#the “true good” path has more content than any other path

[tuxedo-rabbit]

You know, one of the most interesting thing about BG3 to me is that all the different choices and RP moments you can make mean that it's very easy to have a multitude of playthroughs that don't neatly fall into the boxes of "good" or "evil" runs.

The other interesting thing is that whenever Larian talks about their game, it feels like this was a complete accident.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and look for revenge, and you get it by fucking his dad! NSFW

contents: fem!reader. age gap, blowjob, praise, degradation, use of slut, slight dumbification, dirty talk, and possibly more. 2.6K words.

you should've known that dating a rich boy came with more than just the money—it came with a shitty boyfriend too. 

as you walk to his house, rain falling in your eyes, you curse every time he had you do his homework, his bills, even his fucking laundry. that's what you get for dating the spoiled heir to the massive gojo fortune.

you step onto the gojo estate's porch, wondering what possessed you to come all the way here in the middle of the night without an umbrella. thank god you still had the key your ex had given you, since he was too stupid to remember to take it back after he dumped you.

hands shaking from the cold, you slip the key into the lock and turn, a small smile dancing across your lips when it opens as easily as your ex's legs. he was probably out fucking another girl right now, if the pictures on his instagram story were any hint of his whereabouts.

you push the door open with your shoulder and dry your feet on the doormat. his parents are never home, and it's late enough for the staff to have all gone back to their quarters. besides, even if one or two were still here, they probably didn't know you weren't their spoiled brat's girlfriend anymore.

humming the post-breakup revenge song you'd been listening to for the past hour, you tie up your hair and look around. the only reason you walked all the way here in the middle of a dark, stormy night was for revenge, and you weren't leaving without it.

on the way to your ex's room, you stop in one of the bathrooms to dry off. rainwater slides off your body as you wring out your hair in the sink, water dripping down your wrist as you do so.

you walk the familiar path to your ex's room, rolling your eyes when you see a bra on the floor that definitely isn't yours. funnily enough, you aren't surprised. there's no hurt, no sadness, just disgust. your suspicions were right—he was fucking other girls while the two of you dated. 

a sigh slips through your lips as you look around his room. it's messy, even with the help from the gojo estate's numerous staff. they say bigger rooms naturally look cleaner, and yet your ex's room still manages to mirror his mind—filthy.

you're so immersed in the thousand ideas you have to ruin your ex's life that when a deep, sleep-ridden voice asks you what the fuck you're doing in his house, you nearly jump out of your skin.

you spin around, words caught in your throat when you come face-to-face with satoru gojo, your ex-boyfriend's dad and the infamous head of the gojo family.

it's more than shameful that the first thought you have is that shit, he's hot. you've met before, but it was only in passing. satoru's never around, and the extent of your relationship was a brief nod as he passed you in one of the many passageways in the gojo estate. in fact, you aren't entirely sure if he even knows who you are.

satoru gojo's well-known in japan—not only is he the reason the gojo family has its reputation, but he's made quite a name for himself by being the most affluent and handsome of them all. 

you've heard stories about him back in his prime. most sound too far-fetched to be true, but the photos of him in his twenties that resurface from time-to-time make good material for your late-night fantasies. 

and satoru's even more intimidating in person. he's easily over six feet tall with well-defined muscles, and he's the definition of a dilf. he's probably twice your age, but the glint in his eyes and casual arrogance in his stance makes him all the more attractive.

it's a shame his son is such a dickhead.

"are you one of my son's whores?" satoru asks dryly, eying the bra on the floor. you scowl and kick it away, a soft huff slipping through your lips.

"no, i'm— wait, he never told you?" you cut yourself off with the question, a hint of incredulous disbelief in your tone. 

satoru shrugs, reaching up to ruffle his hair. his shirt slides up just enough to expose his abs, which are really fucking hot by any standards. "if you're asking about my son, he thankfully leaves me out of his sex life," he says amusedly. "so, who are you? and what the hell are you doing in my house this late?"

"i—" well, you couldn't just say you were here to ruin his son's life. "uh, i'm his... girlfriend."

satoru barks out a laugh, looking down at you through his long, white eyelashes. "really? you sure you're dating my son?"

you narrow your eyes and nod. satoru shakes his head, slipping one of his hands in his pocket and gesturing to the bra on the floor with the other. "either you aren't his girlfriend or you just found out he's cheating. which is it?"

well, you tried. "both." satoru raises his eyebrows at that and takes a seat on the chair across from his son's bed, exhaling as he does so. 

"so, sweetheart, what's the story?" he asks, a bored expression on his face. he leans back and spreads his legs enough for you to wonder what it'd be like to be in between them. 

not sensing that you really have a choice, you sit on the corner of his son's bed and start explaining. at first, you sugarcoat his son's actions, not wanting to sound like a whiny brat, but at one point he interjects with a sigh.

"i know my son," he says dryly, brushing his floppy white hair out of his eyes. "and i also know a liar when i see one."

"s' that so?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring the way satoru's eyes narrow at your side comment. from then on, you list every detail of just how shitty your ex was to you. you tell satoru how his son made you fold his clothes, how he dragged you to parties even when you swore you had homework, how he'd make you fu—

you stop there, not wanting to divulge every detail of your sex life. sure, your ex forced you to fuck him every night in every way he knew existed from watching porn, but that wasn't for his dad to know.

satoru, who's been listening intently for the last five minutes, studies your irritated expression thoughtfully. rather than comment on the way you suddenly stopped ranting, he asks, "so you're here for revenge?"

you nod, crossing your legs. satoru eyes you for another second before placing his hands on his knees and standing up with a soft grunt. "do whatever you want, but i want you out of my house in fifteen minutes. and whatever you do stays in this room. no fire."

satoru looks down at you and raises an eyebrow. "is that clear?"

it would be easier to agree if satoru wasn't looking down at you with an expression like that on his face. it's somewhere between mild irritation and disgust—whether it's directed at you or his son, you're not sure, but he probably has better things to do than listen to some girl's breakup story. so you nod, and satoru starts to leave.

just before he steps out the door, you think of a really fucking insane idea—one that would absolutely shatter your ex. and for some reason, you say it out loud.

"you should fuck me."

oh my god.

satoru turns around slowly, hand clenched around his phone. "the fuck?"

you swallow, eyes wide and a stupid grin plastered on your face. "shit, i—" you were ready to apologize for just about every word you've ever said, but satoru holds up his hand before you can start, cutting you off.

he scoffs, blue eyes glimmering with either amusement or annoyance. "you really are a piece of work, aren't ya?" satoru narrows his eyes, surveying you critically. his gaze settles on the way your shaky hands, and you hide them behind your back self consciously.

"you want me to fuck you on my son's bed?" he says dryly, stifling a laugh. when you force yourself to nod, he grins. "not bad, sweetheart. not bad at all."

"i-is that a yes?" you hate yourself for stuttering, but it makes satoru laugh.

"sure, why not?" he says, walking over to where you're still sitting on his son's bed and resting a hand on your shoulder. satoru rubs the side of your neck with his thumb, cerulean eyes fixed on your lips. "might be about time to teach my son a lesson anyways."

satoru's agreement surprises you enough to make your mouth fall open, and soon enough, his dick replaces the empty space between your lips.

"shit, you're takin' me so good, baby," satoru groans, hand tangled in your hair as he pushes his dick deeper into your throat. "yeah, that's it, jus' like tha— fuck," he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh as you nearly choke.

he's big, way bigger than your ex, and you wonder how his dad's big dick gene skipped him. and even better, satoru's skilled too. he knows how to fuck you good, and you can tell that it's from experience, not from watching porn—unlike his lame excuse of a son.

"tell me, sweetheart," satoru drawls, looking down at you with a cheeky smile. "was my son half as good as i am in bed?"

when you shake your head no, satoru clicks his tongue in disapproval. "shit, now y're gonna expect every guy you fuck with to be as good as me. well, sorry 'bout that, because they aren't."

at least you know where his son gets his arrogance from. 

it's getting a little hard to breathe, especially since you have ten inches of dick shoved down your throat. despite all satoru's talk, you can tell that he's getting close to cumming down your throat—his eyes are twitching and his breaths are starting to become more and more shaky as you suck him off. soon enough, the coil in his stomach snaps and he cums, cursing and praising you as he does. satoru's grip on your hair tightens, and it's borderline painful as he tugs you deeper by the hair.

"shit, that was the best head i've had in a while," he groans after his breathing starts to go back to normal. satoru grins at you, shaking his head and pinning you on your back on the bed.

"you've already been fucked by a gojo here, haven't you?" satoru cooes, tracing your jawline with one of his fingers. "tch, i'll fuck you better than my shithead son ever could. show ya the reason we gojos have a reputation for our dicks."

and fuck, he does. after quickly making you cum on his fingers with the excuse of loosening you up, he roughly shoves his dick in your already-throbbing pussy with a grin. he's so fucking big that you've convinced he's gonna rip you in half.

"g-gojo, i can't—"

"sure y'can," he cuts you off, jaw tightening as you tighten around him. "fuckin' hell, you're just tight as a virgin. my son must be shit in bed, yeah?"

"mhm," you hum, tilting back your head and gasping for air as you feel your body heat up. "shit— right there—"

satoru grins, dipping his head and meeting your tear-lidded eyes. he's far from gentle—it's barely been a couple minutes and your back is already in the highest arch of your life, and it's hard to form coherent thoughts as satoru continues bullying his cock into your pussy.

you lose track of time easily—fuck, you forget there's even a world outside of whatever this is. at some point your tongue falls out of your mouth, lolling to the side as your eyes roll back—just a dumb slut for satoru; or at least that's what he calls you.

as you approach what must be the hundredth orgasm of the night, satoru asks you to say his name. it's almost embarrassing how much effort it is to say—he's fucked you dumb enough to the point where you're a babbling mess.

"shit, you can't even talk," satoru says with a grin, flicking your forehead playfully. "cute." he rests his elbow by your head and shoves his hand over your mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you talk too much anyways, princess. take a break."

you whine against his hand and satoru shakes his head, a faux pout on his face. "c'mon, it's not like you can talk anyways," he tsks. his next thrust is particularly rough, and you can't seem to remember who the name of the dickhead who got you in this situation—what was your ex's name again? does it matter?

"yeah i can" you mumble, voice muffled by satoru's hand. when his pout deepens, you can't help but giggle, a sound that soon turns to a squeal when he pushes the side of your face into the mattress.

"what's so funny?" satoru grumbles, dipping his head and pressing his lips against the hand seperating your mouth from his. satoru's glimmering eyes are fixed on yours as a cheeky smile spreads across his face. "fine then."

he pulls out, cursing under his breath as he presses his back to the headboard. satoru ignores the hm? that slips out of your lips and removes his hand from your mouth, resting it on his dick instead and stroking it with a smirk. "what is it, princess?"

"wha— why'd you stop?"

satoru lifts his other wrist, studying the watch on it and turning his hand so you can see too. your vision is still so fucked up that the numbers look like swimming otters, but you can vaguely make out the time.

"it's been fifteen minutes, kid. time to go."

your mouth falls open and you sit up, still breathing heavily. one second you're having the best sex of your life, and the next your ex's dad is calling you kid and telling you it's time to go?

"not fair," you mumble, pulling your legs into your chest and resting your head on your knees. "that was a stupid time limit," you huff, chest heaving. "i couldn't have done anything to him in fifteen minutes anyways."

satoru snorts, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. "i'd say we did something in those fifteen minutes," he says dryly, white hair falling into his eyes. 

"hmph."

satoru raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip as he continues stroking himself. you notice the way his abs flex and tense the closer he gets; something that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

"can't believe my dumbass son fucked up so badly with a girl like you," he groans after a minute, back resting against the headboard as he continues stroking his dick. "won't be seein' you around here again, huh?"

you blink, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as satoru eyes you intently. "what d'you mean?"

before satoru can answer, the two of you hear footsteps, and before either of you can do anything, standing in the doorway to his own room is your ex, a giggling girl on his arm. the faint scent of alcohol floods through your nose as they stumble in, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from laughing when your ex sees that his bed is already occupied.

"why the hell is my dad in bed with my ex-girlfriend?!"

[underdark-dreams]

[Poll results]

A smut piece for Rolan that became a 7k word fic. I don't know what it is about him--I just need him to be happy. 🖤 For anyone else who feels the same!

In Amber

Rolan can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He only knows he wants things with her to be different. A series of encounters between Rolan and the person who is teaching his black heart how to hope.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Explicit Sexual Content, Mild Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 7,033 [Read on AO3]

The beloved hero of the Grove has saved them all from the Shadow Curse, apparently.

Word spreads fast, and it's all Rolan hears the Harpers talking about in their rush to take final leave of Last Light Inn. Nearly all had gone to Moonrise Towers with the Druid, but a small group stayed behind with Isobel in case the fight turned to the worst.

Rolan was the first one packed. With the shadows lifting, all he wants to do is travel the road to Baldur's Gate and finally reach his destiny. Leave this hollow place behind him.

At last they are finally moving in the right direction again--the three of them along with Lakrissa and Alfira, led by the Harper rangers.

He glances at Cal and Lia walking beside him. They're in the middle of chatting about the first things they want to do when they reach the lower city. Rolan can't seem to stop checking that they’re still there–as if he might look to find them gone once more.

He hasn't seen their savior since the night she brought his siblings back to him. That made twice now that she'd saved all three of their lives. Few things bristled against his nature more than owing a debt that couldn't be repaid. Rolan didn't like the feeling of being under anyone's thumb.

She wouldn't even accept a reward for saving his brother and sister's lives, just waved him away with a smile on her lips. The memory frustrated him endlessly. He couldn't understand why she took such an interest in helping him and his family. He was even beginning to consider that goodness of heart might really exist…at least when it came to hers.

Half of his mind felt tormented by her inscrutable kindness. The other half thought he'd very much like to kiss her.

Before he could brush away the alarming idea, the Harpers in front threw up a cheer. Rolan looked around to see the commotion.

She and her companions were covered in more blood than he'd seen on them yet, but they were still standing as they led their small army down the path from Moonrise Towers. 

His eyes light automatically to her face–it shines with a radiant smile, but Rolan recognizes the way her shoulders slump under her armor. He is flooded with relief. At least she's alive. 

Their groups converge on the road outside the tower. Everything is a jumble of cheers and shouts as the Harpers jostle forward to reunite with their comrades; a man he's never met claps Rolan’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

"Go on, then," says Lia beside him. She's following his gaze knowingly. "While you've got a chance."

He only manages to throw his sister a scowl before she trots away. Is it that obvious?

He decides to take her advice after all. She was right that this could very well be the final time their paths converged. Baldur's Gate was a large city, and whatever grand adventures their savior would face next, he doubted they would involve spending much time browsing magical emporiums.

She gave him a little wave as he approached, the kind one might give an old friend. It pricked his conscience. He'd thanked her for saving Cal and Lia, true, but his mind tossed up all the countless other times he'd been needlessly unpleasant toward her. 

"Seems we owe you thanks yet again," he said, hoping it came off sincere. 

She shook her head wryly. "I've never done any of it alone, you know that. Every one of these people fought like hells in there." 

Standing close, his nose was hit by the thick tang of blood that coated on her armor. How much of it was hers?

"You should go to see Isobel," Rolan insisted. He'd drag her straight to the cleric himself, if she'd let him.

"Do I look that bad?" She was teasing, but there was a strain to it. "As long as I make it to my bedroll in the next hour, I'll be fine. You're sweet to worry, though."

"Stop saying things like that," Rolan snapped, unable to contain himself. "You're so nice, and I'm just a bastard."

Her eyes widened at him, taken aback. "I don't think you're a bastard."

Rolan looked down at his hands. "That's what makes you so nice," he said. He had to get to the point. "Look…I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with. I've been rude and awful, ever since the Grove, and you didn't deserve it. So." He straightened up properly. "I'm sorry for that."

It's far less eloquent than he'd rehearsed, but she seems to understand the sentiment.

"Don’t worry about it," she tells him. "You feel responsibility for the people you love. That can make anyone forget themselves for a while." 

"I suppose," is all he can manage to say. How well she seems to speak what's in his mind.

Her Githyanki companion approaches with a clear intention to speak with her, and Rolan turns away, not wanting to intrude on the company of her true friends.

"Rolan, wait–" 

The flutter in his stomach humiliates him. Will he ever get used to her saying his name?

She rummages in the pack at her waist. "Almost forgot. I found something–well, stole, but it doesn't matter now." 

A fist is held out to him, closed around something. 

Uncertain what to expect, Rolan offers his hand. Her fingers graze softly against his as they deposit something small and hard. He looks down at his palm.

"A rock," he says, deadpan.

"Not just any rock, it's a topaz."

Rolan blinks at her. "And…what am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "Keep it, or don't. It just made me think of you. Matches your eyes." The admission brought a flush of pink to her cheeks. 

He felt his heart skip at the sight, followed by a jolt of fear–as if she might be able to see the hope blooming inside his chest.

He turns away with a tut. "Absurd."

