaming stopped immediately. And then it began again, this time, it was the voice of Mace. And you felt the blood drain from your entire body, legs suddenly shaking and threatening to go out.

The words he had screamed to you before you had slit his throat were wrapping around your body, swallowing you whole.

“Y/N! Please! Y/N!” You were running then, the screaming getting louder and louder, tears streaming down your face as you tried to escape it; the horror that would haunt you forever.

“It’s not real, they’re jabberjays!” Katniss assured you, running behind you, trying to catch up.

You saw Finnick and Johanna’s faces ahead through your blurry vision, and you sped up, Finnick’s arms wide for you to run into.

But it was a force field, and you collided right into it, falling to the ground in a heap of tears and painful memories.

You covered your ears, head digging into the ground to stop the noise, but it wouldn’t stop. You wailed, and Finnick was hitting the force field, which he was standing on the direct other side, but there was no avail.

He was screaming for you, to look at him, listen to his voice. But the field was soundproof, and he had to watch with a heavy heart as you sobbed, the sounds of the person you betrayed all those years ago the only thing you could focus on.

Finnick’s hands were all over you, smoothing down your hair, checking your face, helping you stand.

Peeta was doing the same with Katniss, the both of you having tear-stains down your cheeks and dirt smudged into your cheeks.

You were frozen solid, eyes big and wide, legs slightly shaking. You had never felt worse about something than what you did to Mace that dreadful night. His screams haunted your dreams, and to have the Gamemakers play into that weakness reminded you just who the real enemy is.

“Y/N, look at me,” Finnick’s hands were on the sides of your face, pulling you closer to his protective figure.

“It wasn’t real. It wasn’t him,” he shook his head lightly, your lips still quivering from fear.

You could only muster the strength to simply nod, telling him that you knew, but the Gamemakers were cruel, so cruel, and they had hit you right where it hurt.

Just as you were beginning to regain your usual automatic-kill mindset, a small box flew down, straight into your hands.

Everyone gathered around you, curious as to what could’ve been sent.

You knew Enobaria would have your back, and considering the sponsors this year were based upon what you had left over from your games, you were lucky. You had a large pot of donations under your name, not needing much assistance when you were in your first games.

You screwed off the top, being met with a small vile of Crave Cure, the very concoction that she had sent you during your games. It came with a note reading: remember who the real enemy is. I’m always rooting for you. - Baria

That assured you of Enobaria’s stance, likely scheming with Haymitch and Plutarch behind the scenes, ensuring your protection by Thirteen.

Finnick smiled next to you, Johanna calling out with happiness.

“Finally!” Johanna cheered, axe thrust into the air.

You even broke a smile, suddenly distracted from the traumatic experience you had just endured.

You looked up, seeing the confused looks on Katniss and Peeta’s faces.

They would’ve never heard of Crave Cure, it was the most expensive thing a mentor could send their tribute, and required many sponsors. It was usually only sent to the Careers, both you and Finnick had received it during your games.

“Crave Cure,” you spoke, Katniss’s eyes meeting yours.

“One drop on your tongue and it cures hunger for 12 hours,” you smiled to them, picking up the vile.

“Enobaria is a saint,” Johanna spoke, watching as you dropped a tiny bit of the brown liquid onto your tongue, a content sigh escaping your lips.

Beetee went next, then Finnick and Johanna.

Katniss and Peeta stood awkwardly to the side, not knowing to approach or not.

“Oh, enough of that! We’re allied, aren’t we? Take a drop,” you urged, placing the vile into her hands.

Peeta nodded, and that seemed to be all the convincing Katniss needed before mimicking your action and gagging when she tasted the fluid.

You laughed at her expression, a light-hearted tease. “Not the best, but it does do its job,”

You figured you had really won her trust, considering how she walked next to you during the hike to the big tree.

The two of you talked about your families back home. You complimented her dedication, to protect her little sister.

She had killed your Cato and Clove; the two you had spent hours coaching, assuring they’d be okay in the end. Words you had needed so badly during your games.

Through talking with Katniss, you realized no one deserved to win as much as she did. She was selfless, willing to sacrifice herself for both her sister and Peeta, placing herself as a protector, not a victim.

And then the peace you had all been building crashed down, Katniss suddenly retreating from the trust you all had built after Beetee offered she go with you and Johanna.

“Why can’t Johanna and Y/N go? I’ll protect you with Peeta,” she spoke, and you met Finnick’s gaze. You read the fear in his eyes, knowing this the was now or never moment.

“Katniss,” you spoke, hands resting on her shoulders.

“You know who the true enemy is,” you whispered, holding her intense eye-contact.

Her eyes softened at your words, everything seemingly clicking into place. With a nod, you grabbed her hand, and pulled her with you and Johanna.

A look over your shoulder to Finnick, and a nod. Your eyes said it all: I love you. I’ll see you soon, once we are safe and out of the Capitol’s hands.

You and Johanna halted your movements, stopping Katniss as you did.

“Stay down,” Johanna instructed Katniss, grabbing her arm.

“What-“ Katniss was about to scream, and you could not let that happen.

You grabbed her face with your hands, eyes frantic for her faith.

“You can trust us,” you whispered, barely loud enough for the cameras to pick up on.

But the raw emotion in your eyes calmed Katniss, giving Johanna the opportunity to cut the tracker out, Katniss’s arm beginning to bleed heavily.

“It’s alright,” you soothed her, your arm out to Johanna, waiting for the inevitable sear of pain.

And then it came, and you placed your body over Katniss’s not allowing her to get up and try to attack.

But then you spotted Brutus over the rock, his hard eyes staring straight into yours.

“Y/N,” Johanna warned, watching the familiar fire begin to brew.

You were up in seconds, sword in one hand, knife in the other, running up the rocky hill. The pain in your arm was masked by the rush of adrenaline you ran high off, killing spree — if you will.

Johanna grunted in anger, but she knew not to expect anything different from you.

“Do not move,” she instructed Katniss, picking up her axe to follow you.

You had reached Brutus quickly, pouncing onto his back and driving your sword straight through his abdomen.

He cried out in pain, blood soon coating your legs that wrapped around his waist.

You pulled the sword out, taking the knife to his neck. He was dead in seconds, the familiar canon sounding throughout the arena.

After registering what you had done, images of Katniss flooded your mind and you internally cursed yourself, rushing back to the spot you had left her and Johanna.

Johanna was back to your side, but Katniss was no where to be seen.

“Fuck!” You cursed, sprinting back towards the tree where Beetee, Finnick, and Peeta were.

She had likely gone back to protect Peeta and kill Finnick, and you were not about to let that happen.

Johanna tried to keep up with you; but even with a gushing arm and slit leg, you were fast. Much faster than anyone else.

“Finnick!” You screamed, feet pounding against the hard ground, propelling you towards the tree, where you watched Katniss aim her arrow straight at Finnick’s head.

Beetee was on the ground, and you crouched, feeling for his pulse. His heart was still beating and you hovered over him protectively, in case Katniss decided to turn around and fire at you too. Which seemed very likely.

You watched as Finnick said something to Katniss, obviously resonating with her, the bow slightly lowering.

“Johanna! Give me your arm!” You swung around, panic-struck and searching for the familiar face.

And you saw her a few feet below, trying to climb the vines you had mounted with ease.

You looked between Finnick and her, torn as to which to try and protect. You knew Finnick would hold his own, so you turned back around and began to move for Johanna, quick feet avoiding possible injuries.

But just as you were in grabbing-distance of her, Finnick’s voice rang out, screaming, “Get away from that tree!”

A crack of something echoed around you, and you turned wildly, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Then you understand what Finnick had meant, a loud crack of lightening rained down and sent you flying, reaching for Johanna as you flew past her, her terrified eyes meeting yours.

The last thing you remembered was being pulled up into the air by a large claw, head and limbs limp as you were hoisted up; sword still secure in your palm, a protection habit you had picked up since your games. You always needed to be armed, after all, life was the arena.

You awoke to the sound of a heart monitor, steady beeping lightly calming your high-alert nerves.

You winced sitting up, large bandages wrapped around your forearm and thigh.

You inspected your surroundings, two empty mats in front of you, and Katniss sleeping to your left.

You stood, hushed voices on the other side of the door that reached the ceiling of the craft you were on.

You looked for a weapon of sorts, not willing to go in unarmed. On the other side of the empty room was your sword, glimmering and coated in blood.

You walked over to it, legs sore and aching, the familiar metal calming against your palm.

The door immediately opened as you approached it, Haymitch and Plutarch’s widening as they spotted your weapon of choice clutched in your ruthless hands.

But it dropped to the floor with a loud clatter when your tired eyes met Finnick’s, a relieved smile coming over your features.

You rushed to him, throwing yourself into his arms. His lips met yours halfway, melting into his strong hold around your body.

The two of you fit together perfectly, like you had been made in the same mold.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him tighter to your already close bodies.

You poured all your pent up feelings into the kiss, all the feelings you had suppressed since the fight that had ended your relationship.

It was the most relaxed you had been in the whole week, since your name was plucked from the bowl of living victors.

His lips moved against yours as he squeezed your hips, hands feeling everything they could, to ensure that it was in fact you, and you were alive and safe in front of him.

You pulled a part, a grin across your small face.

He smiled back, but your bliss was interrupted from the clearing of a throat behind you. You spun around, eyes meeting the expectant ones of Haymitch, Plutarch, and Beetee.

The look on your face said it all. And Haymitch nodded, validating all the thoughts that had been running through your head.

You were safe, headed for the secret hideout of Thirteen. All was okay.

You almost began to laugh thinking about how the Capitol would react, their Angel and Darling being two of the biggest conspirators in a rebellion. How ironic.

And Katniss was on the ship, you had successfully carried out your tasks.

“Where’s Johanna?” You asked, a smile still dotting your face.

Finnick’s composure broke, and your heart dropped, realizing the obvious.

“No, no, no, no,” you began to back away, spine hitting the hard metal of the table.

“I went after Brutus, I didn’t cut the tracker… fuck! Oh my god, Finnick, oh god,” you began to dry-heave, accepting her capture as your fault.

Finnick’s hands were on your biceps, steadying you and pulling you back into his chest.

“Johanna and Peeta are in the Capitol,” Plutarch spoke, your worst fears being confirmed.

“It’s all my fault,” you groaned, head in your hands. You had killed, hunted, and tortured. But the idea of a friend’s death being on your hands hurt more than any of those ever did.

Haymitch spoke reassuring words behind you, but Finnick’s hold and the idea of betraying Johanna was all you could focus on.

How would she forgive you? Was she alive? How would you ever cope if she wasn’t, and it was all your fault? Of course, you let the murderer take over, and went after Brutus.

Finnick’s arms soothed down your back, keeping your grounded as you were flooded with grief, with the heavy weight of betrayal.

Johanna and you were close friends, you were supposed to protect each other in the games. She had protected you, always by your side, and you neglected to do the same.

“We’re going to try and rescue them as soon as we can,” Haymitch said, even though you all knew that might be an impossible task.

And then Finnick slipped his hand into yours, fingers curling around yours and softly rubbing your knuckles.

You composed yourself, closing your eyes as you took in a deep breath, regaining focus on just your interlocked hands. Finnick always knew how to relax you.

All you had wanted initially was to get out of this quarter quell alive, to return home to your big mansion and family. To hug them again, to prove to the Capitol that they could take everything from you, but they couldn’t kill you.

But now, you realized that all had been in vain. Where you really belonged was here, holding hands with Finnick, discussing how you were going to break your friends from the Capitol’s mean grip.

You’d die for him, for them. You’d flap your wings once more to ensure they’d all live.

When Katniss first volunteered for Primrose, you hadn’t understood how she would sacrifice her life for another.

But now you knew, and you knew you’d do it too.

You finally had something to live for, someone you loved, who understood all that you had gone through better than anyone else.

Life was the arena, and if it came down to it, you knew the angel would sacrifice herself for the darling.

**

[innerfare]

You See His Cabin For The First Time  

Summary: You see their cabin (or in Sabo's case, his bedroom at the RA base) for the first time.

Characters: Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: He's literally so proud of just his hammock. Insists it can hold the both of you and could probably hold the entire crew if you tried, asks if you want to try, asks you if you’re sure when you say no. Definitely has a couple of dirty dishes that he’s forgotten about, as well as a few wrappers on the floor. Has some fishing poles, a net, quite a few different games, and a bookshelf that’s full of both comic books and snacks so that he doesn’t have to go all the way to the kitchen if he gets hungry in the middle of the night. 

Zoro: Your first thought is, why does it smell so freaking good in here? You expected dirty laundry strewn around and the stench of sweat and maybe a hint of metal from those blades he was always sharpening. And sure, there is a hint of metal in the air, probably more from the many weights against the wall than his swords, but it also smells fresh, like laundry detergent. He has his own wanted posters on his wall- not just the current one, but the old ones, too, all of them lined up in order so you can see his increasing bounty. He also has a collection of unique booze bottles from all over the world, his equivalent of keeping a map with pins in the locations he’s visited. Oh, and there’s an anatomy coloring book and some markers that belong to Chopper that Zoro keeps in his room because sometimes when Chopper is having a bad day, he wants to chill with his dad big bro. 

Sanji: Sparkling clean, and yet, he’ll apologize anyway because the pillows aren’t fluffy enough, the rug isn’t completely straight, etcetera. His closet is very well organized, all of his clothes ironed and properly taken care of (Sanji’s the rare type to actually read labels and do his laundry accordingly). His most prized possession is a book on the All Blue, which he’s poured over countless times, using color coded tabs to flag various pages and writing detailed notes in the margins. He also came across one of Zeff’s old wanted posters in Loguetown, and he keeps it framed next to his own, the closest thing he has to a family photo.