She gave only a satisfied laugh before taking her leave. Once she'd retreated out of sight, he tucked the gem securely into the folds of his robe.

-

Rolan has long abandoned the fantasy that he is his master's apprentice. 

Whipping boy would be a more accurate job description. Perhaps test subject. He is trapped in an impossible game that he can never win, and his highest purpose is to be the canvas where Lorroakan paints his next magical experiment. 

His mind shudders at the way the red wizard's eyes rest on him during "lessons": casually devoid of all concern or care. No matter how hard Rolan concentrates, no matter what he answers, it won't be good enough. And then the pain will follow. 

The mindless Constructs are worth far more to his master than he is. 

There was a time when someone made Rolan feel like he could deserve more, but that time is gone now. All he can hope is to learn enough, train hard enough, and one day claw his way through to something better.

Today, however, will offer the chance of a reprieve. He's been sent to deliver a message on foot across the lower city. Weeks ago he would've seen the task as an insult. Now he wonders whether it might take all morning, if he's lucky. 

If he often feels like a drowning man, these moments of escape are like a sweet gasp of air. He walks with his face tilted up to soak in the sun's warmth. 

The marks of abuse that paint his features have long stopped troubling him. An occasional passerby might stare at the bruises, but since the Absolute army's march, most Baldurians give Tieflings a wide enough berth not to notice. One wearing fine robes is no different to them.

As he passes the bridge to the Counting House, his eyes land on her figure. He stops short in surprise, earning himself a rude remark about clumsy devils from the woman behind him.

Rolan would recognize her face in any crowd. She stood on the bridge in the middle of some kind of confrontation between two women; one of them a beggar, by the state of her, the other finely dressed.

As he watches he very clearly sees her invite the rich one to "piss off", to the woman's indignation.

An affectionate chuckle escapes him. Then he winces, hand rising to the cracked skin on his lip. He tastes a drop of blood.

Swift panic grips his chest. She can't fucking see him like this, not once–more broken and pathetic than ever. Not after how many times she's already played rescuer to him. He cringes in shame at the thought.

At least she hasn't found him trapped behind his desk, there's a chance he can slip away unnoticed yet–

"Rolan?" 

He missed his moment by a hair. It's unfortunate that hearing her voice after all this time freezes him straight to the cobblestones, or he might consider dashing away like a coward.

"I thought that was you! I'd recognize those horns anywhere." 

Resigned, he turns back toward her. But he keeps his face cast down toward the pavement.

"What do you want?" He asks stiffly.

"Hello to you too," she laughs, and he stifles the impulse to watch her do so. "It's been a while. Cal and Lia, they're good?"

"Thanks to you," he concedes. No thanks to me.

"I'm glad to hear it." He watches her boots step closer, tentative. "Everything okay with you?"

She can never just leave him alone, can she. Why does she insist on caring when so many others don't bother?

"Fine, busy with my studies," Rolan deflects. "I've got to get back to the Sundries."

There's a tight pause, and then her voice grows firm. "Look at me."

He curses himself for being unable to disregard her, and for his eyes wanting to take her in despite everything. Slowly, he raises his head to meet her gaze.

Her face is somehow lovelier than he remembered. As he watches, it shatters in shock. He can see her eyes flit from mark to mark as if taking inventory.

"Who did this to you?" She whispers, aghast.

He turns away, unable to hold her gaze. "Believe me, it's nothing that can be helped."

"Rolan–" Her hand extends toward his jaw.

If the thought of her touch thrills him, the thought of being touched by her with pity is unbearable.

"I don't need your help," he spits, slapping the hand away with his own. "And I certainly don't need your damned sympathy!"

The shock and hurt on her face are the last things Rolan sees before he turns on his heel.

-

The archwizard was not pleased with his late return. That night, Rolan comes home with a large fresh bloom of purple over his left eye.

Lia's already limited patience snaps. She flies into his face with angry tears and threats that she'll march straight into Lorroakan's tower herself with shortsword in hand. Cal stands between them, pleading for peace, eyes wide and sad.

"Enough," Rolan orders them both. "Don't you see we're nothing but hellspawn refugees to these people? My position is the only thing keeping us under this roof, the only thing." 

He doesn't stop Lia as she storms out–she didn’t take her sword with her. The door rattles on its hinges as it slams behind her. He pushes wordlessly past Cal to his room, and collapses in a heap against his bed pillows.

His face aches enough that he knows sleep won’t come easy tonight. One hand reaches into the robe at his chest, and he slowly pulls out the small amber stone. His fingers turn it over and over as he closes his eyes once more to escape into imagining.

In some other world, he could've been the one powerful enough to save and protect her. Even be the person who makes her smile. 

He would not be the pathetic, broken man that he is. He could feel worthy to return her tender touches with his own, drawing her close to him instead of pushing her away. Feel her lips on his own…her hands circling his shoulders… 

Rolan rouses himself to stare down at the topaz shining in his palm. He feels his rotten heart crumple. 

He can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He doesn't like the man he is. He wants to be different–he wants things with her to be different. 

The stone grows warm in his fist as he clenches it. She crept deep into his heart a long, long time ago. He'll probably never get the chance to tell her, so he might as well admit it to himself.

And even if he did see her again–what chance did he have that she might feel the same? None. She single-handedly managed to improve every part of his life that she touched. What could he possibly offer her?

In this world, precious little.

-

Lorroakan of Ramazith lay dead on the ground. 

Rolan felt a numb hatred as he stood over his former master, eyes frozen wide in the final shock of death. Months from now the expression might have given him cause to laugh. Today, Rolan can only stare mutely.

One more sick megalomaniac who possessed more power than Rolan could have dreamed of wielding…brought down by his insane, insatiable lust for more. Always always more. For what? In the end, he was just another corpse.

It was she who dispatched him, of course. Why wouldn't it be? 

After all this time, it was perfectly inevitable that she and her friends would be the ones to fly in and deliver him from yet another tragic end. He felt like he was stuck on a wheel going around and around. He couldn't escape her, either in reality or in his own mind.

Rolan comes to himself and looks down at his robes. Blood splatters his front and soaks up to his elbows; a crust of frost coats his boots, from whose spell he can't remember. All at once an overwhelming tiredness soaks into his bones.

The dream of destiny that had carried him here…had it ever existed, really?

He decides to slip away while she's distracted, speaking urgently to one of her companions. Her plans probably extend far outside this room and beyond, but this is where his path reaches a bloody dead end.

He allows himself one last look at her profile before stepping quietly to the portal. He wants only a bath and the release of sleep.

His feet drag along the streets of the lower city as they carry his body home, ignoring any frightened stares at the state of his clothes. Silent as he can, he slips through the front door and down the hall to his room. Cal and Lia's voices carry from the kitchen. He'll face their questions when he wakes. 

In the end, exhaustion and relief overtake him. There will be no more lessons. He falls to bed in a heap and drifts off, still wearing his master's blood on his hands.

-

In retrospect: letting Lia discover him face-down in his bed covered in dried blood was not the smartest decision Rolan had ever made. 

After he'd groggily yelled himself hoarse enough to stop her screams, a sharp pang of conscience drove through him like ice. During the time he thought the two of them were lost to the Shadowlands, he wanted nothing more than to drink himself to an early death.

He never wanted either of them to feel that emptiness. For once, he let Lia hold him tight without protest.

With a few days' rest, and some of Cal's better efforts in the kitchen to date, Rolan's spirits had rallied sufficiently that he felt well enough to leave the house. Even to attempt a cautious return to his place of employment. 

To his surprise and distinct confusion, no one at Sorcerous Sundries had a thing to say about Lorroakan's disappearance, or about any possible employee involvement. 

If anything, the mood around the shop was noticeably lighter. He even caught Tolna humming a soft little tune to her bookshelves. “The tomes never respected him, you know,�� she whispered to Rolan.

And once he got over the bizarre sight of Lorroakan's projection, hovering with a vacant smile behind his former desk, he found a perverse humor in it. Who was the fucking errand boy now?

Most of all, Rolan found himself free to finally do what he came to this place for: study magic. He had no archmage master, but he was intelligent, and he now had free access to all of the tomes in the tower library that Lorroakan had enjoyed dangling under his nose.

These days he preferred to spend his days alone in the upstairs, absorbed in theory and practice. His skills grew, and so did his confidence in himself.

If he also felt drawn to the spot because it was the last place he'd seen her…well, he was far too late on that score. He could've finally confessed the feelings that had long been bursting through his chest. 

Instead he had slunk away in silence, too scared to stand in front of her and admit how misguided he'd been all this time. She must think very little of him. She probably didn't think of him at all.

Who knew if she was even still in Baldur's Gate? He searched every face he encountered on the streets, hoping for an answer. It had become a reflex.

At the end of another day, he trudged alone across the twilight square. His hands ached from practicing the gestures for elemental conjurement over and over. One of the Steel Watchers clomped mindlessly past, looking about like Rolan felt. 

The thought of going home filled him with weariness. Cal and Lia's cheerful bickering always annoyed him, in an affectionate way. But tonight, he truly felt he might not be up to it. 

He felt sad. Lonely.

Glancing up, he found that his legs had carried him to the steps of the Elfsong. A drink…that would soothe his sorrows for an hour or two, at least.

The doors swung open to usher a wave of stimulation over his senses. Warm firelight, the smell of roasting venison, tables packed with conversation and clinking glasses. 

He was grateful that many others seemed to have had the same idea this particular night. It made it easier to slip through the crowded taproom unnoticed, catching meaningless slices of gossip and flirtatious banter on his way to the bar.

The surly bartender didn't look overjoyed to be serving a Tiefling. He took Rolan's gold without comment, however, and left him alone with his wine.

As the alcohol spread a welcome relaxation through his limbs, Rolan passed the time by idly watching the groups around him. 

A halfling sat alone with shoulders slumped, staring down his tankard as if he wished to drown in it. Across the way, a large bearded man was leaning across the table in open pursuit of his female companion. Clearly getting nowhere, from her expression. But he looked far too drunk to notice.

In front of the great hall fireplace, a pale elf sat in conversation with a pretty dark-haired young woman. 

Rolan's brow furrowed; he knew those two. His eyes quickly scanned over the room's faces until he found her.

She was removed a ways from her usual traveling companions, seated at a small table in the far corner. He watched her swirl the cup in her hand idly. Her eyes followed the liquid’s pattern, but the look behind them was leagues away.

For the first time in days, Rolan felt his heavy heart lift. She was exactly the person he wanted to be with tonight. Even if it was just sharing a drink.

This was it, he told himself. He had to speak with her or he'd regret it the rest of his life.

But first–he knocked back a very large mouthful.

His heart pounded in his ears as he drew closer to her. With each step he expected she might look up, piercing him with those eyes that visited most of his dreams. But she remained transfixed by the wine even when he drew up beside her table.

Improvising, he cleared his throat. "Hello."

She glanced up at him in pleasant surprise. "Oh!"

They stared at each other for an awkward silence. Then, somehow, he found himself laughing with her.

"Sorry, it's so strange. I was just thinking about you," she said, her face brightening.

The fact that he occupied any space in her brain would consume him later, but he shoved it aside for the moment.

"Mind if I join you?"

She patted the chair next to her. As he sat, he wondered if the spot had been a tactical choice on her part. Their table had a view of the whole room and both exits, yet the wall behind offered a sense of privacy. 

"You're not drinking with your friends tonight," Rolan observed.

"Just taking a little break. We're celebrating another family reunion," she explained, gesturing her glass toward the group around the blazing hearth. 

Rolan looked back over his shoulder. He recognized the one-eyed young man with curling horns, but not the older one whose hand was clasped on his shoulder. Quite clearly father and son to anyone with eyes.

"I'm glad for them," Rolan said. To his surprise, he found he truly meant it. The Absolute had ripped apart so many families in so many ways, including his, leaving the lower streets flooded with the hopeless and broken and displaced. He counted himself and his siblings incredibly lucky, and it heartened him to see another happy scene among so much misery.

“You know–” She eyed him curiously. "I was hoping I’d see you. You ran off before we could talk that day."

He looked down at his drink. "I know. I've regretted it since then. At the time, it was just…a lot to take in."

Her eyes narrowed, but not at him. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but that man can burn in Avernus for all I care. For what he did to you. For what he tried to do to Aylin."

Rolan recalled the runic circle in Lorroakan's library, the one whose mysterious power had at first awed and enthralled him. And then he'd seen the aasimar with the shining wings, and watched the demented hunger in Lorroakan's eyes, and the horrible realization had run through him like a sickness.

"Lorroakan was a monster," he agreed. "I just wish I'd seen it sooner. Or even found the strength to open my own eyes."

He felt a hand rest on his forearm.

"I saw what you went through to get here,” she said. “It’s natural that you thought you had to see it all through, no matter what.” 

Rolan said nothing for a while, just let her kindness soothe into his chest like a balm.

“On the bright side,” he added suddenly, “He did keep an excellent library. I’ve learned more from one of his books than I ever did from him.”

“That’s because you’re a proper talented wizard,” she laughed. “And he was an idiot.”

“A dead idiot.”

“To that,” she said with a lift of her cup, and they both drank. He noticed she used her free hand, not moving the one that laid on his arm.

When he caught her eye after, she was watching him with a smile. "You look so well, Rolan."

He knew what she meant. The last time she saw him, his face had been dappled in marks and bruises from Lorroakan's brutal instruction, with more that she couldn't see under his robes.

Now, the last mark across his cheekbone had faded almost to nothing. He hoped it would take the memories of the meaningless pain he'd endured along with it.

"Thank you," he said simply. "So do you."

He meant it; he realized now that he'd only ever seen her dressed for combat. Tonight she wore soft hide pants tucked into her hunting boots, a linen shirt half unlaced at her collarbones. It softened her. Close beside him and bathed in firelight, she set his heart racing again.

Perhaps it was her closeness or her touch that gave him the courage, or perhaps it was just the wine. He shifted his arm slightly to capture her hand in his.

"No one else has ever shown me the kindness you have. Not even Cal and Lia, though I do love them." 

She watched him speak in silence, and he gazed back at her, as if the answers to everything might be found in her face. 

"I don't understand you,” he said earnestly. “Why you've kept giving me chances. You've been so much more generous with me than I deserve. I've insulted you, yelled at you, I've been an absolute unbearable prick–"

Before he could think, she leaned in to silence him with her lips.

The kiss lasted forever and only a second all at once. Rolan closed his eyes, breathing in the faint smell of lavender on her skin.

Before he was anywhere near ready, she gently pulled away.

"Because," she murmured, "you're a good man, Rolan. And I like you." Her words, the lingering taste of her on his lips, they made his head spin. He felt like he was watching the door to a new world swing open before his eyes.

Before anything else, Rolan had to kiss her again. He released her hand to smooth the hair back from her face, watching the way she tilted into his touch, and gently guided her toward him.

It was deeper this time; he tasted the heady wine on her mouth, her breath a soft tickle against his cheek. As his fingers tangled her hair, he felt her hand wind sweetly over his shoulder, holding on to him.

A wet stripe flashed across his lips. His mouth gasped open in surprise, allowing her tongue to softly meet his, then draw slowly over his pointed teeth. 

The unexpected sensations brought his mind back to reality, and to the fact that they were in a public place. With effort, he wrenched himself out of the kiss. They breathed against each other for a moment. 

"I've got a room upstairs," she murmured. "If you want to?" Her cheeks were flushed from firelight and wine, and possibly even from him.

Whether or not he wanted to was no question: her words sent a fervent rush of blood to his groin. But first, he mustered enough control to hold her back from him for a moment. Her lips were parted in question.

"I adore you," he said. "I think I have for a long time. It's–very important to me that you know that. Before anything else." Even if the anything else was a dream that had kept him awake more nights than he could count.

Her soft hand cupped his cheek; he thought he might combust if she didn't say something. "Thank Gods," she laughed breathily. "I swore you hated me for a while there."

"I had no idea what to do with my feelings for you, I was a fucking idiot." It was all tumbling out of him now. He opened his mouth to continue, but her fingertips went to his lips.

 "Rolan–" Her voice was full of relief, and he was charmed to see the blush across her face deepen. "I feel the same way. I really, really like you."

His rotten heart could have flipped with joy. 

“Now.” She cocked her head askance, and he felt her fingers twine with his. "Make it up to me?"

Yes. Please, please, yes. He nodded in a daze, reeling like he'd sustained a blow to the head. All he could feel was the elation and anxiety swirling around and around in his stomach as he followed her toward the staircase, let her lead him by the hand like a lovesick idiot.

As they passed her companions he pointedly averted his eyes; he couldn't afford to lose any of the nerve building inside him. He'd need every bit of it in a moment.

The dark staircase seemed to ascend forever. Part of him wanted it to–he was no virgin, but the hand she held tight was shaking with anxiety. He wanted to make this perfect.

Overthinking proved pointless. The moment the heavy door closed behind them, he found himself pinned against it with a thud by the length of her body.

His involuntary groan was lost in their kiss. She was everywhere around him at once: hands pinning his shoulders back against the wood, hips grinding into his thigh with no pretense, her tongue pressing against his lips and slipping past his teeth to taste him. She moaned against his mouth, and the sound reverberated from his head to his feet.

His erection was practically instantaneous. He hooked his thumbs over her hip bones, sharp nails finding purchase in her pants, and rolled himself against the yielding softness between her legs. 

Whatever release the pressure provided multiplied it tenfold. Desire coursed through him, burning in his veins hotter than he thought possible. 

The maneuver brought an approving hum from her throat, however. Encouraged, he ground her into him again, and again, as slowly as his body could be convinced to go.

Her hands released his shoulders to rake upward through his hair, pulling his face toward her.

Pulling him deeper into the room, he realized. He stumbled slightly against something; tasting her lips was infinitely more important than breaking the kiss to look where he was going. He trusted her lead, impatient to reach whatever destination she had in mind so he could freely explore her.

Their connected bodies bumped up against the edge of something soft. She pulled away, and his immediate disappointment rapidly turned around as he felt her fingers fumbling with the clasps of his robe. He guided her hands, struggling at the same time to kick off one boot and then the other. 

As his robes pooled on the floor, her palms pressed him away for a moment.

Rolan stood frozen and panting in his trousers. She licked her kiss-swollen lips as she looked over his bare shoulders, his chest. When her eyes reached the obvious hardness straining in his pants, she let out a delicious sound.

Rolan's hands grabbed for her of their own volition. They slipped under the hem of her shirt, against the bare skin of her waist, and wrenched the garment up over her head in one motion.

To look at her directly was almost too much–he felt love and desire churning together inside of him. "Beautiful," was all he could say.

He buried his face in her shoulder instead, fang-like teeth brushing over her skin as he left a trail of kisses along the curve of her neck. She let out a gasp when his hand gently stroked her breast.

"You're so warm," she murmured into his hair. To him, she was pleasantly cool; he shivered when her fingers traced the small set of ridges that ran from his collarbone to his sternum.

But he needed more of her. He hooked both thumbs over her waistband and tugged ineffectually. She quickly took over, shucking them off with a shimmying motion.

The sight of her bare, for him, was almost enough to make Rolan come then and there. He reached out to her hips to steady himself. She was so much more divine than anything his paltry imagination could have conjured.

Through his blazing arousal, he was barely aware of the hands unlacing his pants until she tugged them down to finally let his cock spring free.

A sigh of relief escaped him. He watched her take him in, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. 

"You're incredible," she whispered. Then her arms slid around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

He tried to concentrate on her mouth, but the way his cock brushed and nudged against her skin every time she moved was taking over his brain.

With a motion of her hips, she captured his length between her thighs and rocked forward and back, sliding her dripping wet center over his cock. The revelation of her own state of desire sent his mind spiraling with want.

Rolan let out what could only be called a whimper. He clutched her to him, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth as firmly as he dared, as if she might suddenly disappear and leave him in an aching pile.

She made a pleased sound, then gave his shoulders a push. With his pants still around his thighs, he lost his balance–knees buckled as he fell backwards onto the mattress behind them.

He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see her kneel on the floor in front of him. Her two hands pushed his knees apart, as far as the straining fabric would allow–

Rolan tried and failed to breathe normally, heart pounding in his ears. It felt like time was slowing to a crawl. Her eyes glanced from his face to the stiff erection between them. A droplet of moisture shone at its tip.

"Can I–?" She was asking him for permission, hands poised on his thighs, her expression heady with arousal.

"Anything," Rolan swore, and he meant it. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted to him right now. Before he could prepare himself, her mouth closed wetly around his tip. 

Truly, nothing could have readied him. He let out a gasp–his head dropped back as his hips rose involuntarily to seek more of her soft, cool mouth. 

He had scarcely adjusted before she took him in further, sliding her tongue down along his length to his very base–then slowly, achingly slowly, back up again.

He heard the rip of fabric as his nails gripped the bedding. He gathered the will to raise his head up to look.

Rolan was mesmerized by the sight of her lips wrapped around taught red skin, his length disappearing into her mouth and returning wet with saliva. She was working him over almost reverently slow, eyes closed as if tasting him.

Tasting herself on him. His cock twitched inside her mouth at the realization. She glanced up at him, releasing him from her lips with a soft, wet pop.

He could have groaned at the loss of her. Instead, he used the moment to work off his constraining pants and toss them away. Before she could reach for him again, Rolan pulled her up and onto his lap.

Her knees sank into the bed on either side as she straddled him, but she kept herself hovering well above him without contact. He pushed aside the ache between his legs to focus on more important things.

He leaned forward to press a soft kiss between her breasts, allowed his mouth to explore. She sighed with pleasure as he alternately licked and kissed across each curve, then drew sharp breath as his teeth sucked at the soft flesh under one breast. 

Her hands, at first resting on his shoulders, flew to grab two fistfuls of his hair. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

Rolan pulled away for a moment for admire the purple mark blooming on her breast. He glanced up as though looking for approval. She gave it, tugging his hair to tilt his face into a waiting kiss.

Ever so carefully…mindful of his fingertips, he placed the flat of his palm on the heat between her legs.

“Rolan–” she gasped, breaking away. 

The sound of his own name had never been dearer to him. He was run through with a thrill, and a fervent desire to do whatever it took to make her say it again.

  He massaged gentle circles into her, the base of his palm pressing against her clit in slow rhythm. Her wetness coated him with each stroke. She quaked under his touch, eyelashes fluttering, and his other arm circled her back to support her. He felt her lean against him without a second thought. Trusting completely.

“I can’t believe I have you,” he heard his voice say, perhaps to himself. 

As he spoke he felt the core of her tightening under his hand. Abruptly, her fingers closed around his wrist to still his ministrations. He froze, immediately afraid he had scratched her somehow. But her face shone with nothing but desire for him.

"On your back," she directed.

Rolan nearly pinched his tail under himself in his haste to obey. He swept his legs out from between hers and stretched out as she climbed over to straddle him. 

Now they were finally here, she wasted no time leaving space between them. Her hips rolled down onto him and drew the wet folds of her center across his tip. His entire length throbbed at the blessed return of her touch, the head of his cock burning against her. 

Smoothly, simply, she lowered herself onto him.

The shuddering exhale from his lips met against her moan of relief. Rolan willed himself to keep his eyes on hers, even as her inviting walls gripped him, even as he practically felt his pupils dilate with want. Her features relaxed into a state of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

Then she started to move her hips.

She pushed her palms against his chest for leverage, riding his cock at a steady pace that felt entirely too slow. Whatever will he had to follow her lead was immediately tested; he was overcome with the need to touch her everywhere at once. 

Care forgotten, he gripped the soft flesh of her back with his fingertips. She cried out softly as his nails dragged from her shoulders to the base of her hips, but he felt her walls clench around him in response. His tail curled up and around her waist of its own volition, holding her as she took him in further with each bounce of her hips.

She gasped and fell over him, hands braced on either side. She was already losing control. He felt his own release closing in, used the new angle of her hips to thrust up into her. 

“Oh, Gods, yes–” Her mouth dropped open. She moved her hips back with each of his thrusts to take him more deeply. 

Rolan thought he might shatter apart. Waves of searing desire swept harder and harder through him. She took him so perfectly, his cock almost painfully gripped by her tightening walls, so wet and lush and sweet and for him–

A hand flew up to the back of her neck to grasp and to pull her down so he could taste her as he came. Lips crashed together frantically as the pace of their bodies started coming apart at the seams. 

In one bright concentrated moment, she shook and trembled violently into him as she grasped for whatever part of him she could reach. He managed one last stuttering thrust before his climax was ripped from him by her own, spilling inside of her clenching center, hurling him outside himself and into the wide Astral plane.

They shuddered against each others' bodies as white-hot waves receded outward farther and farther. Her head dropped to his shoulder as though she'd lost all muscle control. 

He felt her slowing breaths fan out across his chest, and he rested a hand on the back of her head to keep her there.

-

As Rolan stared up at the wood-paneled ceiling above them, something cold dripped down at the base of him. He realized he was still inside of her. He swung his free arm over the side of the bed–still woozy enough from his climax that he nearly slid head-first to the floor–and snatched up his rumpled robes to clean them both.

She rolled off him then and cuddled up on her side to watch him. He mirrored her pose, adjusting against the pillows to make a spot for his horns. One of her fingers found the point of his ear and began tracing.

“How do you feel?” She asked. 

Rolan sighed deeply. “Happy.” He could cast around for another dozen words, but he’d rather take her in. He smoothed a hand up and down along the curve of her side.

“So do I.” She leaned over to spread light kisses along his lips, then his jaw and cheek. His tail brushed against her leg in an idle caress. 

She glanced down. “I didn’t actually know about…that.”

“Am I your first Tiefling?” He teased, though the thought genuinely pleased him.

“First and last,” she replied. The words were instantly locked away in his chest. 

She gave a little shiver then, tucking her body against his warmth. He dug the covers up over themselves and wrapped her up tight with his arms and legs. The simple feeling of holding her brought him a deep sense of calm.

“I love this, Rolan.” Her lips moved against the hollow at the base of his neck. “I wish I could take tonight and carry it with me everywhere.”

Something sparked in him at her words. He opened his eyes and reluctantly released her to feel around the floor at the floor for his stained robe.

"What are you doing over there?" She lifted her head curiously to peer over the bedside. 

"Just need to find something." He rummaged through his layers of discarded clothing before finally, his knuckle grazed something hard.

He slid back up under the covers beside her. She propped herself up against him, resting a palm on his chest with an expectant look.

He held out his thumb and index finger. Between them, an amber stone glinted in the dim light.

Her mouth fell open in recognition. For one second, he was afraid she might cry.

Then she buried her head in the crook of his neck, wrapping both arms tight around him. "I knew you were a darling all along." 

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Back again with the swooning series! Here’s some Warriors and my first attempt at writing anything resembling happiness. thank you to my lovely wife, @trippygalaxy for proofreading!

Previous parts are not required to understand this one, they are all standalone.

Part 1 Four

Part 2 Wild

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Between any form of fable, tale or mythos, there is one trope that has embedded itself within the scribes and writers throughout time. That the gods had made everyone inherently flawed. That no matter who you were, what morals you stood for, there would be some fatal flaw to strike you down.

Heroes are not exempt from this.

In fact, Warriors is keenly aware that he is quite deeply flawed. That he as a person and as a weapon was chipped and cracked. He was alive in all its imperfections.

And yet he was not good enough.

Warriors had to grapple with this vagueness. He was only loved or sought after for his skill, or his ability or his potential. Never anymore was he simply just Link. Or, at least, not Link who clung to his mother’s skirt and awed at all the knights. Now, he was one of those knights. There was no room in the eyes of anyone for anything else. He’d never be enough— for even himself.

So, he adapted. He pushed harder and trained longer. He learned and memorised the paths of monsters and how they collaborated and in tandem how to arrange counter attacks and defence with his own arsenal.

His body was broken and remade anew. A was good enough in the eyes of the people.

He was not in his own.

It never caught up to him, though. Not in some karmic matter of being struck down or his body finally giving in to the weight he bears.The war ended, and another began.

He had a new team to memorise and a new opposition to attack. They were the standard to his life, minor adjustments.

The terrain was, too, a challenge. Ever changing and always a mystery, the battlefield was always unfamiliar. The matter of his situation became more pressing, and he rose to meet his requirements.

When you’d fallen upon the crew, unfamiliar to Hyrule as a whole, he was sceptical. It was impossible for him to fully comprehend. You were something other entirely.

You couldn’t be human.

You couldn’t be.

You were far too alluring to simply be ‘standard’ and yet you insisted.

He kept his distance. And don’t be fooled, it’s not due to any standoff. He yearns to be in your company, to share your laughter and bask under the approval of his gaze.

But he fought himself.

He fought the scared within him. That you were, in fact, too good to be true. That in some way you would turn on him and his brethren.

He fought the desire within him. That you’d cause him to stray from what is polite and expected of someone knighted. That his courtship would be declined.

It was such distractions and unbalance in his mind that threw him off track long hours past his hazy dreams. And it showed in his fighting.

The shadow had swamped them with wave and wave of foe. Everyone was battered beyond any use. Potions were passed around to everyone after the fact as they stumbled into the closest Inn they could possibly find. He didn’t care to check who he roomed with, favouring to curl up in bed and rest.

He woke up with blurred vision and a swimming headache. The candlelight was too bright for his aching head as he tried to keep down the pain.

“Woah, alright. You’re alright, lay back down” Gentle hands press him back into divinely warm sheets.

“You’re safe, Link. Your wounds have been taken care of. You just go on and sleep” Immediately he’s tugged back to the edge of sleep. Not focused nor worried about the fingers in his hair or the palm on his cheek. Life is good right here, in this odd moment suspended in time. He’s good here. He’s the most calm and content he’s been in a while. And for once he feels as if he’s loved. Not for any service he’s provided you, as you don’t go searching him out for anything other than company. Not for any gain you could get, you hardly even understand the concept of one of them being a hero (let alone all of them). Not even as some sick joke to play with his feelings.

You make him feel like himself again. After so long of still hiding behind a name or a title, he feels as if once again he’s just Link.

[2af-afterdark]

Love Me Tender

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad? Content: Raphael x MC, fluff and smut, restraints, blindfolds, soft domination, it’s not a kink in this fic but Raphael is still technically in his cock cage, cumming untouched Summary: I just want to give Raphael some tender love. Word Count: 720

You press your lips against Raphael’s, capturing his bottom one and gently sucking on it just to hear the soft growl that he doesn’t attempt to suppress. Beneath you, he stirs, threatening to tear the bindings from around his wrists like tissue paper.

You run your hand over his naked chest as you continue to kiss him, slowly following the curve of his arms upward above his head where his hands are bound to the bedpost by little more than the scrapes of fabric you could imagine on short notice. 

You lace your fingers between his as you say, “If you break free, I leave.”

And if you left this space – one which was not Hell or Heaven or Earth, but a place entirely outside of any influence other that your own imagination – there would be no promise when next you and he would see one another. Not when all of Hell longed to stand between you and him, and you would never forgive the pain that he inflicted upon the devils just to see you.

Raphael’s body went limp.

“Good boy,” you whisper as you deliver one last kiss before you pull away.

His upper body raises up only slightly as he is careful not to pull against the bindings keeping him in place. His direction is guided only by your lingering touch as his eyes are covered so that he cannot look at you directly.

“You said you’d leave if I break free. Did you lie to me?” That last line sounds angry.

“I'm still here.” You squeeze his fingers between yours before pulling away your hand. “Trust me.”

It is a lot to ask of him, but you have faith that he can do it.

Only when you cradle your face against the crook of his shoulder and latch onto the soft flesh of his neck does he finally seem to release his tension. After a moment, his muscles relax and he eases into the illusionary mattress below.

You gently suck at the spot, feeling his pulse beneath your tongue. His vein twitches just below the skin, hammering more rapidly against your ministrations with each passing second. He grits his teeth, trying to hold back the sounds that you draw from his throat. They almost sound pained, but you already know that it’s the anticipation and expectations that are riling him up. After all, you are doing nothing that will hurt him, nor do you plan to.

“Bite down already,” he says, as if he expects you to tear his throat out.

You will have to disappoint him.

“Nope.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to the punch.

“You deserve to be treated gently, Raphael. You deserve to be loved.” 

You don’t know how often he has heard those words or even if he has heard them before, but you know them to be true. 

You close your eyes just to listen to him breathe between each little grunt, following the sounds of his voice to tell you where to kiss next. The harder it is for him to contain himself, the more you want to kiss that spot. Such a path leads you to lick up the side of his neck until you can nip at his jawline with just the tips of your teeth. 

The ends of his blonde hair tickle the lids of your eyes. You exhale abruptly; a short, subtle, but amused laugh.

“I love you,” you say.

As the words leave your mouth, he shudders beneath you. You dare not look down, but you can tell by the faint rose tint dusting his cheeks and the warmth slowly dripping onto your thigh that’s pressed between his that something has changed. 

He has come undone.

“Did you make a mess of your chastity belt?” you ask as you run your finger beneath the edge of his blindfold, lifting the right side only enough to see his eye glaring at you. His stare does nothing to deter you. “Should we make a bigger one?”

More white, hot liquid gushes from the small opening of his chastity device.

“In that case, let me help make a mess out of you.” With an innocent smirk and affection in your eyes, you say the words that ruin him once more. “I love you.”

[thrutheriff-if]

Thru the Riff is an 18+ interactive fiction revolving around music and the paranormal. It follows you, a journalist working for Star-Dust Magazine, in your newest gig of “interviewing” the members of the “hottest rock band” around, MANHUNT. You’ll work to uncover the bands secrets in your own… creative ways, and find out the truths as to why their stardom is surrounded by scandal.

Content Warnings: violence, foul language, suggestive themes, substance abuse, possession and other paranormal related themes, and more.