Usopp: You’re surprised to find he has quite a bit of clutter in his small space. He has a collection of different style slingshots and a surplus of supplies to fix them should they ever break, as well as literal boxes full of special stars and ammunition. He has an entire set up rigged on his desk to create more, and some plants in his windowsill to grow ingredients. In addition, his bookshelves are heavy with various collections of fables and tales; he’s working on his own and hopes to publish it one day, but he doesn’t talk about it because he’s worried nobody will take him seriously, and you only learn about it when you see the notebook he left on his bed. He also has a couple of fun hats, crazy sunglasses, and feather boas that he definitely pulls out when the Straw Hats get a little too drunk. Oh, and there’s a picture of his parents on his nightstand. 

Ace: His cabin is pretty sparse because he tends to travel light. He has a collection of animal teeth secured from a menagerie of wild beasts he’s taken down over the years, and he’s very proud of those teeth. He'll tell you about each one if you ask, is practically bursting at the seems with stories. He has way more animal teeth than he does clothing or books. Also has a pretty sick tiger pelt for a rug (he had intended it as a blanket, but he runs so hot he can’t actually sleep with it). He has Luffy’s wanted poster on his wall, and beside it, a note reminding himself to send money back to Dadan on the first of every month. Buried in the chest at the foot of his bed, he has the original ASL flag. 

Sabo: His bedroom at the Revolutionary Army’s base is a total bachelor pad, and when you see it for the first time, it wasn’t planned, so he’s a little embarrassed by the state of it. He has some dirty dishes he forgot about, some dirty laundry on the floor, and a pile of books on his bed. He spends virtually no time there and probably wouldn’t even have furniture beyond a mattress on the floor if it wasn’t provided by the Revolutionary Army as part of his living quarters. That being said, he did pin Luffy’s and Ace’s wanted posters to his wall, and he has a couple of different lotions and skincare products on his bathroom counter. 

Law: You don’t know what you were expecting- would it be sterile like an operating room? You’re surprised to see comic books and a few action figures. He has some records, too- a bit of rock, some low-key emo music- and to your complete and utter surprise, a candy wrapper on his nightstand. And then there’s the coin collection on his desk, tiny pieces of metal he picked up on his many travels. You’re careful not to have a big reaction to his personality showing through for once. 

“I like your action figures.” 

“They’re kind of childish, but-” 

You cut him off before he can dismiss his own interests as dumb. “No, they’re not. They’re cool.” 

Kid: It’s as messy and ostentatious as you’d expect, but he sheepishly tries to fold the leopard-print blanket crumpled on the bed and put some laundry in the hamper, though you quickly deduce he has no clue which clothes belong in the hamper and which go in his closet. It’s shocking to see him care what someone thinks. He has a pile of lipstick and nail polish on his desk and an impressive collection of weapons he’s stolen from various pirates; he could probably open a museum with all the weapons he has. Also has lots of tools he forgot were in there. TBH, he’s probably as shocked as you are by the state of his cabin because he spends most of his alone time in his workshop, anyway. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[foncethefool]

Until the lock breaks

Oh stars, this story took an absolute wild fuckin turn from where I meant to take it originally, it becomes an emotionally wild ride, so have fun~

The summer sun hung heavy over the playground, baking the pavement until the air shimmered with heat. Jackson’s knees were scraped raw, dirt clinging to his pale skin and smudging across his flushed cheeks. The older boys circled him like vultures, all sharp elbows and cruel laughter, shoving and knocking him down again and again — a sniffling, soft little thing too scrawny to fight back.

The biggest of them, a smug twelve-year-old, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and reeled back to finish the game with a punch — but the hit never came.

Instead, a blur of wild limbs and fiery hair came crashing into the boy’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him in one brutal, unthinking punch. The boy doubled over, and the others froze, staring as the girl stood her ground, fists clenched, her freckled face set with pure defiance.

The afternoon sun caught in her hair, making the light, stringy ginger strands glow like a flickering halo — bright, untamed, and brilliant. To Jackson, still sitting in the dirt, she looked less like a girl and more like some fierce, redheaded guardian angel sent to save him.

“Leave him alone, or I’ll make all of you cry,” she snapped, her voice sharp and unshaken.

That was all it took. The pack scattered, dragging their coughing leader away, too stunned to challenge her.

When the dust finally settled, she turned back to Jackson, crouching low and brushing the dirt from his scraped palms with surprising gentleness. Her smile was wide and fearless, like she’d just won a prize.

“You’re a soft boy,” she said, matter-of-fact and without a hint of teasing. “But that’s okay. I’ll protect you.”

She offered her hand, small and warm, and as he slipped his scraped fingers into hers, she gave it a firm shake, already sealing the deal.

“I’m Sophia,” she announced, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Now you.”

He swallowed the last of his sniffles, voice small and soft.

“...Jackson.”

Sophia grinned, sharp and bright. “Jackson. Got it.” She stood up, tugging him along with her like he weighed nothing. “Well, you’ve got a friend now, Jackson. I’ll keep you safe.”

And just like that, the world wasn’t so scary anymore — at least, not as long as Sophia was there.

----------------------------------------------------------------

They were caught somewhere between childhood and something else — not quite old enough to leave behind the world of scraped knees and sleepovers, but old enough for thoughts they didn’t yet know how to name.

Sophia had grown into herself like a wild thing finally learning to stand still. The frizzy, sun-bleached orange that had once crowned her head had deepened over the years, settling into a richer, darker shade of red that swayed and bounced when she moved — though the fire in her spirit hadn’t dulled a bit. She was lean and toned, the kind of strong that came from endless afternoons spent climbing fences and sprinting through fields, always chasing some thrill.

Jackson had grown, too — but into the opposite of her. Where Sophia was sharp edges and steady strides, he was all soft lines and quiet habits. His frame was thin, almost fragile, like he’d been stretched just a little too tall for his own good. His hair, long and pale, fell in bright, silken strands whenever he let it down from the loose bun he usually wore, the soft locks brushing against his narrow shoulders. He didn’t bother cutting it, not once.

When people asked why, his answer was always simple, almost sheepish.

"It just feels more natural."

Most days, the two of them spent their afternoons together in Sophia’s room, the silence between them a comfortable thing. She’d be sprawled on her bed, thumbs busy on her game controller or lazily scrolling through her phone, while Jackson sat cross-legged on the floor, thumbing through whatever manga or novel had captured his attention that week.

Without fail, Sophia’s hands would eventually drift toward his hair, weaving through the soft strands like it was second nature. Sometimes she’d just stroke it absentmindedly, her fingers combing through the pale gold, or twisting a lock until it curled and bounced back. The first time he’d asked her why, her answer had been simple, and as matter-of-fact as ever.

"Your hair’s pretty. And it’s soft. I like it, is all."

The words had painted his cheeks a delicate shade of pink back then, his heart skipping somewhere between embarrassment and something else he didn’t yet understand. But as the days blurred into months, the shyness faded, replaced by a quiet contentment. Now, he didn’t flinch when her fingers combed through his hair — he’d just hum softly, the sound more feline than human, his body relaxing into her touch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sophia’s favorite pastime, though, was braiding his hair. Almost every afternoon played out the same way: Jackson sat at the foot of her bed, legs folded, a book resting lightly in his lap, while Sophia perched behind him, her hands moving with gentle precision as she worked the soft strands into a neat, perfect braid.

Neither of them ever said much during those moments. They didn’t need to.

----------------------------------------------------------------

They were on the cusp of adulthood, teetering on the edge between childhood and whatever came next — a mix of nerves and excitement pulling tight around both of them.

Jackson, ever the quiet one, had flown through school with ease, top of his class without ever really trying. Sophia, on the other hand… Well, she’d scraped by, more than once leaning hard on Jackson’s patience and his sharp mind to drag her through. What she lacked in academics, she more than made up for on the track, her body honed and athletic. Colleges had already come sniffing, waving scholarships for her speed, while Jackson had been offered a full ride purely on his grades.

Still, no matter how different their paths looked on paper, the two were inseparable. Always side by side, always orbiting each other. More times than either could count, there were little moments — a brush of hands, a glance held just a second too long, shoulders bumping on lazy walks home — sparks of something neither fully understood, but both felt all the same.

Jackson had struggled with himself as he grew, though he rarely spoke about it. He hated the rough shadow of facial hair creeping onto his face, always shaving the second it appeared. He lived in oversized hoodies, sleeves long enough to swallow his hands, and when asked about it, he’d only mumble, “It makes me feel safe… or whatever.” More than once, Sophia had caught him staring too long at the front windows of lingerie stores, and once, when she’d teased him — asking if he was shopping for a girlfriend — the look on his face had twisted her stomach with guilt. She never joked about it again.

His hair had grown long over the years, soft blond strands that hung almost to his back when let loose. His bathroom was lined with a small army of products — for his hair, his skin, his face. Sophia had marveled at it more than once, realizing he took better care of his appearance than even she did.

But somehow, graduation crept up on them, and with it came one last night of being kids. A final evening before the world would start pulling them apart.

That Thursday evening, Sophia had slipped out of her house under cover of dark, bare feet silent on the pavement as she climbed through Jackson’s bedroom window — a habit as old as their friendship. They’d talked for hours, voices low and soft, both buzzing with the same cocktail of anxiety and anticipation. And now, in the late-night quiet, they simply laid side by side, the silence warm and heavy. Words had run dry. Being close was enough.

But then Sophia reached out, fingers brushing against his, her hand curling around his own in a quiet search for comfort. Jackson had expected the usual flutter of embarrassment, but the gentle squeeze of her hand told him all he needed to know — for once, the unshakable Sophia wasn’t so fearless. She was scared. And right then, he wanted to be strong for her.

He shifted, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her in close, guiding her head to rest against his chest. She nestled there without resistance, hands clutching lightly at the hem of his pajama shirt as her breathing slowed.

“You smell nice,” she mumbled, voice soft as a feather. “Like lavender and honey.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled through him, his fingers weaving through her hair, gentle and slow.

“Are you complaining?”

She shook her head, the motion barely a whisper against his chest.

Silence stretched between them, long and comfortable, until Jackson thought she might’ve drifted off. But then her voice broke the quiet once more — soft, heavy, almost lost to sleep.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. You’re so important to me.”

Her words settled deep in his chest, blooming a warmth so bittersweet it nearly ached. He let the silence hang a moment longer, unsure if she was even still awake, before whispering back,

“You saved my life, Phia.” The nickname rolled off his tongue like an old song, worn smooth by years. “You saved me so many times, I lost count. I don’t feel like I can ever be myself with anyone else but you.”

Another pause, softer this time, as if the world had held its breath.

“I remember the day I met you,” he murmured, voice barely more than air. “That first day you saved me. I thought you were my guardian angel. I still think I was right.”

Sophia shifted against him, the weight of sleep pulling her down, her voice barely audible.

“I’ll always protect you. I never wanna be without you.”

Jackson’s eyelids grew heavier, his fingers still tangled in her hair, his gaze lingering on the soft red curls resting against his chest.

And, finally, sleep took them both.

----------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t unusual for Sophia to invite him over. She still called, still checked in, even if life had pulled them apart. The distance between them wasn’t measured in miles — it was measured in growing silences, in glances that lingered too long on his sunken eyes, on his increasingly thin frame, on the way his hoodies hung looser and looser over time.

Her voice on the phone had been soft, almost too soft.

"Hey... come over, okay? Just for a little while."

When he arrived, the house was warm — too warm, like it was trying to make him comfortable before he even noticed something was off. The walls were painted with soft, calming colors, decorated sparsely but tastefully, the way her success allowed. The scent of lavender drifted lazily in the air, sweet and familiar.

They talked, the same way they always did. About work. About people. About everything and nothing. But there was something strained under Sophia’s words, something Jackson couldn’t quite name. She kept watching him, her gaze flicking between his eyes and the way his fingers tugged self-consciously at his sleeves, the way his hand brushed against his chin when the faint shadow of facial hair caught the light.

When he excused himself for the bathroom, Sophia moved to the kitchen. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the tea. She crushed the small white capsule between spoon and porcelain, watching the powder dissolve into the dark liquid. Slowly, methodically, she stirred the tea, the motion mechanical — her gaze fixed on the swirling dark, as if the answer or forgiveness might float to the surface if she waited long enough.

When Jackson returned, he accepted the mug with that small, polite smile, the kind that never quite reached his eyes anymore.

The conversation drifted as the tea slowly vanished. His voice grew softer, his head heavier. His hands fumbled with the cup until it slipped from his grasp, clattering harmlessly against the carpeted floor. Panic flickered behind his eyes, but before it could bloom, Sophia was already at his side, catching him as his body slumped forward.

Her hands found his, clutching his fingers tightly, her thumb brushing gently across his knuckles like it might be the last time she’d ever be allowed to hold him this way.

"It’s okay..." she whispered, her voice barely steady. "You don’t have to fight anymore, Jackie."

----------------------------------------------------------------

When Jackson woke, the world was soft and dim, but wrong. His limbs felt heavy, weak. His head swam, the sharp edges of panic rising to the surface as his body shifted — and he heard the sound of metal.

A collar. Around his neck. A chain clinked against the cold wall when he moved too fast.