You’ve spent the past three years of your life trying to climb the corporate ladder at Star-Dust Magazine, a magazine focusing on the secrets and personal lives of the biggest bands and musicians of your time. You were hired as a journalist alongside your best friend, and have worked on countless jobs and interviews together, most of them being your best work despite your bosses trepidation.

However, your most recent jobs have seemingly all ended as busts, your boss describing them as “fluff pieces” rather than the raw, true pieces that she wants. She’s given you an ultimatum: give her something truly fitting for Star-Dust, or she’ll refer you to a different career path.

Seemingly at rock bottom, you’re given a golden opportunity — MANHUNT, one of the biggest rock bands around, has gone viral for a scandal revolving around one of the members volatile departure from the band. It’s the perfect opportunity to use the bands mystery to your advantage.

The bad news? MANHUNT has never accepted written or filmed interviews that they can’t control, and they’ve refused countless interview invitations from Star-Dust in the past. The good news? Now with their rhythm guitarist very publicly leaving the band, they have to open auditions to replace her.

If only things could be as simple as they seem.

Customize your main characters gender, pronouns, physical appearance, personality and views. As well as choose their skill and interest in music, and their belief in the occult. Do they like the kind of music MANHUNT creates? Can they play any instruments themselves? Do they believe in any sort of occult or spiritual beings? How do those questions tie together? Only one way to find out.

Audition to join the band! MANHUNT needs a new rhythm guitarist, and you see this as the perfect opportunity to get an insider look on the band. Will you be genuine or secretive with your audition? Meet your future bandmates and impress or disappoint them.

Choose from four romance options; MANHUNT’s distant lead singer who has more secrets than they let on, MANHUNT’s drummer who has integrated you into the band without complaint, your guitar tech who has taken a special interest in you, or your best friend who has tagged along for the job.

Develop friendships with the rest of the band and help or destroy MANHUNT’s public image.

Oh, and don’t forget to write your piece for Star-Dust, your job literally depends on it. Find out as much as you can. Find out too much. Don’t get hurt.

Maxim / Maxine “Max” Hawke (RO, gender selectable) — The rather broody lead singer of MANHUNT. Max is the perfect fit for a rockstar, broody in their personal life but an all-out force of energy on stage, wooing crowds of thousands (and mortifying their parents) without issue. As personable as they appear to be on stage, they seem like they want nothing to do with you. It’ll be difficult getting close to them, especially with how odd they seem to be acting offstage.

Roman / Romona Woods (RO, gender selectable) — MANHUNT’s drummer who has a roguish appearance with a heart of gold. They may not look like the most approachable of people, but they’ll surprise you with their boundless energy and bubbly social skills. They’re the most accepting of your arrival to the band so far and are genuinely excited to get to know you.

Beck Moreau (RO, they/them) — Your own personal guitar tech! Well, not technically yours as they used to be Willa’s tech before she left but, regardless they’re tagging along to MANHUNT’s shows and maintaining your equipment for you. They’re loud and can be pretty irritating, and they seem to have a special interest in pushing your buttons. Can you handle the headache they give you?

Gabriel / Gabrielle Moretti (RO, gender selectable) — Your quiet, kind hearted best friend from your childhood. The two of you have been thick as thieves since you were young, and somehow you found yourselves tackling the same career path in adulthood. They’re kind and have been there for you throughout your struggles working for Star-Dust. They decided to come along with you on your newest job to “keep you safe” but, is that really… it?

… and be prepared to meet the rest of the band!

Finn Kellett (he/him), MANHUNT’s perpetually tired manager, Nex Warren (he/they), MANHUNT’s apathetic bassist who couldn’t care less about your arrival, Juliet Beckford (she/her), MANHUNT’s energetic lead guitarist who has a special interest in the unknown, and Willa Perez (she/her), MANHUNT’s rhythm guitarist before you came along, of whom you know very little about.

Author’s Note: Thru the Riff is a passion project of mine (Wil) and Elliot’s, so development will be entirely based on our free time and understanding of how to create our first interactive fiction. We hope you’ll enjoy what we create!

[thisgameissonintendo]

some thoughts...

at this point this seems like the usual 'hey, a show that has my whole heart got canceled' -post because it keeps haunting me every year but i have some words on dead boy detectives.

when the trailer was posted my first thought was 'hmmm, i don't really know about this. i'm still sad and upset about lockwood. but i gotta say this looks interesting'. months passed, dbd aired. and i LOVED it from the very first second. loved it more than any other show i've ever seen before. it was fun, it was lovely, everything made sense, no plot holes, interesting characters, long episodes, action, romance, it had everything. i could go on about how much i love this show for hours but if you know me, you know how much i love it and the cast + crew. they deserve all the praise in the world and all they wish for. they created a home for so many of us. true heroes.

dbd introduced me to the most amazing people in the world. i started talking to someone who i've known for some time but dbd was the reason we connected. i guess it was that last bit of tv magic that brought us together.

i don't really enjoy tv shows all that much (movies even less), so a show has to be good for me to give it a chance. it took me 0.01 seconds to know dead boy detectives was the show for me. it sparked my creativity, i had (and still have!) so many ideas. it made me happy. truly happy. whenever i think about the show or all the people i was introduced to because of it i get emotional. it means so much to me and it's like my little escape from reality. a dream really. a dream that's not ending because a certain network decided it was a good idea to cancel one of it's best shows. after 8 episodes. 1 season. again.

i'm really grateful and i don't know what i did to be welcomed in this fandom. i love everyone here and i hope we'll continue to be a little family. you may not know me or just see me as someone who posts content but just know that i'm thankful you crossed my path somehow. thank you for making me happy and being a little part of my life 🫂 and remember - we're all just a mirror away 🫶

[taurusdaylight]

our rendezvous

summary. being lost in the horizon sounds scary, but not when you're hand in hand with your lover.

pairing. boyfriend! jaehyun x implied fem! reader

genre. established relationship! au, fluff

word count. 4,021

warnings/tags. as far as i know, nothing :) it's only a little angsty because of uncertainty about the future, but nothing too intense! very very fluffy,,,, maybe a lil pda (oh?)

a/n. ur resident valentine is back! i'm so sorry for going off the grid, my life has been a blur over the past few months… i did nothing and everything. anyway, this is inspired by none other than horizon (soty!) and i was very lucky to have had the opportunity to visit florence, where the horizon mv was filmed, so i knew i had to write this! after finishing it, i realised it's rather similar to my first fic but what can i say, i love jaehyun travel! aus, plus, jaehyun and forever just go together. <3 hope the new year is treating everyone kindly, and as always, have fun reading~

–

Navigating life after graduation was akin to walking through a maze, struggling to find a way out. Growing up, you always thought that everyone’s life had already been nicely written out since there were only two things that truly mattered: school and work. The adults always preached about how good academic records would land you a great job. All your life, you never failed to achieve and maintain stellar grades so you never doubted that you would get a job. Yet, as the day of your graduation approached, you started to worry that you might not end up finding a job. Or at least, one that was to your liking.

The thought of working for the rest of your life sounded… boring. Perhaps an oversimplification, but you always made sure to put a hundred percent into your studies, so you felt like you never really had the chance to live your life the way you wanted to. You weren’t a party animal per se, but you wouldn’t hesitate to skip a night out with your friends if you had an important deadline to meet. It was always academics over everything else. Apart from meeting expectations that others had on you, the fear of failure haunted you too. More often than not, the urge of wanting to disappear creeped into your mind. It didn’t seem like a bad idea, running away to some random part of the world where no one knew you. Once you’ve spent enough time there, you could easily travel to another city and explore till your heart’s content. That was the dream. Unfortunately, this particular dream of yours never came true.

That was, until now.

Treading the path of adulthood was admittedly scary, you could slip and fall at any given moment and not know how to pick yourself up. But, you weren’t on your own. 

Jeong Jaehyun, your boyfriend of two years, shared the same sentiment. Sure, he was ambitious and had his goals set out. Like you, however, working himself to death wasn’t one of the things on his list. Jaehyun believed that it was important to strike a balance, to not throw yourself into something so deep that you would get lost in it. Working may be important but it would never hurt to have a little fun whenever time called for it. 

You first met Jaehyun in Introduction to Film Studies. Both second-year students, you and Jaehyun clicked extremely well with each other as you bonded over your shared love for films. What started as study sessions to help each other with assignments eventually progressed to warm, cosy movie date nights that also involved cuddling under a fluffy blanket on Jaehyun’s couch. 

While there have been minor arguments over those two years, you and Jaehyun always made sure to communicate. After all, a couple is supposed to fight the problem, not each other. The both of you understood that. These disagreements never bothered you that much because you believed that they were part and parcel of every relationship. Instead, you wondered more about how lucky you are to have found someone like Jaehyun. As you liked to put it, Jaehyun was your twin flame. He spoke to your soul in a way that no one else could.

Instead of taking the conventional route of starting a full-time job after graduating, you and Jaehyun booked one-way tickets to Rome the week after your final exams. How long the both of you were going to stay there for, that was a question for another time. The plan was to have no plan, going wherever your feet took you. Both of your parents weren’t exactly agreeable about this idea, nagging about how irresponsible and irrational it was. But what could they do? It’s not as if they could physically stop two grown adults from going. Eventually, they were able to come to terms with it and simply asked the both of you to stay safe. 

It’s been about three weeks or so since you two arrived in Rome. Tranquil mornings without a blaring alarm was something that you could really get used to. The icing on the cake would be waking up to the sight of Jaehyun sleeping peacefully next to you, an arm securely draped around your waist. His lips would slightly jut out, you would sometimes sneak a kiss or two because he simply looked too adorable to resist. 

A day out together would look something like sitting by an artwork in a museum, coming up with various interpretations or hopping from café to café to try out different desserts (which were often, gelato), you couldn’t count with your fingers the number of times the staff had to chase the both of you out because they were closing. Time is said to fly past when you’re having fun, but even more so when you’re spending it with the love of your life. At least, that’s what you think. 

The both of you woke up earlier than usual today because you’d turned in early the previous night, probably exhausted from all the walking. The sun wasn’t up yet, which meant that there were limited stores that were operating during this time too. It felt like a waste to sleep in and laze around in the apartment, so came the impulse decision of buying last-minute train tickets to Florence. 

“C’mon baby,” Jaehyun half-shouted, his gaze flickering between you and the platform located at the other end of the station.

Hands intertwined, you and Jaehyun were sprinting as fast as your legs could carry you in order to catch your train that leaves in approximately two minutes. Or rather, you were doing everything in your power to match Jaehyun’s speed because why was he running like he was competing in the Olympics? So much for wanting an athletic boyfriend. 

You were almost out of breath from running, you didn’t even have the energy to give Jaehyun a verbal answer. Instead, you tried to speed up like he told you to. After what felt like a hundred miles, the both of you finally reached the platform, boarded the train, and settled down into your allocated seats. 

“Oh my goodness. We are never doing that again,” you said, panting. 

Jaehyun shot you a wide grin. “Now that’s what I call an intense leg day.” 

You were rendered speechless. Here you were, thinking that he was going to agree with you. But you also remembered that Jaehyun was a gym rat first, your boyfriend second. Jaehyun goes a little over the top with exercising, you could tell that much just by looking at his physique. Though, you wouldn’t say that it was exactly a bad thing. In fact, what a sight for sore eyes he was… 

Before you had a chance to respond, Jaehyun used his other hand to push your head towards his shoulder. “Go to sleep, doll. Don’t want you feeling cranky in the middle of the day because you didn’t get to take your daily nap. I’ll wake you up when we’re reaching.”

Despite not being able to see him, you could hear the smile in Jaehyun’s voice, which caused you to grin too. Perhaps it was Jaehyun’s shoulder that made you comfy, but you could feel the sleepiness slowly start to envelop you, so you snuggled even closer to him.

“Good night, Jay,” you said before falling into slumber.

–

The train ride took faster than expected, probably because you were asleep throughout the journey. Upon alighting, you and Jaehyun walked aimlessly along Via Faenza. You stopped in your tracks when you caught the pleasant aroma of coffee beans coming from a café, it was so inviting that the both of you had no choice but to enter.

Save for the long line of people in office-wear queuing to get their morning coffee fix, there was no one else occupying the seats in the café. Wanting to be away from the crowd, you and Jaehyun made your way to the corner booth seat situated all the way inside after getting your order. You sat next to each other, with Jaehyun's arm wrapped around your waist. Your torso was slightly exposed because of the cropped top that you wore, and Jaehyun’s fingertips easily found purchase on your skin. Soft traces all over, which oddly enough, made you feel tingly and warm simultaneously. 

“Jaehyun,” you called out.

He turned to look at you. “Hmm?” 

“Do you regret being here with me? Don’t you feel like you’re wasting your life away?”

Jaehyun halted his movements, but he did not loosen his grip on your waist. His answer was written all over his face, from his creased eyebrows to his frowning lips. 

“Of course not, baby. Did I do or say something to make you think that way? I’m sorry if I did,” he said sincerely. 

“No, you didn’t do or say anything of that sort!” you quickly clarified. “I think I’m just worried about the future, you know? Once all of this is over…”

A small smile played on Jaehyun’s lips as he removed his arm from your waist. He cupped your face in his hand, sighing. “I wish you could see yourself the way I saw you, because then you’d have nothing to worry about at all. You’re going to do great things, ____. I’m sure of that. But for now, just let loose and enjoy yourself, okay? You deserve to have a break.” 

Jaehyun’s words could bring you to tears. He radiated so much positivity that it naturally rubbed off onto you, especially with the amount of time that you spend with each other. However, there were still moments of weakness, like now, where you’d inevitably think about how things could possibly go wrong. Before you could spiral into a whirlpool of negative thoughts, however, Jaehyun would pull you right out of it by telling you exactly what you need to hear in order to help get you through these times.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on Jaehyun’s cheek.

Jaehyun made a sound, as if to signal that he was pondering. He pointed at his cheek and tapped on it with his index finger several times. “One more?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his request, but who were you to deny him? Since you were feeling generous and grateful to your boyfriend, you quickly moved closer to give him two more kisses. One on his cheek, and the other on his lips. The best part was seeing the Cheshire cat smile appear on his face after he’d received his well-deserved kisses.

For the rest of the time at the café, you and Jaehyun were people-watching through the glass window while sipping on coffee and feeding each other small spoonfuls of pastries. At some point, random passer-bys became a part of a guessing game that started out of nowhere. Dating or siblings? What would their coffee order be if they came in here? The both of you had a lot of fun making up stories to back up your answer, boisterous laughter sounding through the place. 

Afterwards, you and Jaehyun continued wandering through the streets now that more stores have opened. An apparel store selling headwear caught Jaehyun’s eye, and he spent about twenty minutes or so looking through the bucket hats. Taking one in his hand, he tried it on and started making silly faces at you while dancing. 

“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.” You reached a hand out in an attempt to remove the hat from Jaehyun’s head, but he swiftly avoided you.

He held on tightly to the hat. “I think this was made for me. I’m definitely getting it.”

The hat didn’t look bad on him, but it was still… questionable. A helpless sigh escaped your lips when you knew that nothing you say would change his mind. “Okay… as long as you’re happy.” 

Fortunately, Jaehyun didn’t have thoughts of wearing the hat there and then. Because if not, you would think twice about walking next to him.

The next few stores mostly sold vintage items and souvenirs. You and Jaehyun ended up getting matching gnomes that had the initials of your first names carved into it. While checking out at the counter, the cashier made a comment about how cute the two of you look together and that the gnomes were such fitting choices, so much so that they looked like mini versions of you two. With shy smiles, the both of you thanked her before exiting the store. You also noticed the tinge of red on Jaehyun’s ears, but kept quiet about it since you were most likely a blushing mess yourself. 

Then, it was time for lunch. 

You and Jaehyun had previously crafted a mini bucket list, and one of the things on the list was to try the various types of pasta while you were in Italy, so that’s what the both of you had for lunch. It appeared that all the shopping must have taken up a great deal of your energy because the both of you still had an appetite for dessert afterwards, or, rather, gelato was considered a staple so there was no way that dessert could be skipped. 

Although it was sunny, the summer heat wasn’t unbearable so you two were at the outdoor seating area of the gelato café. Within the vicinity of the café, there was a group of children playing catch with one another. After finishing the gelato, Jaehyun dragged you along to them. 

“Ciao! I’m Jay,” he introduced with a friendly smile. 

You introduced yourself to them too and stood behind Jaehyun, hiding slightly. You didn’t have anything against children, but you still considered them to be strangers, and you always had a hard time talking to strangers due to your reserved nature. You barely had any experience with children too so this was still foreign to you.

On the flipside, Jaehyun adores children. You could see it in the way his eyes would light up whenever he interacted with him. Not to mention, he was great with children (an understatement, if you had to be truthful). Seeing Jaehyun with children always made your heart swell, in a good or bad way, you weren’t sure… The only thing you were certain of was that you definitely wanted to have his children.

While you were spacing out, Jaehyun was quick to ask and memorise the names of the children. He played around with them for a bit and made sure to include you as well, the game of catch was never so fun before. However, it wasn’t long before you got tired, so you opted to sit at one corner to watch them. You whipped out your phone to capture this moment, giggling at how precious Jaehyun looked. Happiness looked great on Jaehyun, and you hoped that it would stay on him for a long, long time.

All of them grew tired after a few rounds too, putting an end to the game. While they were busy running around, you discreetly returned back to the café and told the cashier that you would be paying for the children to get gelato. You also grabbed a bottle of water and gave it to Jaehyun, who was perspiring profusely; indeed, an intense leg day it was for him. 

Through body language and very poorly spoken Italian, you tried to tell the children that they could go pick out the flavours that they wanted at the café. You were far too preoccupied with communicating that to them, the endearing look that Jaehyun had on his face went unnoticed by you. Thankfully, the cashier was there to bridge the language barrier and they managed to get their gelato without any hiccups. Before leaving, each of the children gave you and Jaehyun a hi-five, a word of thanks echoing after one another.

Having spent almost the entire day in that area, you and Jaehyun decided to explore another part of the city before catching your train back to Rome. Long before this trip, you happened to stumble upon a website about the top spots that offered a picturesque view of the city. One of which was a twenty minute bus ride away from where you and Jaehyun were currently at. 

When the bus arrived, you and Jaehyun entered by the back door and sat down. You were busy admiring the old architecture of the buildings outside until you felt Jaehyun’s hand touching the side of your face. You realised that he was trying to put one side of his wired earpiece in your ear, which caused you to turn and face him, and you saw that he already had the other side of the earpiece in. Jaehyun was smiling so widely that his dimples were showing. You brought a hand up to poke it, feeling a sense of victory because you were one of the very few people in the world whom he allowed to touch his dimples.

Shyly, you took Jaehyun’s hand and interlocked your fingers together. No words were exchanged between the both of you, but there was a mutual feeling that this exact moment perfectly encapsulated the love you and Jaehyun have for each other. Tender, somewhat otherworldly in a way where everything, like the chatter of the other passengers on the bus, seemed to fade out in the background. 

As Can’t Take My Eyes Off You started playing through the earphones, you took it as an opportunity to mouth to Jaehyun, “I love you.”

Jaehyun’s dimples became more prominent at your sudden declaration. He made sure not to break eye contact with you before he mouthed back, “I love you.”

–

“Look!” you exclaimed, pointing toward the replica statue of David. It was the first thing that you saw after alighting from the bus.

Jaehyun turned his head to look at what you were pointing at. “Wow, it’s stunning."

The both of you hurriedly walked over to take some photos, which ended up in you and Jaehyun bursting into fits of laughter because he was imitating the statue and posing in the same way. It definitely earned you a few stares from the other visitors, but you and Jaehyun were too busy laughing to even notice that you two were getting judged. 

After snapping a few more photos, you and Jaehyun went to the other side of the square where you could see an overview of the city. It was breathtaking, to say the least, the both of you concurrently marvelled in awe at how it looked like a scene straight out of a movie. You could even spot the street that you two were at earlier in the day, as well as many other famous landmarks. Not to forget, the surrounding trees and mountains made it feel more complete, it was a perfect getaway from the bustling city for some peace and quiet. 

The both of you were standing at the top of the stairs, and you saw that there was a walking trail below. Due to time constraints, however, it seemed more logical to sit and admire the view, since neither of you knew how long the walking trail was and where it led to. Besides, it was a perfect spot to catch the sunset before you had to leave for the train station, so you two sat on one of the steps near the top where you had an unobstructed view of the city.

Like before, you and Jaehyun were listening to music together while holding hands. Other than humming along to the song, Jaehyun would also sing some of the lyrics to you, especially if it was a sweet or cheesy line. 

“Can’t believe I get to be here with you.” Even after some time had passed, you were still greatly impressed by the scenic view, in disbelief about how you could share this moment with your lover. The bright orange hues of the sun added more colour to the backdrop, it felt surreal watching it slowly go down.

“Me too,” Jaehyun replied almost immediately. “It feels like a dream…” 

“If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up from it,” you said while shifting closer to Jaehyun’s side. “Like, ever.”

“I want to stay here with you forever.” Your voice came out as a whisper, because deep down, a part of you was afraid that this happiness would be taken away from you abruptly. 

Yet again, Jaehyun made one of those sounds to indicate that he was thinking, which made you gasp in response.

“You don’t want to be with me?” you questioned, a look of betrayal on your face.

“No, silly,” Jaehyun chuckled. “Of course I want to be with you.”

Jaehyun let out a deep breath, as though he had to brace himself for what he was going to say next. “The thought of eternity feels scary. But if I know that you’ll be there with me, then… there’s nothing to be scared of. I think, for me… forever is where you are, wherever that may be.”

Silence ensued, music playing through the shared earphones being the only source of sound. Jaehyun gulped awkwardly when he noticed that your gaze was fixed on him, but you weren’t saying anything. “Did that come out wrong? I don’t even know what I’m saying sometimes. But I guess I was trying to say that–”

You cut Jaehyun off with a kiss. He smiled against your lips, causing you to do the same. Jaehyun’s hand travelled to the small of your back to pull you in before he tilted his head to the side for better access, going straight for your upper lip to return the kiss. It was slow, delicate, and everything you could ever ask for. You sighed when you felt Jaehyun’s hand running over your skin; he knew exactly what he was doing. Every kiss that you shared with Jaehyun never fell short of being exhilarating, which was one of the great things about love… or Jaehyun. Perhaps, both. 

He was the first to pull away, staring intently at you with a cheeky smile on his face. Jaehyun leaned in closer until he could bury his head into the crook of your neck, leaving another kiss on your collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his frame, hugging him as tightly as possible. You and Jaehyun stayed like this for a while until you heard a lady yelp from a distance away, her loud voice grabbing your attention.

As you looked up to find out what the commotion was about, tears immediately filled your eyes and you had to do everything that you could to hold them back. 

The said lady was standing by the railing, both hands covering her mouth. In front of her was a man, down on one knee, holding out a box with a diamond ring. You tapped Jaehyun’s shoulder so that he’d sit back up, and he turned to see what you were looking at. All of the other visitors were also invested, as everyone patiently for the lady's answer. 

Everything happened so quickly. The lady nodding and getting pulled into a hug by her fiancé, the crowd erupting in cheers and applause–a truly sweet moment to witness. Without thinking much, you blurted out, “that’s going to be us.” 

Jaehyun diverted his attention back to you, shaking his head. Seemingly biting back a smile as his lips formed a thin line, Jaehyun jerked his head to motion at something behind you. “That’s us.”

You were about to protest, pop another question that was something along the lines of whether or not he was planning to marry you. However, you remained quiet and decided to take a look at what he was referring to first. 

Well, it looks like the urge to complain has completely disappeared. How could it not? Rather than dissatisfaction, your heart leapt with joy when your eyes landed on a couple standing hand in hand at the other end of the steps from where you and Jaehyun sat; they were having their pre-wedding photoshoot.

[darkfairiefey]

♡ Yandere Alphabet with Noob Saibot ♡

pairing: noob saibot (mk11) x gender neutral!reader

content warning: toxic/abusive relationship, yandere themes, slight necrophilia, murder, abduction, mentions of starvation, stalking

author notes: i do NOT condone this behaviour in real life and neither should you

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Noob Saibot’s idea of love and affection is as darkly twisted as ever. Dancing with the darkness and the dead? Exploring the graveyards or body filled battlefields? All those are possible with this phantom of death.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

“How messy would they get” He’s literally a silhouette made of absolute shadow. What do you mean he wouldn’t get messy? The moment another mortal even talks to you, the next few minutes will be painful. And he’s perfectly capable of killing others right in front of your face. According to him, you don’t need others, as you already have him.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He would absolutely mock his darling for even daring to step into his path, or for even trying to escape. In general, being kidnapped by him is an inevitable fate one slips into and never escapes from.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

This phantom has a lot of options in his hands to make you do against your will, such as force feeding you flesh and bone, dancing with your dead body, etc.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Although he does show off a few actions of affection, most of his heart is corrupted enough that there’s barely any real feelings there.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

This shit amuses him to no end. His “perfected” form may not be impossible to fight against, but it’s still incredibly difficult. And he has no qualms in killing you if you get on his nerves, so you better watch yourself.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Noob Saibot LOVES games. Nothing amuses Saibot more than watching his darling try to escape from his grasp. 

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Everything. Absolutely EVERYTHING. Good fucking god, this shadow is just so damn cruel, that even hanging around with him for one second feels like hell. 

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Noob believes that you and him should be together forever, even through life and death, and the aftermath and the afterlife.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Bi-Han was already a jealous man, but oh boy, Noob is so much worse. Anyone that even looks at you is pretty dead from the start.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He pretty much the same way he does around everyone else: cruel, ruthless, and utterly merciless. Although he does attempt to tone it down when he’s around you, maybe so you recognize him more, or to lull you into a false sense of security.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He’d try to lure you into a false sense of comfort, by trying to act like the old him, just so you can remember him the same way, before declaring that you’re his forever.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

The newly “perfected” Saibot acts this way around pretty much everyone, but especially to his former allies, including you. 

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

This evil phantom just loves to torture you, punish you, and make you his toy. Punishments may include: starving you, cutting you, forcing you to eat flesh and other gross stuff, etc.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

You poor thing, so many rights of yours would be taken away from you, the right to eat proper food, the right to talk to others, the right to speak your own truth, etc.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Just like Bi-Han, his patience is as thin as a pencil. Don’t even bother trying to talk back to him, as he already has a lot of punishments under his sleeve.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Absolutely not. You’re his, and you know that. And he doesn’t care if you die, as he is already using your dead body as his personal toy.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

As Bi-Han, he may have a few regrets in abducting you, but all that goes out the window the moment he becomes Noob Saibot. And I want you listen to him when he tells you this: He. Will. Never. Let. You. Go.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Bi-Han’s death wasn’t the end of him. His sudden resurrection as a phantom is an exaggeration of both his personality and his worst traits. If you thought Bi-Han was bad, just wait until you meet his ghost.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Unfortunately, isolating yourself doesn’t seem to work, as he can magically appear next to you at any moment possible. And don’t bother screaming or crying either, as this just amuses him even more.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Most yanderes have some sort of facade they use to fool others. With someone like Noob, he doesn’t need to fool others into thinking that they belong elsewhere, because he’s already endlessly cruel from the core.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

His darling can exploit as many weaknesses as they want, but all those roads lead to the same path in the end. And don’t you dare talk about Bi-Han. That name is dead to him.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Hoo boy, this son of a bitch could literally kill you just because he loves you. If he’s feeling especially cruel, he may as well kill you the moment you first cross paths with him, just so you and him can be together forever.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He doesn’t really worship you, he’d rather be it that YOU worship him instead. Transforming into this monstrous phantom has really inflated his ego. And he would go WAY too far to win you over, from killing your friends and relatives, to even killing you and claiming your body as his own plaything.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

It would probably take about a week for him to fully lose his patience. If he does lose his patience, RUN.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Absolutely. Noob’s cruelty knows no end, so dragging you into the mindfuck fantasies of his corrupted mind will most definitely break you. It’s not like he cares though, it amuses him.

[runariya]

Drive to Survive (JJK) • Chapter 10 “Ride or Die”

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: fluff, doubt, a bet, bad gut feeling, fluff, they're so in love, fatal racing accident allusion of 2020 crash of Romain Grosjean (link to crash at the end of the chapter for best reading experience), angst, panic, lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 5.410

🎵 Adele - Skyfall 🎵

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to the sport of Formula 1 are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • 06 • 07 • 08 • 09 • series masterlist • 11 (Final)

The moment you open your eyes, doubts flood your mind. You can’t decide if last night was the dream come true you’ve been hoping for or the nightmare you feared from the moment you fell for Jungkook.  

You lie still, afraid to move and wake him, not wanting to play Reaper for your own happy ending. It's bittersweet, being so close to him, surrounded by his warmth and scent, knowing that any moment could be the end. Panic sets in, quickening your breathing until Jungkook stirs, waking up and searching your face with worried eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong, babe?" he asks, voice still groggy, hair sticking in every direction, making your heart ache even more.  

“I... I... I need to get up.” You quickly pull away from him, simultaneously wrapping the duvet tightly around you as you escape the bed. But Jungkook is faster, catching up with you in an instant and blocking your path.  

You should have known better than to think you could outrun an athlete, but here you are, embarrassed and unsure. Without your heels, you feel even smaller than usual with him towering before you. 

“Nuh uh, what’s wrong? Do you regret last night?” His voice is sure in itself, but there's a hint of hurt in his eyes. “Talk to me. We’re not doing hide and seek.”  

Taking a deep breath, you know you have to be honest with him, just as he’s always been with you.  

“I’m scared.”  

“Of what?” He holds your free hand, his eyes locked onto yours, letting his warmth seep into you.  

“That it’s over.”  

“That what is over?”  

“Us.” You whisper the word, hoping to keep the tears at bay.  

“Nooo! Why would there be an end to us?” Jungkook says gently, almost with a whine, pulling you into a tight hug, squishing your cheek against his firm chest as he rocks you from side to side.  

The motion makes you giggle, and your spirits lift almost immediately.  

“Because you’re you, and I’m... me. And you deserve better.” You mumble against his chest, your voice muffled by how closely he holds you.  

“And that's perfect. I think you deserve better, and you think I deserve better, so we’re both all in. Isn't it?”  

His reasoning might be flawed, as it always is, but you understand what he’s trying to convey. You’re both deeply in love, each wanting the absolute best for the other. Isn't that the foundation of every lasting relationship? Love and respect? You think so. There has to be something to build on.  

“Yeah...”  

“So, smile that picture-perfect smile for me and give me a good morning kiss.”  

Jungkook stands up straight, puckering his still-swollen lips at you. You giggle, loving his positive attitude more than anything, and rise onto your tiptoes to give him a quick kiss.  

“One more.”  

You oblige, granting him his every wish. The joy in his eyes after you pull away dispels your last remaining doubts.  

“How much time do we have?”  

Jungkook walks over to his trousers, pulling out his phone to check the time. “About half an hour until we have to leave.”  

“I need like twenty minutes. Should I come fetch you from your room?”  

“But I want to get ready with you.” Jungkook pouts slightly, and you're sure he doesn't even realise he's doing it.  

“Next time, okay?”  

“Fine...”  

He quickly puts on his clothes while you watch, wanting to say goodbye properly before he leaves.  

As he slips his head through his shirt, he pauses for a moment, arms still not in the sleeves. “We’re a couple now, right?”  

You nod, then shrug your shoulders.  

“Okay, I take that as a definite yes. I’m not going to hide you, or our relationship. And I hope you don’t either.”  

His words momentarily catch you off guard. You hadn’t thought about it since last night. The media, the fact that he's not just a man but Jeon Jungkook, a world champion and public figure. What scares you the most isn't the prospect of being thrust into the spotlight, but that you truly don't care. If he’s as sure of you as he claims, then there shouldn't be any doubt or worry on your part either.  

So, with a soft smile, you give him the answer you know he hopes for. “Yeah, that’s fine with me.”  

Once again, his face lights up with happiness at your simple words, capturing you lovestruck. 

Jungkook walks towards you, now fully dressed  standing in front of you, his eyes lingering on your face as if memorising every detail. He leans in and kisses you goodbye, a warmth radiating off him that makes your heart race. 

“See you in twenty,” he rasps against your lips, his voice still carrying the grogginess of early morning while his hand cups your face. 

“See you in twenty,” you echo, watching as he turns to leave. But just as he reaches the door, he stops, turns back around, and unfastens the silver chain from around his neck. 

“Here,” he says softly, stepping closer to you. The chain catches the morning light as he holds it up with two hands. You’re taken aback when he carefully fastens it around your neck, the cool metal settling against your hot skin, his fingers feathery where they touch you. “It suits you better than me.”

Your hand instinctively moves to the chain, fingers tracing its familiar contours. A smile as bright as the sun spreads across your face, feeling his love in every fibre of your being. You reach up on your tiptoes and kiss him again, a brief but heartfelt kiss that leaves both of you breathless.

With a final soft glance, Jungkook leaves the room, and you set about getting ready for the day. The thrill of the race, or is it Jungkook’s love?…buzzes under your skin as you dress, the excitement and nerves mingling into one electric current you wish never dies. 

Precisely twenty minutes later, you make your way down the hotel corridor to Jungkook’s room. Your heart skips a beat as you knock gently on the door. You knock on Jungkook’s hotel room door, and even though you’ve since learned the truth about Trish’s presence being innocent, you still can’t shake the bitter memories that surface.

The door swings open almost immediately, and the moment he sees you, his eyes light up, chasing away the darkness within you. 

“Ready?” you ask, extending your hand towards him.

“Always,” he replies, taking your hand in his. 

The connection is instant, like it always was meant to be, the warmth of his palm against yours revives you, your love growing with every beat of your heart. Together, you make your way through the hotel lobby and out into the bustling streets leading to the Spa circuit, ignoring prying eyes, cameras and whispers around you. 