The basement wasn’t a dungeon. It wasn’t cold or cruel. The walls were painted a soft, pale color, the carpet plush beneath him. A proper bed sat against one wall, neatly made with soft sheets. A small bookshelf rested within reach, lined with his favorite books, arranged in careful order — the same titles he’d lost himself in as a child. There was even a toilet tucked neatly in the corner, and soft light spilled from a standing lamp rather than the harsh overhead bulbs.

Everything was too familiar. Too comfortable. And that only made it worse.

His voice cracked as panic finally overtook him.

"Phia! Phia, what’s going on?!"

She appeared in the stairwell, descending slowly, her face pale, her eyes swollen and rimmed red from crying. She looked at him like her heart was breaking all over again.

"You’ve been miserable, Jackie," she whispered, her voice small and strained, the old nickname clawing at her throat as she said it. "I... I’ve watched you suffer. I tried to talk to you, but you always smiled through it. You always hid it. And I can’t stand it anymore."

Her hands clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out.

"I want to protect you, but I can’t if you won’t let me. You won’t let anyone."

Tears welled in her eyes again, spilling over unchecked.

"I... I had to do something, Jack. I had to help you. This is the only way I could figure out how."

She stepped closer, kneeling by the edge of the bed. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"You’re going to get a shot. Every week. It’ll knock you out for a while... and it’ll start replacing the hormones that have been hurting you. Estrogen, Jackie. It’ll help. I know it will. I promise you’ll feel better, even if you don’t believe me yet."

When she finished, silence swallowed the room.

Jackson’s wide, tear-filled eyes stared back at her, unblinking, the betrayal cutting deeper than any words could. His breath hitched, and the tears spilled down his face in hot, silent streams.

When she reached out, hand trembling to brush his hair away from his face, he flinched — recoiling from her touch like it burned.

And in that moment, Sophia’s heart shattered. She stayed kneeling, her hand hovering uselessly in the space where his warmth had been, watching him shake with silent fear.

"Even if you hate me, Jackie," her voice cracked, barely holding itself together, "even if you never forgive me... I’ll be okay with that. As long as you’re safe. As long as you don’t have to hurt anymore."

----------------------------------------------------------------

The first shot

He fights. Stars, he fights.

A thrown book, trembling hands, desperate strength that doesn’t match hers — Jackson tries, but Sophia is too strong, too practiced at protecting him, even from himself. She holds him down as gently as she can, pressing his face into the soft carpet, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over as the needle slips into the soft flesh of his hip.

When he wakes, his face is bare. His skin smooth. His hair still damp from washing. His body cleaned while he was unconscious.

Sophia sits a few feet away, eyes swollen from crying. She couldn’t let him wake up alone, even if he’d never forgive her.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The days bled together in the dark, each one slower than the last. The first week, Jackson didn’t sleep — not really. When exhaustion finally pulled him under, it was shallow, restless, the kind of sleep that left his body aching more than rest ever could. When he woke, it was always the same: the collar cold against his throat, the chain heavy across the floor, the faint smell of concrete and old wood pressing into his senses like a second skin.

The first week, he begged. God, he begged. For answers, for mercy, for Sophia. The girl he knew. The girl who promised to always protect him.

But she never raised her voice. Never snapped at him, never argued back. When she came down the stairs, it was always with a tray — simple food, sometimes his favorites, sometimes just something soft and easy to swallow. She never set it too close, always sliding it along the floor like he was a frightened animal. He never ate while she watched. Not once. But when she climbed the stairs, he’d devour every bite, hunger winning out over his pride.

Some nights, he’d cry until his throat gave out. The kind of ugly, shuddering sobs that left him clutching the chain like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

“Please wake up,” he whispered into the dark. “Please let this be a dream.”

But it never was. The cold never changed. The silence never broke. The bruises on his arm where she held him down still bloomed purple and yellow, proof this was real.

When the second week came, and with it another shot, he fought again — weaker this time, his muscles drained from too many nights of crying and too little food. She still held him down, still whispered apologies, still slid the needle into his skin as gently as her shaking hands would allow.

The cycle repeated. Day after day. Shot after shot.

By the end of the month, the begging had stopped. The fight had dulled into a quiet, seething ache that lived behind his eyes, and Sophia — she never stopped talking. Even when he gave her no answer, she’d sit nearby and fill the space with stories, with memories, with dreams. Sometimes, just the sound of her voice would crack him open all over again.

But he never let her see. He waited until the light at the top of the stairs flicked off, waited for the sound of her footsteps to disappear, before he let himself cry.

Because even then, even through all the betrayal, he still couldn’t let her see him break.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The days stopped feeling like days. They stretched long and gray, a smear of endless sameness. The sharp edges of his anger softened, worn down not by peace, but by exhaustion. He didn’t fight the shots anymore. The last time he’d tried, he hadn’t even made it halfway across the room before Sophia caught him, arms wrapped around him more like a mother holding her child than a captor restraining her prisoner. She never hurt him. She couldn’t. But her strength always outmatched his, and that made the defeat cut even deeper.

Now, when she came with the syringe, Jackson just looked away. His silence had become his armor, the only piece of himself he could still control. The needle always came, whether he fought or not. He learned it hurt less if he didn’t resist.

Sophia talked to him every day. She told him about the world beyond the basement walls — the news, the changing seasons, the places they used to visit together. Sometimes she brought down little things. A new book. His favorite candy. A scarf in his favorite shade of blue. Small gestures, meant to fill the space between them. Meant to remind him of who she was, even if he could barely recognize her anymore.

The loneliness hit hardest at night, when the quiet pressed in from all sides. That was when the changes whispered to him, soft and unfamiliar. His emotions didn't fit the same way they used to. Anger came and went in waves he couldn’t predict. Small things made his chest tighten, his throat ache. Sometimes for no reason at all, tears welled up behind his eyes, hot and sudden, and he’d bury his face into the pillow, refusing to let himself cry where anyone could hear.

And his body...

Little things. So little he could almost pretend they weren't there. His face stayed smoother longer. The coarse stubble that had always shadowed his jaw grew in patchy, thinner. His chest felt... odd. Not painful, not yet, but sensitive. Brushing his arm too close or lying on his stomach would send a sharp little spark through him that he couldn’t explain. The weight of his own skin felt different. Softer.

It scared him.

And Sophia... she never looked away from the changes. She saw them. She watched them. But she never pointed them out. Instead, her voice grew softer, her touch lighter — careful, like she was trying not to frighten a wounded animal.

Sometimes, when she brought his meals, he found himself murmuring a soft “Thank you.”

And one day, out of nowhere, when she answered his whispered “Hello” with that old, warm, gentle “Hey, Jackie,” it didn’t make him flinch the way it used to. The nickname slid into his ears like an old song he couldn’t quite hate, no matter how much he wanted to.

That night, when the light at the top of the stairs flicked off and he curled beneath the blanket, he found himself running his fingers over his chest, tracing the faintest curve he swore wasn’t there before.

And for the first time in months, the tears that came weren’t all fear.

----------------------------------------------------------------

He couldn't tell how long it had been, but, the silence wasn’t so sharp anymore. It had dulled into something soft, almost companionable. Jackson still spent most of his time with a book in hand or staring at the ceiling, but when Sophia came down the stairs, he didn’t flinch the way he used to. Sometimes, he even looked at her.

The changes in his body couldn’t be ignored anymore. They crept up slowly, day by day, until one morning he caught the way his chest curved beneath his shirt, the faint swell pressing against the fabric when he shifted. His skin had lost its roughness, growing softer to the touch, and his hair — longer now than it had ever been — slid like silk down his back, brushing against the small of it when he stretched.

The mirror, of course, was a luxury he hadn’t been given. Sophia knew better. But his hands were mirrors enough. The slope of his waist felt different beneath his fingertips. His thighs had filled out, carrying a new softness, a new weight. He hated it. He hated how natural it felt, how some part of him didn’t want to hate it at all.

And his emotions — they were worse than before. The littlest things could send him spiraling. Some days, the sound of Sophia’s voice was enough to make his chest twist and his eyes sting. He didn’t know why. Neither did she. And yet she always stayed, sitting at the edge of the bed, talking about nothing in particular, giving him the space to either answer or ignore her.

And sometimes, he didn’t ignore her. He started asking questions. Small ones, cautious and dry. About the world. About her work. About the weather. About books. About things that didn’t matter.

And sometimes, when the loneliness felt too heavy, he’d slip — and call her “Phia.” The old nickname didn’t taste as bitter on his tongue as it used to.

Sophia never pointed it out. She only smiled, soft and sad, and kept talking like nothing had happened.

The nights were the strangest. When he knew she was asleep upstairs, he let himself explore the body he barely recognized. The quiet glide of his hands over the curve of his chest, the way his skin reacted beneath his touch — it left him breathless, confused, and ashamed. But he did it anyway.

Because for the first time, it felt real. He felt real.

And when the guilt clawed at his throat, the only comfort came from the soft creak of the floorboards upstairs — the reminder that Sophia was still there, even if he didn’t know whether to love her or hate her for it.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“A whole year,” Sophia said, her voice bright, but her eyes betrayed her. They always did. The guilt lived there like an old tenant, too comfortable to leave.

Jackson sat on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. He looked thinner, smaller, though the softness in his body said otherwise. His hair was long now, hanging over his shoulders in dark waves, brushing the tops of his arms. He didn’t look at her when she set the box down on the bed, but he didn’t flinch away either.

“What’s this?” he asked, voice flat but not hostile.

Sophia shifted from foot to foot, rubbing her wrist nervously. “It’s... a gift. I remember when we were younger, you’d always stop at that little shop, you know the one.” Her words tangled together, long pauses breaking them apart, like she wasn’t sure which ones she had permission to say.

He opened the box slowly, like it might bite him. Inside lay the sundress — soft, light blue, with thin straps and delicate folds — and beneath it, black lace lingerie, neatly folded and paired with thigh-high stockings and a garter belt.

“You don’t have to wear them for me,” Sophia blurted out, hands rising defensively. “I just thought — if you ever wanted to — for you. Only you.”

He didn’t answer. Not at first. His fingers ghosted over the soft fabric, lingering too long before snapping the lid shut. “No,” he murmured, voice low. “I’m not wearing them.”

Sophia nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. “I understand.”

She gave him his shot, like clockwork, and left quietly, without another word.

But later that night, when the house was quiet and the dark pressed in close, Jackson sat on the edge of his bed, the unopened box back in his lap.

His hands trembled when he pulled the dress free. The fabric was softer than he’d imagined, and as he slipped it over his head, something shifted. The hem brushed against his thighs, light and easy, the neckline sitting awkwardly against his unfamiliar chest — but the fit, the feel of it, the weightlessness...

It felt right.

And that was the part that cut deepest.

He stared down at himself, hands fisting the skirt, and the guilt sat heavy in his chest, raw and searing. This wasn’t supposed to feel good. It wasn’t supposed to feel like home. And yet the longer he sat there, the more the weight of the dress comforted him, the more natural it felt against his skin.

Unseen, at the top of the stairs, Sophia sat curled against the banister, watching through the thin slats of wood. Her heart ached with the bittersweet sting of it — the quiet, guilty wonder in his eyes, the way he twirled a lock of hair around his finger like he used to as a kid, the fragile balance between self-loathing and self-acceptance written plain across his face.

She didn’t make a sound, only pulled her knees tighter to her chest, and wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Time softened the sharpest corners, dulled the sting of memory, and reshaped the space between them into something more like habit than comfort. The basement wasn’t a cage the way it had been at first — but it wasn’t home either. It was... limbo.

The fights had long since faded. The panic, the begging, the tears that once soaked the pillow he tried so hard to hide from her — all distant echoes now, worn thin by the slow, grinding march of routine. The pills came with dinner, and Jackson took them without resistance, swallowing them down like one more spoonful of obligation.

The space between them, the silence, had softened too. Not healed. Just worn smooth like sea glass.

The trust between them had been shattered the night Sophia drugged him. A beautiful, irreplaceable vase, smashed into too many jagged pieces to ever be whole again. She had spent two years gluing it back together, conversation by conversation, meal by meal, tender moment by tender moment. The shape had returned, but the cracks were still there, spiderwebbed veins of old wounds, impossible to ignore.

And the edges still cut them, when they weren't careful.

Some nights, he asked her to braid his hair — the way she used to, when they were young and the world was simple and safe. His voice, small and uncertain, barely reached her ears when he asked. And always, always, Sophia said yes, no matter how much her hands trembled at the soft, familiar weight of his hair in her fingers.

But even those moments couldn’t smooth over the sharp places entirely.

Sometimes he would pull away halfway through, retreating to the bed’s far corner without a word. Other times he wouldn't meet her eyes, the gap between them wide enough to drown in, even when they sat side by side.

And Sophia never pushed. She couldn't.

Instead, she offered small gestures, like pebbles laid in the foundation of the shaky bridge between them.

One evening, she came downstairs with a binder — worn and heavy, packed with notes and pages printed from forums, guides, handwritten reminders, and encouragements. Voice training advice. Exercises. Diagrams. Tips for finding the soft, quiet voice that had always belonged to him, even when the world told him it shouldn’t.

She didn’t say much when she set it on the bed. Just... "In case you wanted to."

Jackson stared at it for a long time, hands folded neatly in his lap. His face unreadable, but his silence told her enough. The binder sat there for days, untouched — until one night, when she came down later than usual and heard the faintest, quietest sound from the darkened room. His voice. Practicing. Awkward, unsteady, but undeniably his.