A slight breeze catches in your hair, carrying the distant sounds of the race track. As you walk hand in hand, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you, the outside world fading into the background.

“You know,” Jungkook says, glancing at you with a playful grin, “I dreamt about this day for so long. Walking to the circuit with my girlfriend.”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “Well, dreams do come true, Mr. Jeon. Especially when you’re this persistent.”

He laughs, the sound rich and carefree. “Persistent? More like hopelessly lovesick.”

“And how do you feel about race day? Ready to claim that podium?”

He nods, his expression shifting to one of determination. “Absolutely. This race is ours. I can feel it.”

You smile, feeling his confidence and energy rub off on you. The two of you walk in a comfortable silence for a moment, the only sounds being the rhythmic clicks of your shoes, moving at double the pace of his against the pavement. 

As the circuit comes into view, your excitement grows. Jungkook’s energy, especially after last night, is infectious, leaving you flying in this new high. 

“Do you think we’ll be the talk of the day?” Jungkook asks, breaking the silence.

“I hope not,” you reply, shooting him a knowing look. “But with the way things have been going, I wouldn’t be surprised if so.”

Jungkook nods, a serious look crossing his face. “You’re mine. Everyone can fuck off.”

“Jungkook!” You squeeze his hand in warning, scolding him playfully for his bad language as you step foot onto the track. 

Dodging reporters is almost second nature now, and you deftly avoid their probing questions as you and Jungkook make your way through the crowd, never detaching your hands.

As you approach the Mercedes paddock, you spot both of your fathers deep in conversation. They greet you with wide smiles, their eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and pride.

“Ah, there they are,” Mr. Jeon exclaims, clapping Jungkook on the back. “Look at you two. Quite the pair.”

Your father gives you a gentle hug, then pulls back to appraise you with a knowing smile. “It’s good to see you both so happy.”

Mr. Jeon nudges your father with a smirk. “You owe me a hundred.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You bet on us?!”

Your father and Mr. Jeon both chuckle, the sound warm and full of mischief. 

“And a hundred?” you add, incredulous.

Your father shrugs, trying to keep a straight face. “Thousand.”

You gasp, a laugh escaping your lips. “A hundred thousand?!”

The fathers exchange amused glances, their laughter filling the air. “We knew you two were meant for each other,” Mr. Jeon says, his voice filled with affection. “Just a matter of time.”

Jungkook shakes his head, clearly flabbergasted. “I can’t believe you two. Betting on us like some horse race.”

Your father chuckles, patting Jungkook’s shoulder. “It was a safe bet. And it’s not like we were rushing you. We just had faith.”

The easy banter continues, the two men playfully bickering about who saw the signs first and who had the better odds. Jungkook joins in, his laughter mingling with theirs, and you can’t help but smile at the easy familiarity between them.

The conversation takes a more serious turn when your father clears his throat, his expression growing somber. “Jungkook, how do you feel about Mingyu?”

Before Jungkook can respond, Mingyu strides by in his race gear, his gaze sliding over to you with an unsettling smirk, one eye still red. You feel your heart drop, blindsided by his sudden presence.

Both fathers turn to watch him pass, their expressions darkening. “We heard the FIA lifted his suspension last night,” Mr. Jeon says, his tone tinged with disbelief.

“No one understands why,” your father adds, shaking his head. “It’s baffling, really.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, a flash of anger in his eyes. “This doesn’t make any sense. How could they just let him back like that?”

You place a reassuring hand on his arm, trying to calm the storm brewing beneath the surface. “We’ll figure it out. There has to be an explanation.”

Mr. Jeon nods, his expression thoughtful. “It’s not over yet. Whatever’s happening, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Your father places a steadying hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Focus on the race, son. Don’t let this throw you off.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, nodding as he centres himself. “You’re right. We’ve come too far to let this mess with our heads.”

The fathers exchange glances, their mutual understanding and support evident. “Stay strong, both of you,” Mr. Jeon says, his voice steady. “We’re here if you need anything.”

You nod, feeling bolstered by their words. “Thank you. We appreciate it.”

As the conversation winds down, you share a look with Jungkook, the determination and resolve mirrored in his eyes. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you know you’ll face them together not only as colleagues but as a couple. 

The chaos of the race briefing still echoes in your mind as you and Jungkook exit the garage. Toto and the rest of the team went berserk about Mingyu, causing the atmosphere to shift into absolute determination to show what you’re made of. It’s a bittersweet relief that Mingyu has to start from the last position, yet it leaves you with an uneasy knot in your stomach about today.

There’s no time to lean into your doubts as you step into the open, reporters finally catch sight of you both. A flood of questions and flashing cameras converge, leaving no room for escape.

One reporter, pushing through the throng, grabs the opportunity. “How are you feeling about Mingyu’s unexpected return? Does it change your strategy for the race?”

You meet Jungkook’s gaze, and he gives a subtle nod. You take a deep breath, ready to address the questions with the poise expected of you. “Our focus remains on our own performance. Mingyu’s return doesn’t alter our strategy.” You try to look as unaffected as possible, but there’s still worry inside you that you can’t quiet place.  “We’re concentrating on executing our plan and adapting as needed. We’ve been preparing for every possible scenario, so we’re confident in our approach.”

Jungkook, ever the supportive partner, adds with a calm but determined tone, “We’re ready for whatever comes our way. Our main goal is to stay focused and deliver the best performance possible.”

Another reporter quickly interjects, “With all the attention on Mingyu, how are you managing the pressure leading up to the race?”

“Pressure is part of the game. We’ve trained for this, and we’re used to handling high-stress situations. Our priority is to stay composed and focused, no matter the external factors.” You answer smoothly, professional smile in place. 

Jungkook chimes in, “Exactly. We thrive under pressure. It’s about channeling that energy into our performance and ensuring we give it our all.”

The questions shift suddenly. “There’s been a lot of speculation about your relationship. You two seem inseparable these days. Can you comment on that?”

You start to answer professionally, “We’re both committed to our roles and as I stated some days ago, our private lives—”

Jungkook, not missing a beat, interrupts with a grin, “She’s my ride or die. On and off the track.”

The cameras snap furiously as Jungkook pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss. It’s gentle but oh so much more, a clear declaration of his feelings for the world to see. You can’t help but let out a small squeal of surprise. Your heart swells with pride, both for Jungkook’s prowess as a driver and the love you share. You so don’t shy away; instead, you lean into the kiss, embracing the moment with all the confidence and affection you feel.

The kiss lingers for a few seconds before he pulls away, a satisfied and goofy smile on his face which makes you giggle with red cheeks. The reporters’ cameras are still flashing, capturing every detail of the intimate exchange. You meet Jungkook’s eyes, feeling the warmth of his gesture and the genuine pride you both share. The crowd’s excitement intensifies, but you both remain grounded in your unity.

A final reporter calls out, “Any last words before the race?”

You give a confident nod. “We’re excited and ready to give it our best. Thanks for all the support.”

Jungkook squeezes your hand, his gaze never leaving you. “See you at the finish line.”

As the reporters begin to disperse, you and Jungkook walk away hand in hand, your heart still racing from the earlier excitement. The race is just around the corner, and despite the frenzy of the moment, you both feel more prepared and connected than ever.

The roar of the crowd is a loud vibrating presence as you stand in the pit lane, eyes fixed on the track. The Belgian Grand Prix is infamous for its unpredictable weather and treacherous corners, a true test of skill and nerve for all teams. Today, the sky is a patchwork of ominous clouds, promising a dramatic race. 

Jungkook sits in the cockpit of his car, lined up at the front of the grid in pole position. He is the perfect picture of focus, every inch the professional athlete as he goes through his pre-race routine after the formation lap. The helmet hides his face, but you can imagine the determined set of his jaw, the intense concentration in his eyes as he zeros in on the lights above. You have seen it countless times before, yet it never fails to quicken your heartbeat. Through the radio, his voice crackles to life, calm and assured. “How are we looking, babe?”

“Everything’s good, Jungkook,” you reply, keeping your tone steady and professional despite the intimate endearment you learned to love overnight. “Track temperature is holding, and the weather looks like it’s going to hold off for now.”

“Copy that,” he says. “Let’s bring it home.”

Your gaze flickers over to the back of the grid, where Mingyu sits in his own car, starting from the last position. There’s a steely determination about him, a hunger for victory that has fuelled Jungkook’s determination to win even more. You’ve seen Mingyu pull off incredible comebacks some races before, and despite the odds, you know he’ll fight his way to the front.

The lights above the starting grid illuminate one by one, the tension mounting with each brilliant red bulb. You hold your breath, waiting for that final moment when they’ll all go out, signalling the start of the race. You can almost hear Jungkook’s heartbeat over the radio, matching your own rapid pulse.

And then, in an explosion of noise and motion, they’re off. 

Jungkook gets a clean start, his car leaping forward, while behind him, the rest of the field jostles for position. Tyres squeal and engines roar, the symphony of Formula 1 racing echoing through the hills of Spa-Francorchamps.

“Great start, Jungkook,” you say into the radio, watching as he expertly navigates the first corner. He maintains his lead, the rest of the pack struggling to keep up with his blistering pace.

But your attention is divided, constantly flickering to the back of the field where Mingyu is making his move. He’s aggressive, carving through the slower cars with a relentless drive that’s terrifying regarding his physique. In no time at all, he’s surged past a third of the pack, his car a blur of blue, red and yellow. 

“Mingyu’s on the move,” you inform Jungkook, watching the data streaming in on your monitor. “He’s already up to P10.”

“Noted,” Jungkook replies, his voice steady. “Keep me updated.”

The roar of the engines reaches a crescendo as Jungkook approaches the legendary Eau Rouge and Raidillon complex, a brutal test of skill and bravery that every driver must master. The track dips dramatically downhill before launching sharply uphill, creating a blind crest that requires absolute commitment and precision. Your heart pounds as you watch Jungkook navigate this section, the car compressed by the massive g-forces, tyres straining for grip on the asphalt. 

From your vantage point, it’s a breathtaking display of skill; any hesitation here could spell disaster, but Jungkook takes it with persistent confidence. He enters the corner perfectly, trusting his instincts and the engineering of his car, balancing speed and control in a dance of motion only the best can master. 

As he crests the hill at Raidillon, the car maintains its poise, the perfect evidence of his focus and precision. You can almost feel the rush of adrenaline from his perspective, knowing the risks but trusting in his capabilities to push through unscathed.

The Kemmel Straight is a powerful, exhilarating stretch where Jungkook can unleash the full potential of his car, a true stage for raw speed and engine power. Here, the aerodynamics of the car are pushed to their limits as he accelerates out of Raidillon, heading towards one of the best overtaking zones on the circuit. Your heart races as you watch the speed climb on the telemetry, the car screaming down the straight with relentless momentum, surpassing Lewis Hamilton’s top speed of 2020 with 326 km/h (202 mph) with ease. It's a strategic point in the race, where slipstreaming plays a crucial role, and Jungkook needs to be aware of any threats from behind. 

The tension in your shoulders rises, as he barrels down the straight, each millisecond counting, the roar of the engine vibrating through the pit lane. You know that any miscalculation here can lead to disaster in the braking zone at Les Combes, but you trust in Jungkook’s skill to maintain his advantage, utilising every ounce of the car's capabilities to keep Mingyu and the rest at bay.

As Jungkook approaches the intricate series of turns at Les Combes, the race transitions from raw speed to technical finesse. This section, characterised by its tricky right-left-right configuration, demands impeccable braking and cornering precision. 

You watch intently as Jungkook prepares to decelerate, trusting his instincts to judge the perfect moment to brake hard as he did in the countless simulation sessions. The car’s balance shifts dramatically as he threads through the sequence, each apex a critical piece of a larger puzzle. It’s a dance of dexterity and control, with Jungkook’s expertise on full display as he maintains his lead, deftly handling the wheel as the live broadcasts on TV show footage of his cockpit. 

The ability to maintain speed without compromising control is vital here, and Jungkook executes it flawlessly, his focus like you’ve never seen before. This part of the track separates those who simply drive from those who understand the art of racing, and you feel a swell of pride as Jungkook, your boyfriend, emerges from Les Combes, still in command, ready for the next challenge.

The sweeping double left-hander of Pouhon is next after successfully passing the corners 8 to 11, a fearsome curve that challenges even the most seasoned drivers with its relentless demand for precision and bravery. 

As Jungkook enters this high-speed section, your eyes don’t dare to blink, knowing how crucial it is to maintain both speed and stability. The car must cling to the tarmac with every ounce of grip, the lateral forces threatening to push it off-line. 

Jungkook's skill is remarkable as he commits to the curve, keeping the throttle pinned as he balances on the knife-edge between speed and control. The data streams across your monitors, confirming his flawless trajectory, and you can almost feel the car responding to his slightest touch. It's truly a mesmerising display of mastery, the car dancing at the very limits of adhesion, and Jungkook holds his nerve, exiting Pouhon better than ever.

At corner 17, Blanchimont looms ahead, an infamous high-speed bend that demands courage as well as technical perfection. And as Jungkook approaches, the car is already pushed to its limits, the engine screaming as he keeps his foot down. This is a corner where only the most courageous drivers maintain full throttle, and Jungkook is one of them. 

Your pulse quickens, matching by now his own, as he nears the bend, the car slicing through the air at blistering speed, every decision made in fractions of a second. The car skims perilously close to the edge of the track, tyres gripping fiercely to keep the car from sliding off into disaster. 

It’s a breathtaking display of speed and finesse, where Jungkook’s experience and skill shine through, and you can barely breathe until he exits the corner cleanly, having navigated one of the most dangerous parts of the circuit with remarkable control. This daring manoeuvre confirms his dominance and keeps him ahead of the pack, setting up one of the final acts of the lap.

Lap after lap, the race evolves into a gripping spectacle of speed and strategy. Jungkook holds his lead with skill and composure, his car responding beautifully to every twist and turn of the iconic circuit. Each lap he completes feels like a small victory, the gap between him and the rest of the field widening.

Yet, your eyes can’t help but keep drifting to Mingyu’s progress. He is relentless, overtaking car after car with surgical precision. By the halfway point of the race, he’s up to fifth place, his charge through the field nothing short of spectacular. Every overtake he makes feels like a direct challenge, a reminder that he’s not out of the fight yet.

“Jungkook, Mingyu’s in P5 now,” you report, your voice laced with apprehension you hope he doesn’t catch. “He’s gaining on the leaders fast.”

Jungkook’s response is immediate, calculating and cool. “Understood. How’s my pace?”

“You’re looking good,” you reassure him, checking the data. “Just focus on your race. We’ve got this.”

As the laps tick down, the tension in the pit lane rises. You can feel it in the air, the anticipation as the climax of the race approaches. Mingyu is now in third place, bearing down on the second-place driver with relentless determination. His car is a missile, cutting through the air with lethal efficiency.

Your fingers dance over the controls, monitoring Jungkook’s car, ensuring everything is functioning perfectly. Every piece of information you relay is crucial, every decision potentially the difference between victory and defeat.

“Pace is still good, Jungkook,” you say, glancing up as his car roars past the pit wall, letting your hairs sway with his airstream. “Stay focused.”

The battle for second place is fierce, but Mingyu is unstoppable. He takes the position with a daring move that has the crowd gasping, his car inches from his rival’s as they scream through Eau Rouge. Now, there’s only one car between him and victory: Jungkook’s.

You watch the monitors intently, heart in your throat as the two rivals face off.

Jungkook is in the lead, but Mingyu is gaining ground with every corner, his car faster, his resolve unshakeable. It’s a battle of wills, of skill and courage, and neither driver is willing to give an inch.

“Jungkook, Mingyu is closing in,” you warn, your voice tight with tension. “Stay sharp.”

“I see him,” Jungkook replies, a hint of steel in his voice. “I’m not letting him through.”

The final laps are a haze of speed and intensity, the cars pushing their limits, the drivers beyond exhaustion but fuelled by sheer determination. Jungkook, seathing to the bones, defends with all his might, his car a fortress that Mingyu cannot breach.

The track seems to shrink, every corner leaving more nerves behind, every straight a chance for Mingyu to close the gap. You can feel the strain, the pressure weighing heavy on your shoulders as the race reaches its climax.

As you watch the live feed in the garage of the penultimate lap, you see Jungkook’s car moving down the Kemmel straight, Mingyu a breath away. Both drivers accelerate, nearly reaching the records of Kimi Räikönen in 2018 and Sergio Perez in 2019 with 343 km/h (213 mph). 

“Jungkook, you’re nearly breaking record. Don’t push too much, it’s not worth it.” Your voice crackles over the radio, also reminding him to keep his head down and stay focused. 

“Got it.” But he doesn’t listen, the telemetry data showing his unrelenting push on the throttle. 

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins, the tension unbearable even from the safety of the pit wall. 

And then, disaster strikes. 

Without warning, Mingyu, in a desperate bid to overtake, clips Jungkook’s rear, while a sickening crunch of metal is heard through the radio. It happens in an instant, too fast for you to react or comprehend, but slow enough that the moment etches itself into your mind.

The impact is instantaneous and violent, sending Jungkook’s car spinning off the track at a terrifying speed. Your eyes widen in horror as you watch helplessly, time seeming to slow as his car hurtles toward the barriers. 

“FUCK!” Jungkook’s voice booms in your ears. 

The screech of tyres and the grinding of metal are deafening, yet everything else around you feels silent, as if the entire world has come to a halt. A high-pitched ringing fills your ears, drowning out everything else, leaving you with nothing but the image of Jungkook's car losing control. 

It’s a nightmare scenario, one you’ve feared but never truly believed would happen.

The car smashes into the barriers with a ferocity that defies comprehension, the protective Armco railing tearing open as if made of paper. The force of the impact is catastrophic, the vehicle breaking into half as it collides with the barriers. In the split second before it bursts into flames, you see the twisted remnants of what was once the front of the car. 

Red flags wave instantly. There is no way anyone could survive such a catastrophic accident, but the thought is too horrifying to accept. The world seems to hold its breath as the car explodes into a massive fireball upon impact due to it’s raptured fuel cell, flames erupting around the cockpit in a way you never thought possible in todays racing. 

The searing heat and blinding brightness of the flames create a scene straight out of your worst fears. You can only see the back part of his car, meters away from the impact point, the front completely obscured by fire and smoke.

The inferno is consuming everything, the fire raging with an intensity that makes it feel alive, a malevolent force intent on destruction. The heat is palpable even from where you sit, and the acrid smell of burning fuel fills the air, mingling with the smoke as it billows upward. 

Instinctively, you leap to your feet, a scream of terror clawing its way out of your throat as you watch the inferno engulf the wreckage of what was once a finely-tuned racing machine.

"Jungkook!" you yell, the sound of his name tearing from your lips with raw desperation. The name echoes in your mind, but it feels hollow, futile against the deafening roar of the fire. 

The entire paddock is deathly quiet, the usual activity replaced by a stunned silence as everyone on the circuit watches the scene unfold in disbelief. There are certain moments where silence falls on a racing track and you know what that means. It’s as if the world has stopped turning, all eyes transfixed on the fiery wreckage, split in half. The fire burns with an intensity that seems impossible to contain, black thick smoke billowing into the sky as your mind races with fear and disbelief as helicopters capture the scene from above, broadcasting it live on TV. 

The seconds stretch into an eternity as you wait for any sign, any movement, that might indicate Jungkook is okay. Your heart hammers in your chest, each beat painful, reminding you of the time slipping away. The team around you shocked, radios crackling with frantic messages, but your world has narrowed to the sight of those flames and the desperate hope that Jungkook can somehow escape. Every second that passes feels like a lifetime, the fear a physical weight pressing down on you. 

You try to stay focused, remembering your training, reminding yourself that safety protocols are in place, that the marshals are trained for this. But it’s impossible to shake the fear that grips you, that tightens around your chest with every second that passes. You know the safety measures are extensive, that everything possible has been done to protect the drivers, but in this moment, those thoughts offer little comfort. The knowledge that there’s no way of him surviving such an accident is a persistent shadow in your mind, whispering doubts and fears that you try desperately to silence. 

It’s Joongki’s voice beside you that shatters every hope within you “He’s never gonna survive this. It’s been over twenty seconds.” 

And then, you break down. “Jungkook, talk to me!” you plead over the radio, your hands shaking, every nerve ending screaming for a response while the tears start to flow down your face.

But there is nothing but static. 

Amidst the chaos on the track, your eyes scan the scene frantically, searching for any sign of movement, any indication that he’s fighting his way free. You can barely breathe, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, time stretching into an agonising eternity.

“Jungkook! Please!” You sob uncontrollably into the radio, holding the mic attached to the headset with both hands to your mouth, shaking, begging, praying, as the front chassis of his car burns down to ashes. 

01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • 06 • 07 • 08 • 09 • series masterlist • 11 (Final)

a/n 2: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀 Here's also the crash of Romain Grosjean 11/29/2020 linked

a/n 3: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @jksusawife, @alessioayla, @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Walking on Sunshine 2

Sister series to Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows

Warnings: non/dubcon, antisocial behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: God The Bounty Hunter x reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stopped eating in the lunchroom after your second week with the company. That’s a few years back now but you don’t miss it. You never liked searching for a place to sit or being lonely in a room full of people. Instead, you leave the office and go for a walk, opting to sneak it nibbles at your desk after.

That day is just the same. You’re happy to see the rain has cleared up and so you won’t have to just stand and watch the downpour from under an awning. You grab your jacket, a brown wool with roses sewn into the lapels, and your wallet in case you get a temptation near the cafe.

You take the stairs. Not only is your little strolls meditative, it’s exercise. Sitting all day in your squeaky chair doesn’t do much for your cramped muscles. It’s a small thing but you enjoy it.

Your footsteps echo around you as you fumble for your earbuds. Sometimes it sounds like you’re not alone in the staircase as your soles scuff and reverberate in the empty space. You get to the bottom, catching your breath as you shove the wireless buds in your ears.

Despite using the time to detach and refocus, your choice in content is less than relaxing. The true crime podcast begins with its usual warning and sets your pace as you come out the front doors of the building. 

You head down along your usual path; just down towards the next corporate tower, through the path, and around the park. On the other side of the green, there’s a street full of businesses, including a cafe that sells jelly-filled muffins. You lose track of the narrative of a cheating husband and vengeful wife as you contemplate a sweet treat.

You get to the other side of the park and continue down the street. You pass the vintage stop you’d been in a total of one time and swiftly evacuated upon seeing a price tag. You carry on and stop in front of the cafe… it’s only Tuesday, you should wait until Friday.

You give a bittersweet smile and cross the street, turning back in the direction you came as you round out your usual cycle. As you get to the pavement, you hear the cafe door but the dark figure disappears inside as you glance back. You shrug and keep your pace, just to the other end, back across, and through the park, this time along the small bridge that arcs over the trickling river. 

There’s always hot chocolate at the office. That’s good bait to keep your feet moving.

🌞

Around two, you start to feel the day sitting on your eyelids. You yawn and sit back in your chair, the loud creak drawing the mutter of your seat neighbour. You apologise and steady the chair, bracing the arms as you stand. Your calves are all knotted up.

You shuffle away from your desk and go into the break room. You peek around, your earlier run-in still looming in your mind. You go through the usual routine; rinse your mug, turn on the kettle, and wait. As the water boils, you catch yourself checking over your shoulder. Still alone.

You stir in the powder and toss the stir stick. You turn and nearly cry out at the next surprise. No, it’s not that man, it’s the girl in her bright sweater. She skips through the door as you dribble hot chocolate down your fingers, switching hands to shake off the scalding droplets.

“Oh, hello!” She trills brightly, “mmm, hot chocolate?”

You nod and smile. You try to at least. You want so much to say something to her. To do more than stare back dumbly. Like that man.

“Um,” you chew your lip, “I like your sweater.”

“Huh?” She looks down and tugs at the bottom of the pink pullover, “oh, thanks! I sewed on the hearts myself.”

“That’s so cute,” you squeeze the mug handle.

“I like your blouse! Is it thrift?”

“Hmm?” You scrunch your brow, “oh, uh, yeah, totally vintage.”

“That’s awesome! I love thrifting. I found an old rotary phone the other day, I put it with my squishmallows.”

“Squishmall-ows,” you enunciate curiously, “cool.”

“Oh, let me show you,” she pulls out her phone. Her eagerness, her absolute carelessness, both surprises and calms you. She’s not that intimidating. She shows you a picture of very happy looking stuffed toys.

“Cute,” you remark.

“Right? Oh, I’m Lollipop, I just started in finance.”

You swallow and muster your name and title. Nothing fun, mostly policy reviews.

“I love that name. Well, I’m sorry, I don’t wanna keep you from working… I keep getting in the way.”

“Uh, yeah, they do make you feel like that around here,” you grumble.

She grins, “oh, so I’m not the only one.”

You chuckle and she continues on to the coffee machine. You leave, feeling accomplished. You don’t expect to be good friends but it’ll be nice to have someone to say hello to.

As you get to your desk, you set down your mug and sit, careful not to squeak the chair. You stop short as you reach for your mouse. What’s this? A small brown paper with the marquee of the cafe stamped on it. How…

You lean forward to unfold the top, glancing inside at the crumbly top of the muffin. The smell of apple and cinnamon has your stomach growling. You’re pretty sure your neighbour can hear as they sigh again.

It smells so delicious but where did it come from?

[ironwhumper359]

Torn from the Sea - Ch.1

Content: lab whump, scientist whumper, mermaid whump, mermaid whumpees, capture, more to come as verse develops!

Word count: 689

Author's Notes at the end!

— — —

Excerpt from Dr. Baltan's Research Log

Day 1

I have found what I hope to be an appropriate place to locate the specimen I am searching for. While much has been speculated about the creatures known colloquially as 'mer,' none have ever been studied in close proximity, let alone in captivity. I intend to change that with this project.

Local folklore speaks of migrating ocean spirits visiting this cove, and for two months out of each year, they do not fish in these waters or hunt in the surrounding forests. Some even leave offerings of fruit or nuts. My colleagues have dismissed my theory; after all, every documented sighting of a mer has occurred at far greater depths than this. However, if my hypothesis is correct, then they may have a very good reason indeed for coming to this cove year after year.

Time will prove whether I am right.

.

Day 9

After days of trekking back and forth from my research station to this remote spot, I've finally been vindicated. Not just one, but TWO mer– one male and one female, I presume– have moved into the cove and began building what I can only describe as some sort of nest. From this distance it is difficult to say with certainty, but the one I hypothesize to be female may be pregnant. I must admit, I am basing this on nothing more than the similarity in appearance between the creatures and humans, but even compared to other primates, the female's belly is swollen to a degree that one can only associate with either pregnancy or illness. Given the local legends that surround this place, I'm inclined to believe the former until proven otherwise.

I am eager to move on to phase two of my plan, but I must be patient and observe a little while longer if I am to detect the best opportunity for doing so.

.

Day 11

I can scarcely believe what I have witnessed. It's true, it's all true! The others laughed at me, called me a fool for equating silly tales to scientific fact, but I have seen it with my own eyes! The mer aren't merely aquatic, as is thought by the few scholars on the subject who exist. They are shifters! Like the lupine and avian examples studied by Dr. Harrison and Dr. Rodriguez respectively!

Part of me is tempted to take my existing documentation straight back to the Institute. I know more resources would be granted this project if I did so, but along with more resources would come more oversight, tiresome meddling from other researchers, and perhaps most distastefully, the loss of my solo credit from the eventual publication.

This is MY project, and I will use the resources at my own disposal to achieve my goals. No one else can take this from me.

.

Day 13

After observing the mer shifters for several days, I have identified several distinct patterns of behavior, as well as an opportunity to facilitate their capture. While I have at times observed both male and female leave the water and shift into a bipedal form, the male does so with far greater frequency, the female preferring to stay near the rock and rubble structure that I assume to be their nest.

Even when the female does venture onto land, she tends to stay on or near the beach, while the male ventures deeper into the foliage in search of food. Another hypothesis confirmed: he often returns with the food that I recognize as the villagers' offerings. Whether either side is aware of it, the local custom has been feeding the mer as they prepare for the birth of their young. Whether it has been the same pair of mer for hundreds of years or whether it is a new coupling each time is difficult to ascertain without any knowledge of their lifespan or gestation rate, and requires further study.

Regardless, my path forward is now obvious. I must contact my lab assistant and make the preparations for transport. Soon, I will have achieved the impossible. 

I will have captured a mer specimen for study. 

— — —

Author's Note: Ok so I know I said skyrim based vampire whump was coming, and it still is! But this verse sprung fully formed in my head yesterday while playing the Sims (as one does) and I just had to write it down! So get ready to see a lot of mermaid whump in the coming days!

[marches45]

Progress Report #4’s preview clip and how Ashley fit into Andrew’s decision-making

Progress Report #4 showed how Andrew and Julia began dating in high school. Rumors were spreading about Andrew and Ashley, and we can take a pretty good guess what they were about. While Julia told him that the school knows it’s just unfounded gossip, Andrew wasn’t satisfied with just that, or else he wouldn’t do what he did next.

He was the one to make the first move, but leading up to it, he didn’t signal any romantic interest in her and, in fact, nearly revealed that Julia’s ostensible friendship with Ashley, which he had requested Julia to initiate alongside her best friend (and the siblings’ manslaughter victim) Nina in their preteen days, only meant anything to him rather than to Ashley. Julia had caught on to Ashley’s disdain for her and believed she was hated until Andrew’s comment otherwise reassured her that Ashley considered her a friend. What Andrew did do was pick up on her interest in him and throw her a bone. His motive was pretty self-serving, of course.

Andrew is cautious. After fleeing the apartment with Ashley, he would check newspapers to see if there was anything written about what they’d done in their escape. Finding nothing over and over wouldn’t really quiet his worries of eventually getting caught and facing consequences. So Julia telling him that the rumors weren’t believed wouldn’t be enough to quiet his mind. He would have to do something that incontrovertibly proved they weren’t worth considering. So that’s what he did. But right before popping the question of Julia’s availability after school, he sighed behind her back as she anxiously walked away.

It’s clear that his most proximal cause to date Julia was to fend off any social consequences resulting from rumors by permanently silencing them, like he permanently silenced multiple people who posed a serious threat to his sister. But it took me a while of digesting the report content to see that he was thinking about her too when making his choice. I think he wanted to take the heat off of Ashley just as much as himself and self-justified with a thought like this: I’m sorry, Leyley, but it’s what’s best. You won’t like it, I know, but I’m doing it for you. No one’s gonna spread rumors about you on my watch! I shared this idea with a fellow fan in Discord (she’s Ashley fr fr), and what sold its plausibility for her was the sigh he let out before making his move. It was reminiscent of his reaction after killing for Ashley or otherwise bailing her out of a mess in ways he’d have no real problem with if they had no risk of consequences. I also think the idea works with how Andrew functions as Ashley’s parent and only true family. Parents often make decisions for their kids’ own good that are difficult to like or appreciate due to limited perspective on the kids’ part and reasoning not communicated (well) on the parents’.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more obvious it felt in hindsight, and the less I could believe that he wouldn’t account for her in his thought process. Andrew may treat Ashley as a scapegoat, but he doesn’t throw her under the bus for no reason. When referring to her in her absence, he has, as of yet, never explicitly pointed the finger at her for things he did, and even made excuses for her actions. To the extent that his resistance to blaming her behind her back fails when he starts the path to Decay by admitting he wants to accept his mother’s olive branch, the blame shifting avoids being explicit in his dialogue. More, when he did try to dodge accountability for inaction (the break-up, for example), he failed to appease the other party. Bro can’t get Ashley out of his thoughts, so how could he think of a way to escape the rumors without taking her with him? He may have gotten his mom’s looks and talent for deceit, but not her disregard and apathy for his sister. Maybe she’ll come to really appreciate his efforts when she isn’t…well, you know what those rumors say. But you didn’t hear them from me.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hey guess what it's more Good Ganondorf content!

@silvercaptain24 <3

The party had long since finished. Link had been escorted back to his room and left in peace. With food in his stomach and some water, he felt his strength returning. His body trembled as he stood tentatively, alone in his room, but he managed to stay on his feet nonetheless.

Stepping quietly to the door, Link put an ear to it. There had to be guards outside, but he hadn't seen any when Nabooru had brought him back here.

This entire situation was making less sense, but he wasn't going to stick around long enough to parse it all out. Nabooru had claimed Ganondorf was holding him hostage to keep him safe. Ganondorf himself had tried to make himself look like he wasn't the villain, like the entirety of Hyrule hadn't been ripped apart at the seams because of his corruption and desire for power, like he hadn't torn the Triforce from Link and Zelda in battle while his army slaughtered their men.

It didn't make sense. What game was the monster playing? Link would have to figure it out when he made it back to his own people. Zelda and his army were waiting for him. The queen was no doubt trying to get a rescue operation together, and Link didn't want to risk anyone's lives over himself, not when he could find his own way out. He wasn't some helpless fool, he could handle this, and he would get the Triforce pieces back that the queen so desperately guarded.

He'd seen the crazed look in Zelda's eyes when they'd lost the Triforce the first time. He didn't want to see that again.

There was no other way out of this room than to use the door. It felt stupidly simple and reckless. He had to open it quickly, to catch the guards by surprise, wherever they were stationed. He needed some kind of weapon. He'd managed to sneak a knife in from dinner, slipping it into his boot, but he wasn't sure how useful it would be. He gripped it firmly in his hand and took a steadying breath.

It was now or never.

Link threw the door open, quickly taking in his surroundings, and saw... nothing.

No one... was there.

Well, he couldn't stop to think about it. The noise he'd just made would attract attention.

Trying to remember the path Nabooru had led him through to get outside, Link ran quickly, ignoring the chill that sank into his bones as he moved. When had it gotten so cold? His fingers felt like they were getting numb already as they gripped the knife.