Sophia sat on the stairs that night, head bowed, listening to the shy, broken notes floating up through the cracks in the door. Her throat ached with all the things she wanted to say, but couldn’t.

The trust between them would never be whole again — but it was something. Enough to cut her, enough to comfort him, enough to survive.

For now.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The lingerie had always been there, folded neatly at the end of his bed like a question he couldn’t answer. Some nights, it felt like a punishment — a reminder of the new skin he was meant to grow into. Other nights, the fabric called to him, whispering soft, dangerous truths he wasn’t ready to accept.

But it wasn’t the lace or the shame that saved him. It was the wire.

That sharp, cold strip hidden inside the softness, as if the thing had been designed for him all along. He spent nights working the wire against the metal frame of the bed, scraping it down until it was thin, sharp, and pliable. His hands bled for the effort, but he never stopped.

When the lock finally clicked open one silent night, Jackie didn’t cry. He just stared at the collar resting loose in his hands, and then fit it back around his neck, making sure the latch only looked shut.

And then, he waited. He needed one last piece: her trust.

The night of the plan, he played his part perfectly — letting her braid his hair, even asking for it. His voice soft, almost affectionate, as he mumbled, "I... missed when you used to do this, Phia."

Sophia’s hands trembled, pausing mid-braid. That little nickname — it had been so long. She didn’t want to read into it, but her heart ached with hope.

When she finished, Jackie turned, eyes wide and soft, and asked quietly, “Could you.....” a hesitant pause, and a deliberate one "The lingerie, could you help me try it on?"

Her whole body stilled. The words she’d longed to hear — an olive branch she’d imagined, but never thought would come. She nodded, swallowing hard, trying not to let her hope show.

Trembling hands reached for the shelf she knew he kept the lacy items on, she had stared at them hundreds of times, wondering if Jackie ever tried them on. Her attention was split, her gaze was soft, hesitant.

And that’s when he struck.

As she reached over, fingertips ghosting the soft fabric, he gave the collar a hard yank, popping the clasp and with a desperate movement, he shoved the metal collar around her throat.

The sound of the lock clicking shut was louder than any scream.

Jackie scrambled back, shoving himself agaisnt the far wall, out of her reach

Sophia’s breath hitched, but she didn’t fight. She didn’t even move.

She sank to her knees, hands gently curling around the collar’s weight, her head bowed. The silence stretched between them until her voice finally broke through, soft and so unbearably sad.

"...Jackie."

She’d known, deep down, this would happen. She’d always known. But the moment still shattered something inside her.

He stood there, pressing himself against the wall, as far from her as he could get, his chest heaving, tears already burning the corners of his eyes.

And Sophia? She just looked up at him, offering the smallest, almost forgiving smile.

“I always wondered... when you’d stop letting me win.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jackie ran — faster than he thought his legs could carry him, heart clawing at his throat, lungs burning, the cold air upstairs slicing at his skin like it was trying to wake him from a dream.

The front door stood there, just a few feet away. Freedom. A world he’d almost forgotten how to exist in. His hand shot out for the lock — but froze, suspended midair.

Out of the corner of his eye, in the glass of a painting hung by the hallway, something caught him. A flicker. A ghost, maybe. But when he turned, it wasn’t a ghost at all.

It was him.

No — not him.

For the first time in more than two years, the face looking back wasn’t the miserable, hollow-eyed boy he'd carried like a burden his whole life. The sunken cheeks were gone, the harsh angles softened. His eyes, still wide, still scared, held something new behind them. His hair tumbled long and unkempt around his face, framing it the way he never believed it could.

He didn’t look like the person who’d been dragged down those basement stairs.

He didn’t look like Jackson.

His feet moved on their own, away from the door, away from the promise of outside. He stumbled into the bathroom, flicking the light on with trembling fingers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, stared at himself — fully, clearly.

And he didn’t hate what he saw.

The reflection was imperfect, unfinished, awkward in the way all new things are — but it was his. The curve of his face, the softened lines of his jaw, the swell of his chest beneath a shirt that hung too loose in all the wrong places, the way his hair slipped down over his shoulders.

He reached up, fingertips grazing his cheek, his lips, his throat.

It wasn’t the boy who needed to escape anymore.

It was the girl who had never been allowed to exist.

And the thought hit him harder than any locked door or heavy collar ever could:

Who am I, if not Jackson?

For the first time, the question wasn’t terrifying. It felt like a beginning.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jackie didn’t go back downstairs.

Not right away.

The bathroom felt like another world, sealed off from the weight of the house — from the weight of her past self. The cold tile pressed through the thin cotton of her pants, the chill soaking into her bones, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

She sat there, back against the bathtub, knees pulled tight to her chest, eyes fixed on the foggy mirror as if the girl she’d seen there might disappear if she blinked too long.

Her mind was a storm. Guilt and relief clawed at each other inside her chest, raw and tangled. She should’ve run. She was supposed to run. That’s what this had all been about — the planning, the quiet obedience, the pills swallowed without protest, the collar unlocked, the trap laid.

Freedom was only a few feet away. And she couldn’t take it.

Not yet.

She wasn’t the same person who had been dragged down into that basement. That boy — Jackson — he’d been left behind somewhere along the way, his sharp edges worn away by months of silence, the slow drip of change, and the bittersweet comfort of Sophia’s presence.

And now... who was she?

She traced circles against her own wrist, fingers brushing over the soft skin — softer than she remembered, the kind of softness that wasn’t earned through survival, but through something else. Something intentional.

Every inch of her body felt foreign and familiar all at once. She’d grown used to the changes — the slight curve of her chest, the way her waist pinched in, the way her voice sometimes hit softer notes even when she wasn’t trying. But this was the first time she’d seen it. The first time the mirror hadn't lied.

She let her head fall back against the cold porcelain, closing her eyes.

Her chest ached. But not with fear, not anymore. Something else bloomed there now — hesitant, trembling, but undeniably alive.

The world beyond that front door would demand answers. Names. Identities.

And for the first time, Jackie didn’t know what to give them.

She didn’t cry. Not right away. The tears came later, soft and tired, when the weight of it all pressed too hard. When she let herself grieve the boy she was, the boy she was never meant to be.

And when the tears stopped, and the silence settled heavy and warm, she whispered the words to herself, testing their shape like a secret:

I’m still here.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The house had been silent for hours.

Sophia hadn’t moved from where she knelt on the basement floor, her hands still resting loosely in her lap, her breathing shallow and even. The collar around her neck felt heavier with each passing minute, a weight she wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted to take off. She knew this moment would come — she'd known from the moment her hands first trembled over a syringe, from the moment she'd crossed that line. But knowing and feeling it were two different things entirely.

The sharp click of the basement door latch made her flinch.

Her heart stilled. For the briefest moment, she imagined the heavy tread of boots — police, neighbors, someone who would take her away, finally. But the sound that followed wasn’t the cold stomp of authority.

It was soft.

Gentle footfalls. Careful, hesitant. Light.

She lifted her head.

And there, standing at the foot of the stairs, was Jackie.

But not the boy she’d known. Not the angry, flinching creature who’d once scowled at her from behind a curtain of unkempt hair. The figure that stood before her now held something else in her eyes. Not defiance. Not hatred. Not even fear.

Something unspoken hung in the air between them. A question neither of them had the strength to ask.

Sophia swallowed, her voice barely a whisper, fragile and cracked at the edges.

"...Jackie?"

The name tasted wrong on her tongue. And from the way the girl’s lips pressed into a soft, uncertain line — as if she didn’t quite recognize it either — Sophia understood.

“Sophia.”

The name floated from her lips like it had always belonged there, tender and careful, spoken as though saying it too loud might shatter the fragile thread stretched between them.

Sophia’s breath hitched at the sound, her chest tightening with something heavier than guilt, heavier than relief. It wasn’t the voice of the boy she'd once known — not entirely. It wasn’t the sharp, defiant child who had fought her every step of the way. It was new, unsteady, a little broken around the edges, but undeniably hers.

And for the first time, Sophia didn’t see the person she'd forced, or the person she'd tried to protect — she saw the person who had grown, against all odds, between the cracks.

Jackie stepped forward, slow and uncertain, like every part of her body was learning to move for the first time. One step. Another. The gap between them dissolved with each quiet, cautious motion until she stood in front of Sophia, the woman who had been both captor and comfort, the only home Jackie had ever really known.

Without a word, Jackie lowered herself to her knees, mirroring Sophia’s position on the cold concrete floor.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The silence wasn’t heavy with fear or anger anymore — only the weight of everything unsaid. Everything they couldn’t put into words.

Jackie’s voice, when it came again, was quiet. Fragile. Barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know who I am.”

And Sophia, her throat tightening, her voice cracking under the force of all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t, only managed a simple reply.

“…I know.”

The silence between them stretched long and heavy, filled with everything they’d been too afraid to say, everything they hadn’t known how to say. The air was thick with questions neither of them had answers to yet, and neither of them seemed to know where to start. It wasn’t comfortable — but it was real. Raw. True.

Sophia swallowed hard, her heart shattering in a thousand ways, yet she couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It was nervous, uncertain, but it came with the kind of ease that only a shared history could provide.

“Well… at least the collar’s not choking you anymore.”

Jackie’s lips trembled, the fight she had carried for so long crumbling with that one off-hand joke. Her eyes welled with tears that threatened to spill, and for a moment, she just stared at Sophia, seeing the woman she had once been and the stranger she was now.

The sound of her quiet laugh — a laugh that wasn’t forced — broke something in both of them. Sophia’s own tears followed, spilling over without warning, a fragile release of the tension that had weighed them down for so long.

Jackie let out a small, choked laugh, almost a sob, and for the first time in forever, she felt it. The lightness. The tiny flicker of freedom. It wasn’t complete. It wasn’t perfect. But it was there.

Sophia’s voice trembled, trying to hold on to the last shred of humor between them. “I guess... I didn’t get the size right, huh?”

And despite everything, despite the years, despite the pain, they both laughed. A soft, quiet sound that was more healing than anything else had been in a long time. Their tears mixed, not in sorrow, but in something that felt like a fresh start — the first step to something neither of them could quite grasp yet.

But they were there, together.

And that, at least, was enough for now.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The sun streamed in through the open window, warm golden light spilling across the cozy living room. It was quiet, serene. Jackie sat at the desk by the window, the soft click of keys filling the air as she typed, her focus entirely on the code flickering across the screen. It had been years since she’d felt this at peace, and the realization still hit her sometimes, like the calm after a storm.

From the kitchen, the familiar sound of Sophia humming softly, the clink of dishes as she prepared lunch, was a comforting reminder of just how far they had come. The past felt like an eternity, the pain, the struggles, now distant memories that were slowly fading, replaced with something more real, something that felt like home.

"Jackie!" Sophia’s voice drifted in, sweet and teasing, like it always had been. She entered the room, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a small plate of cookies in the other, a soft smile playing on her lips. Her presence still had the same calming effect on Jackie, even after all these years.

Jackie smiled, her fingers pausing on the keyboard as she turned to face her. "What's that?" she asked, the warmth in her voice unmistakable. The years had turned her into someone different, someone stronger, but it was Sophia's touch that always brought her back to who she had been — and who she was becoming.

Sophia sat beside her, placing the plate of cookies on the desk, then handing over the tea. "Just thought you might need a little break. You’ve been at that screen all morning." She stroked Jackie’s hair gently, her fingers lingering as if she could never quite get enough of the simple touch. There was so much tenderness in her actions now, a tenderness that Jackie had come to recognize as a part of her love.

Jackie took the tea, her hand brushing against Sophia’s as their fingers intertwined for a brief moment. There was no tension now, no fear, just the comfortable rhythm of two lives that had found their way back to each other.

"It's perfect," Jackie whispered, her voice thick with gratitude, her smile full of something deeper now. "Thank you, Sophia. You always know exactly what I need."

Sophia laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Jackie's face. "You deserve it. All of it. Every bit of it."

Jackie’s heart skipped at the softness in Sophia’s voice. There was a time when she would’ve fought against the comfort, against the love. But now? Now, it felt like the only thing that truly mattered.

As they sat there, together, the weight of their past no longer felt like a burden but a testament to their survival. The collar was gone, the pain had faded, and now they could focus on the future they were building together.

And that future, as they both knew now, wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about living. Truly living.

---

A few months earlier, things had been different. A sunny day on a hill, the warm breeze fluttering their hair as they sat on a blanket, surrounded by the vast expanse of sky and grass. They’d had a picnic, their laughter filling the air, untainted by the past. It was then that Sophia had reached into her bag, pulling out a small box, her eyes full of love, full of vulnerability.

"Sophia..." Jackie had whispered, her breath catching in her throat. "What... what are you doing?"

And then, with a soft smile, Sophia had taken her hand, the box in her palm. "Will you marry me, Jackie?"

It had taken Jackie a moment to process the question, to feel the weight of it. To realize that, yes, after everything, after all they’d been through — she wanted this. She wanted Sophia. She wanted a future with her.

The answer had come easy, tears welling in her eyes as she whispered, "Yes."

And that yes had changed everything.

---

Now, here they were, living together, building something new. Jackie, once locked in a basement, now working from home, her skills in software giving her the freedom she’d always dreamed of. The work was hard, challenging, but it was hers. It was something she could control, something that had been built through years of struggle and survival. And with Sophia by her side, it felt like everything was possible.

"I love you," Jackie whispered as she took Sophia’s hand again, her thumb brushing the back of her palm.

Sophia’s eyes softened, and she leaned in to kiss the top of Jackie’s head, the gesture so simple, yet so intimate. "I love you, too," she replied, and for a moment, there was nothing more important than that.

Their lives, though far from perfect, were finally their own — and that was enough.

[kasiers]

A LITTLE LONGER — SHOYO HINATA

pairing: brazil!shoyo hinata x reader

synopsis: a lazy morning waking up with your dear boyfriend while he tries to convince you to stay in bed with him a bit longer <3

contains: gn!reader, pure fluff, established relationship, timeskip!shoyo hinata and even more fluff !! slight spoilers since this is timeskip

word count: 1.1k

a/n: based on this req ! when i was editing this the wc was originally 998 so i decided i might as well push it to 1k+ LMAO

Soft morning rays peeked through Shoyo’s blinds, casting an ethereal golden glow over everything in his small bedroom. The light bounces off the glossy covers of the various books scattered on his floor, ranging from volleyball training manuals to English learning guides and the Dragon Ball DVDS numbered from the very first until the latest.

You stirred lightly in your sleep, feeling a gentle pressure on your neck which pulled you awake. You shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. As you moved, his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him as your back pressed against his chest. He hummed softly, his warm breath brushing against your skin. 

The gentle buzz of the city outside his apartment was a comforting distant backdrop, the smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen filled your nostrils. Must be his roommate, you thought. 

You shift slightly in his embrace, still amazed that you and Shoyo can lay comfortably on his small twin size bed. You frown softly at the weight of Shoyo’s arms wrapped over you thanks to the muscles he’s built up. You gently lift his arm, catching a glimpse of the large delivery bag by the end of his bed. You carefully hold his arm up as best as you could without waking him up, turning around to face him. 

When you had finally settled into a more cozy position, you were met with his sleepy expression which made your heart flutter. You could tell he was half-asleep and tired, likely trying to recover from his games that had run late from the night before presumably with that high school friend of his that he told you about.

You nestled closer to Shoyo, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he instinctively wrapped his arms around you once more, keeping you in a comfortable lock.

“Good mornin’ baby,” Shoyo murmurs, his voice thick with sleep as he presses a soft kiss to your head, taking in the time to smell the sweet scent of your shampoo.

“Good morning, Sho,” you replied back, your voice equally hushed. You look up at him, though he doesn’t open his eyes as he’d rather not be greeted by the sunlight just yet. His hair at the moment looked unkempt and wild, you can’t help but form a soft smile on your lips. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his voice a drowsy murmur as he tries his best to fight back his fatigue. How could he fall back asleep when your presence was like a warm blanket he never wanted to let go of? He could stay like this forever.

You nodded as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. You could smell a hint of his cologne and natural musk. You threw your arms over him, both your legs tangled with his and the white blanket draped over both of you. 

You traced small lazy patterns on his back, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. Your actions gave him a sense of belonging, grounding him in this very moment. 

“Yeah, I did. How about you?” you murmured against his skin, your voice soft, “ You must’ve been exhausted after last night.”

He felt the vibrations of your words, sending a shiver down his spine. “I’m okay,” he says quietly, his fingers gently fiddling with the ends of your hair.

You both lay there silently, seconds turning into minutes stretching into a blissful eternity. You finally had a sense of peace that you felt like you hadn’t experienced in a long time, thanks to your busy work schedule. 

“I don’t want to get up,” Shoyo admitted, his grip on you tightening slightly. “This is too nice.”

You laughed softly, nudging him gently as you pushed off him just a bit to look up at his face and hum in agreement. “Mhm, I know Sho, but don’t you have training today? Are you seriously trying to slack off on your responsibilities?”

Shoyo sighed dramatically as he nuzzled his face into your hair, “baby, would ya kill me if I asked for a few more minutes?”

You shifted your gaze up at him, your lips curving into a soft smile. The warm sunlight streaming through the blinds shined down on his sleepy yet energetic face, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else but the comfort of his presence. 

You knew you had to get up soon— there was work waiting for you, and Shoyo had training scheduled for the morning. But the longer you looked at his bright, hopeful eyes, you found it hard to resist. 

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you said, completely giving up, your voice a gentle tease. “I’ve got work, and you have training today. We can’t just lie here all day.”

Shoyo’s lips held a small cheerful grin, it was as if he wasn’t just worn out minutes prior, his eyes sparkled with a mix of charm and enthusiasm. “Come on, lemme enjoy this time with you baby,” he says smoothly, voice filled with genuine affection.

He squeezes you gently as if to plead, you’d be lying if you said his energy wasn’t infectious, it was difficult not to deny him of such a request especially when he looked at you like that. “I’ll get up right after, I promise,” he added, his tone hopeful.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his persistence. It was hard to stay annoyed when he was being so affectionate. “You’re really trying to sweet-talk me, huh?” you said, shaking your head slightly but not pulling away. “Alright, fine. A few more minutes. But you better not be late for your training.”

His face lit up immediately upon hearing your words, muttering sweet and small thank you’s as he pulled you in even closer, nestling his face into your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. “Thank you… thank you baby…” he murmured, it was hard not to be charmed by his gratitude.

Once again, you found yourself sinking back into his embrace, the warmth of his body pressing against yours as it soothed you. Shoyo tightened his hold on you, his fingers brushing gently against your back securely. The gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was comforting while the soft hum of his breathing was like a gentle breeze that carried you into a peaceful slumber. 

Maybe you could call in sick to watch him and Heitor for the day, Nice would love your company after all.

[lace4forest]

The Chains Ages in Linked Universe.

I saw people talking about the Chains age in Linked Universe, and I have my thoughts on them.

I've done a LOT of research on the Links and how old they were, I even tried to figure out how long Legend was in Koholint for. (We go with old Canon because new Canon doesn't make since,(Footnote 1) but basically that's the last time we see Legend in normal Zelda Canon)

Anyways-

This is from Jojo's QnA doc on the Linked Universe Discord- ^^^

And this is my thoughts on their ages. Side note, I'm not going off of looking up their ages through google, I'm going off info you can find in game and cross referencing it with other games and the Hyrule Historia and Encyclopedia. Time was 9 in his game and that's about 20 years later so he would be 29. (Unless if we counting Majora's Mask, then he could be 30-32)

Twilight was a "Late Teen" (Also it does state hold old he is) so 17 making him 21 to 22.

Warriors is also "Late Teen" (He was a trainee at the beginning of the war) making him 22 to 26

Sky is also stated to be around 17 making him 18 to 19

Wild is 117 and this would make him either almost 118 or just turned 118.

Legend just became "Of age" in ALBW and that's 16 in his era making 17.

Hyrule we know is 16 making him 18.

Four is 15 or 16 in Four Sword, but he isn't "Of age" so probably 15. making him 17.

And we know Wind is 13 almost 14. (He said it himself)

I just find it very funny the Toons are the youngests. Age explanation and footnotes below cut.

Time - He is 9 at the beginning of his game and becomes an "Adult" 7 years later at 16. This is one of the times it proves that 16 is "Of age" in the Zelda series. We aren't sure how much time has passed between Oot and MM, so we can guess he's 29 to 32 (Making Link in MM 10 to 12 as a good guess.)

Twilight - It's stated in a guide that he is 17. His game also was originally supposed to be a continuation of Oot and MM in the Wind Waker style, with Time all grown up and living on his own. But they changed it to what it is now. So it's just 17+4 or 5 making him 21 to 22.

Warriors - There is no official age and you do NOT need to be 17 to wield the master sword. All we know is that he's "Late Teens" making him between 16 to 19. Making his age in LU between 22 to 26.

Sky - He is stated to be around 17. Making him 18 or 19 (Even if we say he's 16, then he would be 17 to 19.)

Wild - he is 117 years old. We know this. it's been "Less than a year" so he could be almost 118 or already be 118, he probably doesn't remember his Birthday, so there is no saying exactly. (His Zelda should know though. Maybe.)

Legend - SO. I feel like people are gonna fight me on this, but I got the math and hours of research to back it. At the beginning of ALTTP, some guards say that Link shouldn't be out here or that he's too young to wield a sword (Or even start learning to) In BOTW Wild got the Master Sword at 12-13. And people said he was still very young and a prodigy, which means he was already learning the sword by that time. and we also know that in BOTW they think of "Of Age" as 17 instead of 16, meaning they probably make them learn stuff when they are a little older. There's also the connection to Oot, In Wind Waker its stated that Wind is the same age as Time when he Defeated Ganon (Making Wind Canonically 16) And Twilight is the age of what Time should have been when he decided to settle down, making him 17, which leaves us with Legend's age. Most likely taking Times age from the beginning of his game. LONG STORY SHORT- In ALTTP Link is between 9 to 10. NOW. The Oracle games, Link is still a CHILD, so before "Of Age" (Aka less than 16) A LOT of people call him a CHILD and wonder why he has a sword! making him most likely around 11 or 12. Same things with Link's Awakening. (FOOTNOTE 1). Then we have ALBW. Link has a job now and is learning to become a smith. so most likely after his return home, as well as he needs to learn this stuff before becoming a full adult, but then again he lives alone, so we could accurately say 15 to 16. SO LONGER STORY SHORT. We can say 16 and be GENEROUS. Making Legend 17 in LU (but probably closer to 16).

Hyrule - It's literally a plot in his game he is 16, making him 18 in LU.

Four - He is a Child in Minish Cap (So less than 16) and same with Four Swords. He has to be older than 12 because he was given a sword willingly. So between 13 to 15, but we can be nice and say 15 in Four Swords, making him 17 in LU.

Wind -

I do want to say, it's literally stated in his game he is the same age as Time when he KILLED Ganon as an ADULT. It's just the art style of the game.... He JUST turned 16, so people are still calling him a child. (Like how people call 18 year olds children in rl) But also he does look 12 in game... ART STYLE WHYYYYYY (also thats what Twi was supposed to look like lmaoooo)

---

FOOTNOTE 1 - The Encylapedia has wrong information that's easy to disprove and I want to throw it out a window. It also switched the order of the Oracle games and Link's Awakening, even though Oracle of Ages LITERALLY ENDS With Link taking the boat out to sea to head home, and LITERALLY Transitions to Link's Awakenings Opening. ITS THE SAME BOAT. I'm Gonna Cry- NINTENDO WHYYYYY.

[badbtssmut]

Every week your boyfriend’s friends come over for a game of poker and a round of fucking.

Admin note: originally a stepincest fic but rewritten to a Namjoon and best friends smut, some parts changed or rewritten

Contains: free use, passed around, riding, rug burns, double penetration vaginal, anal, words like slut and whore, blowjobs and handjobs, missionary, doggy

-

Admitting to your boyfriend that the idea of his friends’ cocks inside of you, was terrifying to say the least. You were so convinced that he’d snap, get upset or would look at you with disgust but to your surprise, you got none of that. Instead, you were met with a gentle smile and a warm embrace.

“I want to see their cocks in that sweet pussy too.”

Your boyfriend was amazing in bed, Namjoon’s cock made you see stars and you could never get enough of bouncing on his cock, but his friends’ cocks made you feel pleasure in more ways than one.

Tonight, it was the usual night; poker night. Or rather, something was different. Instead of four of his friends, two more tagged along, which you didn’t mind one bit.

The men were seated around the table, a few bottles of beer scattered around the surface along with their cards and chips. Namjoon was at the head of the table, his chair slightly pulled back from the edge to make room for you as you straddled him.

“Who is winning?” You asked, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder as you ground your hips against his, his hardening length straining against his jeans.

He smirked, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

You felt the material of the leather jacket press against your back, and you knew what you were wearing was driving him wild. It was a simple, white button down, but you had taken your bra off before you went downstairs and the thin material was see-through and did nothing to hide your hard nipples.

You wore a skirt as well, short and black and a bit frilly around the edges, something Namjoon had bought for you the week before, and a pair of white thigh highs.

"You are." Namjoon whispered in your ear, his fingers trailing under your skirt and teasing your soaked cunt. “Please, go get us some snacks?” He requested, pushing you off his lap and patting your ass, and so you went to the kitchen.

You popped open two bags of chips and crackers and placed them on a big plate, pausing as you first unbuttoned your shirt and let it slip off your body, leaving you in nothing but the skirt and socks.

After you added the drinks and a bowl of candy, you brought the tray out, the men looking at you with lust in their eyes, some looking at you and back to Namjoon in surprise, as you walked out, your breasts jiggling with every step.

“See? Didn’t I tell you she has nice tits? They’re as soft as they look let me tell you that.” Yoongi whispered to the man sitting next to him, Jungkook.

“Damn.” The new friend, Jungkook, muttered, unable to keep his eyes off them.

You sat the platter on the coffee table and went to sit on Namjoon’s lap again. He leaned in to kiss you and his hand trailed to your back, unzipping your skirt before pulling it off you and dropping it to the floor.

The game continued, and you saw the men all take out their cocks one by one and start stroking, clearly turned on by your presence.

“Go on, go give our guests a ride.” Namjoon whispered in your ear as he pushed you off his lap once more. And you were barely standing on your own for a second until someone yanked you closer and you fell on Hoseok’s lap, his cock pressing against your soaked folds.

Hoseok wasted no time in lining his length up with your pussy and thrusting into you, and you moaned as you sank down, his girth stretching you deliciously.

“Always so soaking wet, do you wait on us all day, angel? Can’t wait till we fill you up? Is that it?” Hoseok ran his tongue over your neck, causing you to shiver.

“Yes, get so wet thinking about your cocks.” You admitted, causing Yoongi to stroke harder out of anticipation as he was next.

“What a good girl.” Jimin cooed, leaning over the table and pressing a kiss against your lips. You moaned against his mouth as Hoseok trusted into you. He pulled away and you let out a small breath.

You rested your arms on the table, the wood cold under your palms as you began bouncing on Hoseok’s length, moaning every time his cock hit the sweet spot deep inside you. The poker game continued, along with some casual chatting, all men glancing your way here and there as they eagerly awaited their turns.

When you were done with Hoseok, a hand shot to your arm and pulled you off him, pushing you towards another lap.

Yoongi held you in place with one hand as the other guided his cock into you, and the angle was deeper than with Hoseok, his cock hitting places you didn’t know were there.

“Y/N, shit, you can take cock so well, must’ve practiced a lot, didn’t you?” Yoongi’s hand traveled to your tits, groping on the left boob.

And just like that, you rode all of the men until they all had their turns with you, but it didn’t end there.

It was only the start.

The poker table was left abandoned as you and the men moved to the livingroom, some sitting on the couches, others leaning on the wall or standing.

In front of them was you on the living room carpet, Jungkook pounding into you, his hand on your throat as he choked you and fucked you. You were on your back, hands clawing at the soft rug and mouth hanging open, whorish moans and cries leaving your lips. Seokjin tapped his cock against your mouth, making you look at him, and you took his cock between your lips, sucking him eagerly as Jungkook pounded you. The man could no longer hold back as he became overwhelmed by the hornyness he felt as he watched how you were passed around.

“Told you so.” Taehyung chuckled. “She loves cock so much, she can keep on going forever if we’d let her.” He crossed his arms as he watched the younger grip onto you tighter, sweat rolling down his face as he couldn’t get enough.

It was pure bliss, being stuffed at both ends, and soon enough Jungkook and Seokjin had switched places, Jungkook fucking your throat now as he tugged on your hair, making you look at the others who were jerking off, watching the show. Yoongi joined your side and wrapped your fingers around his cock, guiding them up and down his length, and your other free hand was wrapped around Taehyung’s cock.

It was chaotic, the men went crazy for you. Everytime there was an empty spot, they’d rush in to take it, and they nearly fought over who got to pound into that sweet pussy this time. One moment you were riding Taehyung, and the next you were giving Namjoon a blowjob. It was overwhelming but so fucking hot how they went crazy for you.

“Fuck, if you think her pussy is tight, you need to try that ass, holy shit it's heaven." Jimin moaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he thrust into you, hands holding your legs wide apart, spreading you open for him.

The men didn’t needed to be told that again, all impatiently waiting for their turn. They couldn't wait to have your ass, the mere thought of having their cocks in your ass making their cocks throb.

You were on all fours, ass raised up in the air, face pressed into the carpet as the guys fucked you from behind one by one. They were rough, and the carpet burned your skin, but you didn’t care. Your body was sore and sensitive from the hours of constant fucking, your holes used and abused, but you wanted more.

They were like animals in heat, and you were their only outlet.

You had a break for a few minutes, and so did the guys, before Namjoon pulled you onto the couch, onto his lap.

“I don’t know how the fuck you do this, you can never have enough, huh? Always wanting more?” Namjoon spoke as he kissed you.

"Can't help it, love the way you all fuck me, I want more, always more." You admitted, your words breathy and weak.

You heard the men murmur something amongst themselves and the next thing you knew, the guys were surrounding the couch, their cocks in hand.

"Go on, put them in your mouth." Namjoon said as he spread your legs wide apart, exposing your dripping pussy to everyone, his fingers spreading your folds, showing everyone how soaked you were.

Your hands grabbed ahold of the two closest dicks, pumping them a few times before putting them in your mouth. Namjoon scooted back against the sofa and your body rested back against his.

"Grab the rest of the cocks, sweetie. Let them have your hands." Namjoon ordered and you reached for the other cocks, wrapping your fingers around them.

Your head was spinning from the sudden overload, the men surrounding you, the cocks in your hands and mouth and the feel of Namjoon's thick length buried deep in your ass.

You felt someone’s tip push against your pussy, and soon enough, their cock was sliding in, Taehyung beginning to fuck you as the others used your hands and mouth.

“What a good girl, taking in two cocks at the same time.” Namjoon was thrusting his hips upwards, his cock pounding into you as the others fucked your mouth and pussy, and you were a mess, a whiny, whimpering, moaning mess.

"Shit, her hands feel so good."

"Yeah, and her pussy, so tight."

"You like sucking my dick, princess?"

You couldn't reply, not when the guys were stuffing your mouth and pussy, but you could make sure they enjoyed themselves.

Taehyung panted as he slammed into your pussy, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder. "Ah, she's milking my cock so well, shit, you are such a good whore, never met someone this good before.” Taehyung whispered.

"She loves being praised, don't you babygirl?" Namjoon said as his hips snapped upwards and you moaned around the cock in your mouth, the vibrations making Yoongi groan.

"Fuuuck, she's so wet. Shit, she's really into this."

"Of course she is, she's a slut."

Then, you felt another cock brush against your folds, and you looked down to see Hoseok lining himself up with your already stuffed pussy, ready to slide in. Taehyung moved up, making room for him.

“Are you sure you can take all this cock?” Namjoon teased, but then, Hoseok began thrusting and you couldn’t form any words, your mind and body overwhelmed by pleasure.

"Fuck, this feels so good, so tight." Hoseok moaned, the men's moans filling the room.

You couldn’t think, couldn't focus on anything except the cocks filling you up, stretching you, and the sounds the guys made, their praises and their curses, the way their cocks twitched in your hands and mouth and how they throbbed in your holes.

“Ah! Ah!” You could barely moan, the sound muffled by the cocks in your mouth, your eyes rolled back at the sensation— fuck, you were so stuffed. You glanced down to look at your pussy and the sight was filthy, the three cocks pumping in and out of your stretched holes, you didn’t even know your body could do this.

Taehyung increased his speed, his teeth gritted as he pounded into you, his thrusts becoming frantic, his cock twitching, and then he came, his cum filling your pussy, the white substance leaking out of your filled hole.

Taehyung left but his spot was soon taken by the others, and they all kept going, fucking you, filling you up.

They took turns, and it went on for what seemed like hours, the men coming one after another, until only Namjoon was left.

Namjoon laid you down on the couch before he lined his length up with your pussy and slid in, fucking you into the sofa, the piece of furniture shaking under you, the wooden feet scraping the floor.

You were a whimpering, moaning, fucked out mess, unable to even beg for more. Namjoon was pounding into you, his hips slamming into yours, his hands digging into the soft skin of your thighs as he pulled your legs wider apart.

“Look at you, covered in cum, all holes used and abused, and you’re still taking cock, aren't you? Such a good slutty girl." Namjoon's cock brushed against a spot that made you whimper and he smirked, focusing his thrusts on that spot, his thumb moving to rub against your clit.

It was all too much, the pleasure overwhelming. You couldn’t take it, your body spasming, toes curling as an intense orgasm washed over you.

And, a second later, you felt a hot load fill your pussy and Namjoon collapsed on top of you, his cock twitching inside you, still filling you up.

You were spent, completely exhausted, but you had loved every single second of it, and so did the men.

You panted, taking deep breaths, it was intense, and as you laid there, you started to think to yourself how lucky you were that you managed to find so many trustworthy men to fuck.

When it was time to leave, the men stood in a row to give you a farewell kiss, and it was just you and Namjoon.

“Did you have fun?” He asked as he pulled you onto his lap.

“Yeah.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around him.

“Good. We did too.” Namjoon leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

[inhuman-obey-me]

So. The OM news.

Solmare announced on Wednesday that December will be the "final new content" for the two mobile games. Going along with that, Lesson 60 will also be the end of story content in Nightbringer.

Definitely quite some news to take in, and one that's gotten everyone into quite a tizzy, understandably.

First, a clarification: The games are NOT going into End-of-Service (not yet, anyway). Both the OG game and Nightbringer will continue on as-is, just without any new content in general starting in January. This means that we are still going to have access to all the content we've had up to this point, like the main story, Lonely Devil, Devilgrams, Time Chronicle, etc. The announcement also stated that "past events will continue to be periodically re-released," and while it's not completely clear what those re-releases are going to look like, it sounds like the apps themselves will still be around for a while.

Secondly, this is also not the end of the Obey Me franchise. The announcement specifically says, "We promise you that this will not be the end of the seven brothers, the Devildom, or of Obey Me!" It also mentions a "new era" with "new forms of content," and Solmare themselves tried to clarify this the day after too, with assurance that new projects ARE in the works. So this is not the end of our beloved boys (and Thirteen)!!

Now, we don't actually know what this "new era" is going to look like, or what specific kinds of new projects this is referring to. We have been specifically promised new in-person events and merchandise, but of course, that's not particularly promising news for tons of us in the fandom who are not in areas that usually get those events or those who cannot afford to buy the merch, which have sometimes been hard to access for those outside of Japan.

Based on a couple of the VAs' tweets, we do know that OM is specifically moving beyond "アプリゲーム" (app game) format, which means we should not expect a third mobile game anytime soon. (And honestly, thank fuck, because we think we speak for a lot of us in saying the community's trust would just be so broken at that point!) And given their involvement, there are some ideas we can probably safely strike out. But until we get more official information, anything else on this is pretty much just speculation at this point.

But hey, on this blog, we love to speculate and theorize and make wild guesses as to what's going to happen next in OM, don't we? So let's speculate!

Firstly, any kind of print format like light novels and further manga volumes wouldn't involve the VAs, so those are probably out. But we do have the manga volumes they already released, so one possibility could be making a proper anime off of the manga version of the main story! When the gag anime originally released, many people expressed interest in seeing the main story converted into an anime, so that could be an interesting avenue for them to pursue.

Another option would be for them to go down a more audio-focused route. Though we haven't gotten much Otaku FM content in quite a long time, they've only released a couple of characters for their ASMR project so far, and hopefully they will still continue it for the rest of the characters. It's possible that they could bring back Otaku FM or Boys in the House content, especially to promote other new content in this new era. And multiple of the OM voice actors are involved with the Ex and Bee, which seems to have somewhat low numbers so far but has been said to be good (though we haven't looked into it ourselves), so it could be possible for them to try out a similar audio drama format with OM, as a more established IP.

Also, while the VAs seem to be saying that app games (mobile) are done for now, that doesn't necessarily mean we couldn't get a PC or console game. This could open up a possibility of a more traditional route-based style of otome game, which could give the writers a better position at balancing romance with the larger world adventure elements, and then just extending it with things like DLCs, fan discs, etc. Hard to say if Solmare has the budget to pull off something like that, but it would probably be more up their alley as a game studio and still give their programmers things to do assuming they haven't all been laid off with the current state of the games industry.

And then, of course, we have more things like Overture, the "concert" they put on with new 3D models of the brothers. Even if they can't afford a full-fledged console game, they could definitely still use those models in other ways, but also in more Overture-like concerts. Though personally, we would prefer if they didn't -- no one got into OM to have an idol group game. There are a million idol games and franchises already, and while it's fine as extra content on the side we guess, they're not really strong contenders against all of the actual idol games already out there. But there's money in that genre, so who knows if whatever execs may continue pushing it that direction...

And finally, another possibility, though perhaps also not a very likely one, is a theater show. It's pretty common for animes and such to also have stage productions in Japan. Luke's and Diavolo's VAs in particular have also done theater, including musical theater, so it's not a foreign concept to some of the team. But given the limited geographical scope of something like that, this wouldn't really be good for anyone outside of, like, probably only Tokyo? Still, stranger things have happened, so it's not outside the realm of possibility.

Speculation and all aside...we've been here since basically the beginning, when OG Obey Me was released back in December 2019. The end of content in the games is bittersweet, and we'll certainly be sad after NB Lesson 60 is released. Despite all of its flaws, OM is what got us both back into writing and drawing after a very long time. We started this blog! Neither of us had ever done a fandom blog before! It's been something near and dear (if even frustratingly so) to us for the past five years, so we'll be watching for what's coming next! And in the meantime, we're still here with you all too, for however slowly we put our stuff out.

[admiral-mason]

SAGAU x Forest Island

Based on this ask from @floofeh-purpi

This is Impostor AU again because why tf not lmfao

Reader is Gender Neutral

Warning: Violence, cult behavior, huntings

Ft. Yun Jin

Your ass can't be any more tired right now.

Ever since you were brought into Teyvat, you have been continuously hunted for "defiling Their Grace" or something. It started with Mondstadt- Jean personally sent all of the Knights of Favonius after you, forcing you to escape by hiding in Wolvendom.

Thankfully, reprisal came in the form of Razor, who didn't understand why he should be killing a random human that looked like a god. All the wolves near you also refused to attack you, and Razor treated you as if you were a Lupical.

Unfortunately, the Knights drove you out of Mondstadt, and you wouldn't have escaped if it weren't for a glowing yellow diamond you just happened to trip over.

Wait a minute is this Energy from Forest Island-

"You have nowhere to run, filth. By my sword, and in the will of Their Grace, I will strike you down-" Jean said before the diamond suddenly lifted itself up into the air and attacked Jean in the eyes, blinding her.

Suddenly, more of the same diamonds fell from the sky, attacking the other Knights and repeating what happened to Jean. This granted you enough time to escape from Mondstadt.

It didn't take long to confirm that the diamonds originated from Forest Island, an idle game you played in your pastimes alongside Genshin Impact. You obtained further confirmation when red heart icons suddenly appeared over local animals, whose affection for you grew tenfold.

These hearts regenerated stamina and helped foraged berries and fruits taste better, perfect boosts for a journey to Liyue...

...And suffer the exact same treatment. You'd be screwed right now if it weren't for energy diamonds blinding the absolute fuck out of your assailants with mere milliseconds to spare.

Then there's Yun Jin, who recognized you as the Creator, albeit with a weakened divine aura and in turn indistinguishable from an actual fraud with malicious intent. Even better, she actually tried treating you like a human, and within the short time you stayed with her, she got close to all sorts of wild animals that normally ran from humans.

"Oh, they're all so adorable, [Name]! Although I am an opera performer, never have I been given such treatment from animals before!"

Her family's great too! Although, with the amount of harassment the Yun-Han Opera Troupe gradually received for harboring an Impostor, you eventually decided to depart with a slightly tearful Yun Jin while reassuring her that you'll be back one day.

You head Inazuma, the same Impostor shit happens.

You trek on to Sumeru, and the same thing occurs!

Eventually, you just give up on all the nations, with everyone attacking you. So instead, you relegate yourself to an obscure beachhead, likely surviving on a crude fishing rod.

Sighing, you cast your rod into the waters, hoping to catch a fish to eat...

...Wait, why is the ground rumbling beneath you? And why is it intensifying?!

Suddenly, an absolutely huge-ass island slowly rose from the waters in the distance, and many diamonds fell from the sky, populating it with what appeared to be animals and fauna.

That finally solidified that indeed, your favorite pastime idle game decided to perform divine intervention that this world wouldn't give.

...Wait a minute- you get to live a cottagecore life without studying and taxes and shit!! Whoo!!!

General Headcanons

A green sea turtle helped you get to the island, offering to carry you on its back.

Immediately, all the animals left their respective areas and tackled you to the ground in their displays of affection. Thankfully, you weren't injured.

They all love you very differently; rabbits and foxes snuggle in your lap and nibble on the apples you feed them, while wolves and bears parade you on their backs and let you sleep with them during the night.

Ducks enjoy it when you sit near their pond's edge and pat their heads. Frogs just sit on their lily pads and croak happily at your presence.

Speaking of the night, all you need to sleep is a blanket on the floor! With a little energy from the island, you never feel too hot or cold.

You cleanse nature as a part of your new day to day cottagecore chores, and oftentimes the waste can be reused for cooking!

Sea turtles like lazing around with you on the beach. Sometimes, you'll even get sucked into the one indefinite whirlpool on the beach with them and feel the rush of a brief flight before landing on the mind-numbingly soft sand that somehow cushioned your fall.

Does and bucks like to scale and descend the island at running speed with you on their back. When they're not running, you lay up on them and they nuzzle you as you nap.

Alpacas and sheep shed their excess wool, allowing you to pick up other hobbies such as knitting and quilting, activities you would otherwise have lacked time back on Earth.

Raccoons play around with you, and they sometimes steal your food. Which is now effectively vegetarian although tasty thanks to the energy on the island. Other times, any leftovers you have go directly to them, effectively making them garbage disposal.

You climb trees while a gorilla carries you in its arms. Most would likely panic by now, but with the tight yet never harmful grip on you, you're reassured of your safety on this island.

Other fun things you do with the animals are swimming with dolphins, birdwatching, and stargazing with everyone at night.

Overall, a very nice time! And then one day, a ship from Teyvat appears in the distance.

They get blinded by island energy as usual, but they manage to get away...

...Oh boy.

Now, you have people and vision wielders on ships attempting to reach your island. However, it appears that the island recognizes what you suffered through.

Now, island energy does not just blind them- it actively forms literal yellow rods from god that tear away at the wooden ships.

Among the unwelcome figures, one welcome one stood out to you the most:

It was Yun Jin! She yelled and rapidly waved at you with a radiant smile, to which you promptly scaled down the island onto its beach and responded with your own massive wave.

Then, you noticed that the same green sea turtle that approached you that day performed the same action with her instead of you. It beckoned her to get on, and she did so hesitantly.

Once her little trip was over, she gracefully stepped down from the turtle before rushing to you to give you a gentle hug.

"I missed you, [Name]! I never thought I'd find you here of all places but I guess the commotion was right!"

And you quickly introduce her to the island's residents, who treat her with the same respect as you.

She decides to stay a while and you help her write a letter to her family, and an albatross volunteers to fly the letter to Liyue.

It's a peaceful life on the island, with Yun Jin constantly obtaining new ideas for opera and living a very domestic life. No need to worry about anyone you dislike either- the island is very protective over you and its inhabitants.

@floofeh-purpi Alright I finally answered your ask lmfao

[mapofsouthdakota]

The Maze

Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.

Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.

Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?

Details: 3500ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but it corresponds with in-game canons. Obsessive Caleb. Yandere Caleb. Controlling Caleb. Crazy hot Caleb. Fem reader. Dom!Caleb. I mean it. He’s absolutely feral dom (imo). Freak vs freak. Psychological thriller, p0rn with plot. 18+ and super filthy explicit language. This is the dom-iest I’ve written Caleb. And it’s all for the plot, I promise. This is not for the faint of heart, ok? You are warned.

Chapters: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight (final chapter)

Tags: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290 @justpassingdontworry

Loophole | Chapter four

The Maze, somewhere, you

The air is thick, charged, humming with artificial electricity as you sprint down the winding corridors, the breath in your lungs sharp and burning. The Maze shifts around you, walls recalibrating, openings appearing and sealing off just as quickly—a living, breathing thing designed to keep you trapped.

Designed by him.

Your muscles already ache from the chase, your heartbeat thrumming like a war drum, but you crave it—the rush, the unbearable anticipation crawling up your spine. Thank god dinner was light—just enough to sustain you, not enough to weigh you down, leaving only the hunger that truly matters.

Because you know he is close.

Somewhere behind you, Caleb is hunting. Calculating. Stalking.

He is going to catch you.

But not yet.

Not until you made him work for it.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, Caleb

His footsteps are slow, measured, deliberate—click, click, click—echoing through the steel corridors, following the path you’ve unknowingly laid out for him.

Because you are predictable.

Not in your escape routes, not in the way you twist through the Maze like something wild and untamed—

Caleb tilts his head slightly, watching you just ahead, watching the way your body moves, the way your breath comes in sharp, quick bursts—each inhale lifting your chest, each stride making the hem of your skirt flick higher, teasing glimpses of bare skin with every desperate movement.

And for a second—just a second—something deep inside his chest claws against its cage.

Not yet.

He swallows it down, smooths it over, lets the darkness curl through his smirk as he watches you sprint, as he watches the exact moment your pulse kicks too high, too sharp.

His fingers flex at his sides.

Time to catch you.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, you

Your feet barely make a sound against the cold, smooth floor, but the Maze feels it. Every movement. Every desperate breath. Every flick of fabric against your thighs as your skirt shifts with each stride. The thin tank top clings to your skin, damp with sweat, the air cool against your overheated body.

You’d picked it on purpose.

Something unassuming. Non-threatening. Innocent.

But now?

You feel like prey.

Your legs burn, muscles screaming, lungs fighting for air, but you don’t slow.

You can’t.

Because behind you—

He’s there.

Not running. Not chasing.

Not yet.

Just watching. Waiting. Hunting.

A steady, calculated click, click, click of boots on steel somewhere behind you.

Measured. Unhurried.

A predator who knows exactly how this ends.

A sharp shudder ripples down your spine, something cold and hot all at once, making your breath stutter as you push forward, harder, faster.

And then—

A door slightly ajar.

Real. Solid. Just beyond the next turn.

Your pulse spikes, a bolt of something terrifying and electric slamming into your chest.

So close.

Your fingers stretch toward it—

And then—nothing.

Your body locks mid-stride, momentum cut off so violently that a strangled noise rips from your throat.

You’re suspended. Weightless. Trapped—before you even had the chance to play your part properly.

Evol. Caleb.

“Fuck—”

The word barely leaves your lips before you hear it—

That slow, deliberate click, click, click.

The rhythm of his boots against the floor is steady, calculated, each step falling with unbearable precision.

Then, another sound—

A slow clap.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Not rushed. Mocking.

The sharp echo bounces off the metal walls, vibrating through your bones, wrapping around your breathless form like invisible chains.

And then—he’s there.

Towering. Casual. Unrushed.

A man who knows he’s already won.

The flicker of artificial light catches against his dark clothing, the crisp lines undisturbed, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement, with hunger, with absolute control.

Caleb presses a thumb beneath your chin, tilting your head up. Not gently.

Firm. Demanding.

His nail digs in slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch, your pulse thrum against his fingers.

“Well, well.” His voice is silk-drenched smugness, smoothed over steel. “Look how far you got. Almost impressive.”

Your lips part slightly, but his eyes are already there. Watching. Measuring.

His grip tightens.

And then—he kisses you.

Slow. Deliberate. Unshaken.

A claiming.

His lips are warm, firm, steady, molding against yours like they’ve done it a thousand times, like they have all the time in the world to do it again. You try to turn away—pretend to resist, just to play your part, just to spite him—but his fingers tighten, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

It should be humiliating.

It isn’t.

Because the fire curling in your stomach, the molten ache pooling between your thighs, tells you exactly what it is instead.

Still, you manage to mumble against his lips, a breathless, mocking sneer—

“Cheater.”

He stills.

Then—he smiles.

A slow, wicked curve of his lips, pressed against yours, against the heat of your open mouth, stealing the breath you don’t have left.

Then—his tongue flicks out.

A slow, deliberate lick along the side of your jaw, dragging up over your cheekbone—hot, wet, obscene. Your breath catches, body tensing at the deliberate, vulgar intimacy of it. But you don’t pull away.

You can’t.

Because the moment he pulls back, his breath skimming your cheek, his voice is a whisper of laughter.

“Run, then.”

His fingers glide along the side of your throat, lingering just long enough to tease, to remind—before he finally lets you go.

“Little rabbit.”

And you do.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, Caleb

You run well.

Better than expected.

Your movements are calculated, controlled—too controlled. Every turn you take, every sharp pivot, every burst of speed through the dimly lit corridors carries intention. Strategy.

It’s almost charming, in a way that it shouldn’t be—this clever little game you’ve devised.

A trick. A thinly veiled excuse to give yourself permission.

To turn what you want into something you can bear.

Something he can bear.

Because you both knew—after dinner, after the tension settled into something tangible, something dangerous—that passion? Real passion:

The kind that grips like a vice, that drowns you in it, leaves you gasping, shaking, wrecked beyond recognition—

Would destroy him.

Would destroy you.

Because Caleb doesn’t get to want like that.

Not anymore.

He’s spent years learning to hold himself together with careful stitches of control, seams tight enough to keep from splitting apart.

But this?

This is different.

This isn’t longing.

This isn’t fragile or delicate or human.

This is the hunt.

And he was always going to win.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, you

Your breath sharpens, ragged and uneven, each inhale dragging through your lungs like it’s trying to claw its way out. The sound carries, bouncing off the smooth steel walls, a signal, a beacon—leading him straight to you.

Caleb’s breath? Steady. Unshaken.

Measured.

You’re ahead—barely. But it’s slipping. Your legs are burning now, the deep ache spreading, curling in your muscles, warning you that you’re running on the last reserves of your strength.

And he knows it. You see it in the way his violet eyes glint—sharp, already victorious.

“Tsk, look at you.” His voice is teasing, amused, but layered with something darker. Hungrier.

He’s not winded. He’s not struggling.

He’s playing.

“You’re panting already?”

Your teeth grind, but you don’t answer.

You can’t.

But he doesn’t need a response. He sees everything.

The way your shoulders stiffen.

The way your fingers twitch, as if they want to curl into fists.

The way you push harder, push faster, even though you both know you can’t outrun him.

That smug bastard is already enjoying this—far too much. Every quiet chuckle, every barely-there exhale of amusement is proof of it. You have to focus, force yourself not to laugh back, not to let him see just how much you feel it too.

Then—heat.

Close.

Too close.

His body is at your back before your mind can register it, before your instincts can scream at you to move, to do something—but it’s already too late.

His breath ghosts against your ear, warm, deliberate, curling over your skin.

The shock of it jolts through you, a violent shudder ripping down your spine, stealing the next breath from your lungs.

“Going somewhere?”

And then—

He moves.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, Caleb

A shallow breath.

Barely there.

A hesitation—small, fleeting, but unmistakable. A fraction of a second where your body betrays you, where exhaustion cuts deeper than instinct, where hope flickers just enough to make you hesitate.

And that’s all he needs.

All he’s been waiting for.

Caleb moves.

A single, fluid motion—effortless, lethal, precise.

He lunges.

Hard. Fast. Unstoppable.

Your body collides with his, mid-stride, the force knocking the air from your lungs. The impact is calculated, deliberate, inescapable—not enough to wound, but enough to break through every last defense you have left.

Enough to take you down.

No mercy.

Just the hunt.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, you

He twists at the last second.

The predator’s final kindness—ensuring that when you land, it’s the damp grass that catches you, not the cold, unforgiving steel. But it doesn’t feel like mercy. Not with the weight of him pressing down, solid muscle and overwhelming heat pinning you beneath him.

Your breath stumbles, a sharp inhale snagging in your throat—shock, exhaustion, something else entirely.

And then—you realize.

It’s over.

Caleb looms above, his body a cage around yours. His wrists pin yours effortlessly, his grip firm yet controlled. The air is thick, charged, humming between you as your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, slow and satisfied.

“Gotcha.”

Your stomach tightens, a betrayal of instinct, a sharp coil of something too warm, too dangerous.

Caleb sees it. Caleb feels it. All of it.

The way your chest rises too quickly. The way your thighs press together. The way you shudder, just barely, beneath his touch.

And then—his hands move.

Slow. Deliberate. Knowing.

Fingertips skim beneath your shirt, a featherlight drag over heated skin. A whisper of contact that makes it impossible to keep still.

His palm presses against your stomach, fingertips grazing over your ribs—higher, teasing, possessive.

Then—his hand closes over your breast.

Firm. Rough. Kneading, claiming, taking.

Your back arches before you can stop it, instinct overriding the plan, a sharp breath dragging through your teeth—your body responding before your mind can catch up.

He hums—pleased, indulgent.

“Silly little rabbit,” he muses, the words a slow, wicked purr.

His hips shift against yours—a grind, slow, deliberate, pressing into the heat pooling between your thighs. A sharp, rolling pressure that forces another gasp from your lips. Your body tenses, your fingers twitching, desperate to grasp at anything—to push, to pull, to react.

But you can’t.

Not yet.

Because this is the game you agreed to play.

And prey doesn’t beg for its hunter.

Caleb knows.

He knows how hard you’re fighting this, how tight your control is stretched.

And he revels in it.

Another grind, slower this time, deeper, just enough friction to make you bite back a sound that would give you away.

His breath is hot against your skin, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Little rabbit,” he muses, voice rich with mock discipline. “You ran. And now you suffer the consequences.”

A bite. Just enough to sting.

Then—a whisper, low, smug, inevitable.

“Let’s see how well you take them.”

——————————————————————————

The damp grass prickles against your exposed skin.

Cool. A sharp contrast to the unbearable heat curling low in your stomach. A reminder.

Where you are. Who has you.

Caleb’s fingers drift to your jaw, firm but teasing, tracing the delicate line of your throat.

Then—his hand wraps around it.

Not squeezing. Not yet.

Just holding.

Reminding you.

He owns this moment.

He owns you.

Your breath stutters, lips parting slightly as he tilts your head—forcing you to look at him.

And fuck.

His eyes.

Violet, sharp, wickedly pleased—drinking you in, dissecting every little reaction, savoring the way you tremble beneath him.

Caleb hovers, his breath ghosting over your lips, lingering like he wants to ruin you right there. His fingers drift lower, mapping you out like he’s memorized you yet still wants to rediscover every inch.

His hand slides down your stomach, fingers pressing into the soaked fabric between your legs.

A sharp, deliberate pressure.

And you gasp.

Caleb chuckles—low, dark, cruel.

“Dripping. Already.”

The words slide over you, rich with amusement, a slow drag of mockery and indulgence.

Then—he presses harder.

Your hips twitch, breath catching, fire racing through your veins.

His smirk sharpens.

“Tsk, tsk. Such a needy thing. Now—on your knees.”

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, Caleb

His voice is steel.

A command, absolute.

You obey.

Of course you obey.

Your legs shift beneath you, shaky, raw, your fingers brushing against the grass as you push yourself up—kneeling, waiting, anticipating.

His hands tangle into your hair, tilting your head just enough to see it.

The wicked smirk. The slow, deliberate pull of a zipper.

The sound is sharp, impossible to ignore.

A fresh pulse of heat ripples through you, your thighs pressing together, your lips parting on instinct.

And Caleb?

He notices. Of course he does.

And he loves it.

His cock is heavy, thick, so close yet just out of reach.

Your breath catches. Your gaze flicks downward.

Then back up.

Pleading.

But Caleb only chuckles.

He studies you, drinking in the way you’re already ruined, already so perfectly wrecked for him before he’s even touched you properly.

And then—

“Open.”

You do.

Caleb watches as your lips part, obedient, willing—his. And he smirks.

And the chip stays silent.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, you

He doesn’t hesitate.

He pushes deep.

Slow. Unrelenting.

His fingers tighten in your hair, guiding you, controlling you, setting the pace—

Making you take it.

A deep, rough groan rumbles through his chest, his violet eyes locked onto you, watching the way your lips stretch around him, the way your throat swallows, the way your breath hitches with every inch.

“There you go,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and indulgent.

His grip flexes, guiding, controlling you to take everything he gives.

Your hands clutch at his thighs, fingers digging in, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep up.

But he’s ruthless.

And he doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re trembling, until you’re gasping, until your body gives out from sheer exhaustion.

Then—he pulls back.

Slow. Cruel.

Your lips are swollen, slick, your breath ragged, wrecked.

And he smirks.

“Good girl.”

A thumb brushes over your lower lip—mocking, almost affectionate.

Then, that same command.

“Now—lie down.”

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, Caleb

And you do.

You’re gone. Lost beneath him, trembling, unraveling, coming apart with every brutal stroke, every precise drag of his fingers against your clit.

Caleb watches, drinking in every gasp, every sharp, wrecked moan, every stutter of your breath. The Maze hums around you, its silence thick, swallowing the sounds of your ruin.

And then—he stills.

No movement. No pressure.

One hand remains firm at your waist, keeping you down, keeping you exactly where he wants you. The other? Just barely hovering. Close enough for you to feel the heat of his palm—but offering nothing.

He waits.

Watches.

Because he wants to see it.

Wants to see the moment realization sets in, the slow, helpless flicker of need in your eyes.

And there it is.

Your lips part. Trembling.

A breath catches in your throat, your body shifting instinctively, chasing his touch, chasing what only he can give you.

And fuck—

It’s beautiful.

Caleb’s hand is like hot iron, soaked in your slick, branded with your need—steady, unyielding, waiting. A presence that sears, that claims, that lingers. And it doesn’t move.

Not yet.

His voice is a dark murmur, smooth, indulgent.

“Let me see how badly you want it.”

Fuck, he loves it.

Loves the way you beg without words, without pride, with only your body.

Loves how you bend for him. How you break for him.

Loves that, together, you’ve carved out a way for this—for him to have you, for you to take him, for nothing to stand between you.

Not even that godforsaken chip.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere, you

“You like this, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches.

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction. Not yet.

But your body?

Your body betrays you. Your hips arch, chasing his next stroke, chasing the unbearable friction of his cock against your clit.

And Caleb?

He laughs.

”Of course you do.”

His hand slides down, gripping your waist with deliberate pressure, holding you still as he sinks in—slow, unhurried, stretching you open, making you feel every inch of him.

Splitting you apart.

Claiming you completely.

And he takes his time—watching, savoring, feeling the way your body trembles around him, adjusting, yielding, helpless beneath his control.

“You were made for this.”

His hands shift, sliding from your thighs to cup your ass. With effortless strength, he lifts your lower body from the ground, tilting your hips just enough to expose more of you to him. He spreads you wider, admiring the sight, savoring the way you tremble beneath his touch.

Another deep thrust. Measured. Designed to ruin.

Your gasp breaks.

He sees your struggle, your hands twitching, desperate to grab onto something, onto him, onto the earth beneath you, onto anything to ground yourself.

“No touching.” The command is sharp, final.

He won’t let you have that control. He can’t let you have that control.

“You take what I give you. Nothing more.”

Then, with effortless force, he flips you over, pressing you down until you’re on your hands and knees, the cool earth beneath your palms, the damp grass tickling your skin.

Exposed. Open. Waiting.

His fingers flex, his grip tightening around your waist, holding you still, making you to take it, to feel every second of your loss.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, somewhere, Caleb

Caleb doesn’t falter, he never slows. Each deep, calculated thrust is authoritative, demanding—designed to remind you exactly who’s in control, to make you feel every second of his dominance.

And then—

The first crack. A sound leaves you—wrecked, helpless, something high and desperate and utterly broken.

His jaw clenches.

Because fuck, that does something to him.

His grip tightens, fingers pressing deep into the softness of your waist, holding you steady as he claims you. One hand slides forward, rough and demanding, cupping your breast, squeezing, pulling you up, arching you back against him. Your spine curves, your head tilting, the heat of his breath against your neck, the weight of his body controlling every movement. His control slipping—

But the chip doesn’t stop him.

His body tightens, his own control slipping, because hearing you break—feeling you break beneath him—

It’s intoxicating.

And he wants more.

So he pushes further.

“Say it.”

You bite your lip. Shake your head. Pathetic.

He wants it broken.

He wants you broken.

So he changes the angle—snapping his hips forward, deeper, harder, exactly where he knows you can’t hold out.

His hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.

“Say. My. Name.”

A sharp cry rips from your throat.

Another thrust.

Another.

And then—you snap.

The way your body tightens around him, clenching, desperate, pulling him in, refusing to let go.

The way your body shudders beneath him, shaking, convulsing, utterly wrecked.

“Caleb—! Fuck—”

A high, shattered moan spills from your lips. Your muscles tighten, locking around him, gripping him in a way that nearly destroys him.

And fuck, yes.

That’s it.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice wrecked, victorious.

“Let go. Let me have it.”

And you do.

He feels it.

The way you unravel beneath him, wrecked and ruined, shaking with pleasure so raw it sears through you like wildfire.

And it—it destroys him.

Something sharp, something raw, something uncontrollable surges through him.

“Fuck—”

His pace stutters. His fingers dig deeper. His breath shudders.

Until he loses himself completely.

Caleb’s body tenses, wrecked, desperate, utterly gone. His release slams into him with brutal force, tearing through every last shred of control.

A groan—low, raw, helpless.

Because he’s lost in this now.

Lost in you.

And the chip does nothing.

Because this isn’t love.

This is power.

This is control.

This is victory.

And Caleb?

He always wins.

——————————————————————————

The only sound left is your breathing—

Shaky.

Spent.

Completely and utterly ruined.

Caleb watches you, his own breath still uneven, his body still thrumming with the raw, intoxicating high of what just happened. Pleasure lingers in his limbs, warmth sinking deep into his bones.

For the first time in so long—

He feels free.

He leans in, letting the tip of his nose brush along the damp heat of your throat, breathing you in, slow and deep.

Your scent. Your warmth. The proof of his victory.

His lips part slightly as he presses a kiss to your skin, open-mouthed, deliberate, letting his breath ghost against you.

Not a claim.

Not a taunt.

Just a quiet, wordless reward.

And fuck—the way you melt.

The way your body softens, relaxes against him, the way your cheek presses against his chest as if it belongs there—as if you are meant to be here, against him, with him.

Your breath spills over his collarbone, warm, uneven, still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

And he lets you.

He lets you rest.

Lets you take comfort in his warmth, his presence, his touch.

His fingers trail up—slow, careful. Threading into your hair, tilting your head just slightly, enough for his lips to brush against your forehead.

Soft.

Unrushed.

A silent reward for your submission.

Because you are his.

Completely.

Utterly.

And yet—

A dull pressure pulses at the base of his skull. A slow, creeping weight curling into his thoughts, threading into his awareness like a shadow.

It’s not a shutdown.

Not a failure.

Not yet.

But the chip is reacting.

And for the first time, he doesn’t know why.

Not until the thought cuts through him, cold and gutting.

Would this be enough for you?

Would you accept him—if this was all he could ever give you?

If the only way he could hold you, touch you, take you—was by keeping you beneath him, conquered, obedient, controlled?

Or would you still struggle?

Still resist him, not because you didn’t want him—

But because this isn’t what you wanted at all?

What if—even now—you were just enduring this?

What if—even in surrender—you were still waiting for the Caleb you once knew?

The thought tightens something in his chest.

And then—

Your voice.

Soft.

Barely there.

“Caleb, I love you.”

The words slip from your lips so quietly, so unconsciously, that for a moment, he thinks he’s imagined them.

Until—

Until he feels it.

The gentle tug at his chest.

Your fingers. Curling around his dog tag. Holding onto it like an anchor.

His name—whispered like something fragile, something holy.

His body goes rigid.

The weight of those words hangs between you, too heavy, too real.

And suddenly—he is afraid.

Because he doesn’t know which Caleb you’re speaking to.

The one he is now?

Or the one you’re still hoping will come back?

And worse—

Who is the one answering?

His throat tightens. His mind races. The chip sends a warning pulse, static curling at the edges of his thoughts, demanding that he suppress, overwrite, forget—

But he can’t.

Because the truth is burning through him, deeper than any error message, deeper than any system override.

Still, he forces himself to speak, forces himself to answer.

His voice sounds like him—but he doesn’t know if it is.

“I love you too, Pips.”

And fuck—

It hurts.

The pressure behind his eyes intensifies. A tightening grip. An invisible force coiling around his mind, threatening to crush something he can’t afford to lose.

The chip.

It doesn’t like this.

It wants him to ignore it.

To erase it.

To pretend.

But he can’t.

Not now.

Not when everything feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

This was a victory.

He had you.

Completely.

Utterly.

And yet—

It doesn’t feel like winning.

It feels like losing something he can’t name.

Like holding something too tight, only to realize it’s slipping away.

And suddenly—

The thrill of this loophole feels like a cage all its own.

——————————————————————————

Chapter five

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Writer’s note: So they just wanted to fuq but every rose has its thorn. Whyy does my brain function like this bahhh. I was nervous about posting this, but I hope I balanced the power play, angst, and lust. And: not me listening to Running Up That Hill while writing the smuttiest, dom-iest scene so far in my fanfic scribbles career—Kate’s lyrics are just chef’s kiss for this chapter. And the other; well. It’s predator Caleb. So! On to the next chapter. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