The hallway opened up to a larger room. He remembered that. This was where--

A hand grabbed him by the back of his tunic and yanked harshly, sending him to the floor with a yell. Link kicked blindly, eyes focusing on his target.

It was Ghirahim.

Snarling, Link rolled to get away and swiped with the knife to create distance. Ghirahim caught his arm by the wrist, watching him with a sadistic smile.

"I figured you wouldn't sit still for long, sky child," he purred.

Something in Link roared in response, and he let out a battle cry as gripped the demon's arm with his free hand, bringing all his weight down to drag Ghirahim to the ground. The demon gasped a little at the increased weight he was holding, but he caught the hero by the shirt instead of letting them both fall.

Link spat in his face next, and that worked brilliantly, making the demon hiss and pull away immediately. Free from his grasp, Link began to run, knowing this was not a fight he was going to win with a knife. He heard a snap and Ghirahim appeared in front of him.

"Now, now," Ghirahim said, brushing some white hair out of his face. "I have strict orders to keep you here."

"Over my dead body," Link snarled.

"Oh, I wish," Ghirahim replied. "You see, that has been a point of contention lately. My master wishes you alive and it is so dreadfully taxing on me. But I trust his judgment. He has a way to address the true matter. And then your little vassal can be safe and sound while I deal with you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Link snapped, eyes searching for another escape route as he spoke. The demon lord certainly loved to talk, so if Link could use that to his advantage, he would.

"It's amazing how dense you can be," Ghirahim grumbled. "Honestly, an entire war fought for you and you don't even understand it. Cia may have fallen in love with you, but she desires your vassal. Nevertheless, this has always been about eliminating you. My master understands that. It will be my highest honor to serve in that capacity for him, to be the one to deliver the killing blow. I cannot wait for that momentous occasion."

"You're out of your mind," Link replied. Another hallway was just to the left, and if he ran fast enough... "I am the Hero. I don't know what you're talking about with vassals. I serve the queen as a--"

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT THE QUEEN!" Ghirahim screamed, face contorted in rage. "This is about you, sky child, about revenge, about eliminating the one threat in my master's way! Her Grace isn't here, and her descendant doesn't have a fraction of that power, the Triforce is all my master needs now, and I will finally be able to kill you!"

The conversation was about to end and Link knew it. He tore off in the direction of the other hallway, managing to round the corner when he heard a snap again. He was prepared this time, grabbing the nearest pot and throwing it just as diamonds materialized in front of him. Ghirahim grunted as it made impact as soon as he appeared, shattering into countless pieces while Link quickly backtracked and went a different way.

By the grace of the goddesses, that had given the captain enough time to at least outmaneuver the demon lord, who wasn't sure which part of the compound Link had ended up by now. He was grateful for it, his heart racing and pounding in his ears as he rushed to find an exit. Fighting Ghirahim in the heat of battle felt far more... controlled than this. Here he felt like prey, and Ghirahim's rage and power over him was...

He wasn't going to say he was scared. He wouldn't.

Link felt a breeze and it gave him hope. That had to mean he was close to the outdoors. But where were all the Gerudo?

A door was up ahead, sand trickling in from beneath it, a promise of freedom and safety. Link threw it open with relief.

And ran right into Ganondorf.

Gasping, Link scrambled backwards, losing his footing and his balance as he fell unceremoniously to the ground. He continued to scoot away, trying to find a way around the towering figure. The man was enormous - it could give Link the advantage of scurrying around him if he was fast enough, but the world was spinning and--

"I figured you might try this," Ganondorf sighed.

Okay. Okay, fine. So they were talking. That would give him time to catch his breath. All these fools and their monologues - and people said Link was arrogant. At least he didn't usually give his enemies time to formulate a plan while they were actively standing in front of him.

"Your strength is returning," Ganondorf noted, walking towards him. "But that doesn't mean you're ready for a fight."

Well, Link might as well try to get some answers while he was here. "Where's the Triforce, you monster?"

"Where it needs to be," Ganondorf answered simply, closing the door behind him, much to Link's dismay. He stared at Link for an uncomfortably long time, making the captain squirm.

"Nabooru said you want me alive. Tell me why," he demanded, trying to make the man talk again.

Ganondorf was silent for a moment longer and then shook his head. "You're not in a state to accept my words."

"Try me," Link goaded. He had to admit, at this point he was curious. And it bought him more time to figure out what the heck his next step would be.

"I know your type, Hero," Ganondorf said, tacking on the title as if it were a curse. "You follow the queen like a puppy that doesn't know any better. Your heart is filled with a sense of duty, a desire to help and do good, and it is fixed on that woman. You'll do whatever Zelda tells you."

Link bristled but bit his tongue. Whatever slander Ganondorf was about to say didn't interest him, but the man hadn't made a point yet.

"You don't see the mess you're in," Ganondorf continued, shaking his head. "You don't understand. I'm trying to protect you, Link."

Link blinked. Then he blinked again. Nabooru had said as much, but hearing it from him... well. She had said keep him safe. He'd interpreted it as keep him alive. "Protect me from what?"

"Everything," Ganondorf muttered in a low time, voice rumbling in his chest. He bent forward, as if to grab Link, and the captain took that as his cue.

Link bolted, rushing to the left to get out of the reach of the man as he tried to run around him, using his small size to his advantage. He reached the door and immediately realized his mistake.

It was locked.

The ground vanished beneath him, and Link felt his stomach lurch as he was held in the air by one of his arms. The strain of having his entire body weight pulled into his shoulder joint made him grit his teeth. Then his world twirled as he was tossed against the man, his back to Ganondorf's chest, held in place by an arm wrapped around his torso.

"Let me go!" he yelled, kicking his legs as much as possible.

"I told you that you were not ready for this conversation," Ganondorf said, almost chidingly. "I'm taking you back to your room so you can rest."

"You think I'll be ready for a conversation that isn't true?" Link snapped. "You're holding me hostage for a reason, stop lying to me!"

Ganondorf said nothing, walking down the hallway with Link his helpless prisoner dangling in his grip. His waist and stomach ached from the hold, though at least pressed against someone else warmed him enough that he wasn't shivering and numb. His body was screaming at him at this point, wounds he hadn't even realized existed suddenly flaring up. He supposed the battle that had gotten him captured had left more marks than he'd realized.

That didn't matter. Escaping mattered.

Link felt so utterly helpless and he hated it. He'd never felt so out of control in his life. When he was plopped back on the bed and left alone to his own musings, he curled into a ball, suddenly shivering again.

He felt so, so alone. And suddenly, with the thought of Ghirahim's twisted, demented, enraged face, with the thought of how easily Ganondorf just manhandled him, he felt...

He wasn't going to say it. He wasn't going to say it.

Damn it all, he was scared. And he hated it.

He was the bearer of the Triforce of Courage and he was scared.

Burying his face into his knees, Link hugged himself and cursed himself at the same time. The tears fell silently at first before little hiccups started to accompany them. He was too tired for this. The only mercy the goddesses provided was that he was alone. He didn't want anyone to see him like this.

His body felt impossibly heavy. The room felt like it was closing in. He was exhausted. His head hurt. His stomach ached from how he'd been held. Something on his back seared like fire. His knees were bothering him. He was freezing. He felt so unbelievably overwhelmed. He felt so unbelievably unsafe.

He'd always been the one to save the day. He'd been invincible with the Master Sword, though he'd learned that having others to help him was equally as important. But he had no Master Sword here. No friends. No hope of anything.

In the darkness and cold of the night, his fears consumed him, and he gave into despair. Link cried, so desperately alone. He just wanted to feel safe.

Warmth enveloped him, and he sank into it willingly, his hiccups turning into sobs. Something ran soothingly along his back, soft cloth was pressed against his face, and he found himself clinging to it desperately like a lifeline.

He needed to get himself together. He didn't care. No one was here anyway.

Then what's... why am I...?

He was too tired to process it anymore. All he knew was he felt safe.

"You'll be okay, child."

The voice was deep and gentle, whispered into his hair. Gentle pressure pressed him against whatever softness was in front of him. He heard a heartbeat.

A heartbeat. Pressure. Words. This was... he wasn't alone.

Hiccupping, Link opened his eyes, hands still clinging for dear life to patterned cloth in front of him, red hair spilling into his face as it slid over the person's shoulders.

A deep voice. A man's voice. A man wearing Gerudo--

What the hell.

Alarms rang in Link's mind as he put the pieces together. This couldn't be right this couldn't be right--

"You're safe," the voice said gently, continuing to run a hand along his back.

Link was so lost and confused and hurt and why the hell didn't anything make sense what was happening--

"I'll fix this," Ganondorf promised, and Link gave up entirely, falling apart.

[timlets]

i could write literally an essay on how kuwameshi is so awesome and beautiful

kuwabara literally has been crushing over yusuke so bad he just follows him eberywhere and would do anything for him and would sacrifice himself for him and he admires him so bad and he wants yusuke to just look at him but he doesnt ever think it will happen brcause theyre just best friends theyre just bros, right? kuwabara is literally content with just being this for his whole life with yusuke bevause he's afraid of ruining what they have because that would kill him. kuwabara doesn't think of himself as anything, especially at end of sensui arc where he was ready to die without yusuke being there with him because what was the point and he couldn't see any other outcome because he's been following yusuke's path this wjole time and it's only when YUSUKE gives him the green light to go to college. i want you to go. that kuwabara feels good about wanting to go to college instead of guilty that he can't fight like everyone else when he doesn't want to really anymore he's tired and sure he'll do it from time to time but he's had a full life of fighting and tournaments and watching yusuke die again probably broke something in him and then yusuke goes away for three years and kuwabara is like i miss him so bad and he gets to actually focus on and get to know himself instead of this idol he's been chasing because well anyway. do you get me

meanwhile yusuke is like at first hmm this guy and then after he dies he sees kuwabara in a completely different light and then at the rando fight yusuke's like ok, we're friends. we gotta be friends. because he got such a visceral reaction to kuwabara getting beat to hell and then like umm dark tournament hes like ok, we're BEST friends. ok. but he's so fucked up at that time over kuwabara dying for him because he hates himself soo much he's like got the world on his shoulders and in his head he's like he's dying for nothing i mean im not anything and then... in sensui arc mitarai fight when genkai's like WHY DIDN'T YOU GO AFTER HIM? HE'S PROBABLY DEAD! yusuke got sudden ptsd moment and was realizing Ok, what's more than best friends? and was stewing on that the whole time looking for kuwabara and i believe that's when he was like i want you LOL and when kuwabara was like urameshi you handle the rest i think thats also when yusuke was like okay im needed im important he relies on me and idk if he really thought that about kuwabara before but its so true that's kuwabara's whole character he's there for yusuke because of yusuke

idk they're just everythjng to me i love their dynamic i want them to hug and smile and laugh ans i want yusuke to hug kuwabara and make kuwabara feel safe and loved and needed i think that would be awesome idk though. just rambling.

this whole thing is not even coherent but its okay because it doesnt need to be its just me getting this out LMFAO

[justalonelyslytherin]

Legacies | Eleven

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Kazansky!OC

Summary: The time for the mission has come. While the team risks their life, coming too close to death, Jake is left to deal with the guilt his reaction left him with.

Warnings: military inaccuracies, mentions of dying, mentions of parental death/parental loss, mentions of killing someone in combat, air combat, dealing with the aftermath of it

Wordcount: 3.1k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don’t allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. I ALSO DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR THE USE OF AI IN ANY OF MY WORKS! Please don’t steal my work.

A/N: I already mentioned it in another chapter, but I think now the time has come to permanently implement and switch to a bi-weekly update schedule. One week is just too little for me to adequately write the chapters (to my standards) without stressing myself out. I'm going to try to stick with the update times but if needed I'll postpone it for the sake of good quality content.

Taglist: open, message me or comment to be added, will be put as reblog

True to his words Ana didn’t return to the base following the funeral. But contrary to them, Hangman wasn’t happy with the situation.

It bothered him.

His anger toward her had long vanished, leaving behind dread and a new annoyance focused solely on himself and his stupid actions.

Mixing with it was the feeling of irritation he felt now that she was missing. It felt different without her there. They were missing one person in their group and everyone was well aware of it. Hangman perhaps most of them all. 

Never before in his life had he been so affected by the lack of one's presence. The moment she’d been officially taken out of the lineup for the mission he’d nearly stormed out of the room. Guilt and shame fought to overtake him. To no little part he’d been at fault for her absence, he was well aware of it. 

Even though his rational thinking wanted to tell him that the loss of her father was reason alone to sit out a mission with such dire stakes, where even one millisecond of distraction could cost one’s life, the other parts of his brain screamed at him.

Your fault.

It bothered Hangman. More than he’d ever admit and more than he could ever possibly hide. Her absence left a gaping hole unable to be otherwise filled. It felt different without her there. Empty.

In the days to follow he’d been an emotional wreck. Constantly irritable, tense, and snippy. A fuse so short anyone breathing in his direction was bound to set him off. He dangled on a dangerous path toward exploding at any moment. 

Not even his otherwise impermeable cocky attitude, the mask he had built up so meticulously, could hide his true emotions. For the first time since he became Hangman, his walls weren’t enough.

None of the others could be blamed for his irritability. Once more it was his own fucking fault. He, all alone, was to blame for it. And perhaps that was what made it this bad. Well aware of his role in the dilemma, Hangman couldn’t help but still be upset about it.

If he was honest with himself he had never been angry at her, not directly. He’d been angry with the situation. Not understanding it and on top of it misinterpreting it. On any other occasion he would have forgotten it, let it be, and moved on. But he couldn’t. 

He could not move on from this. 

Not with Ana. 

He couldn’t do that to her and he couldn’t do it to himself. But there also wasn’t any way for him to fix it. Not right now.

Not when he was in the middle of the ocean, stuck on an aircraft carrier, bound for the most dangerous mission of his life.

Yet all he could think about was the woman he’d wronged so horribly.

“It's been an honor flying with you.”

It was an entirely new experience for him. Being distracted. Unable to focus solely on the mission. Never once in his entire career had that happened to him. No, that wasn’t entirely true. It had happened once, early on, and nearly cost him the career that had been just in the wings. 

That’s when he’d been still Jake Seresin in the navy, not yet Hangman, which had soon after changed. He’d made up his mind. Nothing and more importantly no one would ever distract him from his dreams, from the career that had almost ended before it had even started.

“Each one of you represents the best of the best.”

For nearly ten years, he’d lived after this principle, becoming Hangman but also becoming perhaps the best naval aviator of his generation and the only one on active duty to have a confirmed kill.

“Choose your two foxtrot teams.”

As new and unusual the sensation was, he’d tried to keep on track. Stubbornly he’d commanded his thoughts back to the mission, punished himself for any stray thought by reading the mission briefings, the F-18 manual. 

“Payback and Fanboy. Phoenix and Bob.”

It didn’t work. Not as good as he’d liked for it. He was distracted enough for it to be noticeable. 

“And your wingman.”

Green eyes focused forward as he braced himself for the pick.  He’d been sure to have the spot in the pocket the moment he’d set foot in San Diego. The moment he’d seen them, first Rooster waltzing into the Hard Deck in civilian clothes and then shortly after Ghost at the bar, he’d known they were his competitors. The three of them.

They’d been the frontrunners for the position of mission leader. And had it been him from that night in the Hard Deck two-ish weeks ago standing here in the hangar now, he’d been just as sure of having the spot of wingman too. Present-time Hangman wasn’t so sure of it.

Maverick stared straight ahead, jaw tense and eyes full of a sadness and misery he’d never seen in their instructor's eyes. Not even on the day of the funeral. Maverick had been filled with sadness, grief, and loss. There had been an acceptance in his eyes that day, now he looked torn, refusing to acknowledge the present, the reality of what lay before them but more importantly the difficult decision that lay immediately before him.

“Rooster.” Mavericks' voice was dismal as if he’d predestined an awful fate over them.

To his great surprise, Hangman wasn’t surprised not to have been chosen. In a way, he’d already known it. He wasn’t ready, wasn't good enough for it.

Not in the technical sense. Ana’d been right. He wasn’t enough of a team player for the mission. It was where Rooster excelled, surpassing him miles ahead.

The Hangman – the Jake – at the beginning of the training, not even three weeks ago, would have reacted differently. Disappointment still filled him, but the Jake then would have not been able to accept it. He wouldn't have been able to see the fault in his ways, to admit his fault.

A small and twisted part of his mind hollered that he’d deserved it for wronging Ana. 

He knew that Maverick hadn’t chosen him for apparent reasons. His inability to be a team player and the lack of attention in the last days more than clear to see for everyone had cost him the spot, had he ever had it at one point. Maverick had said it himself: My choice reflects that and nothing more.

Outside on the deck the blonde waited for Rooster. They weren’t friends, yet Hangman didn’t want to let him leave for the mission without having spoken to him first.

He hoped that the brunette was ready. That he and Maverick could work together, jump over their shadow to fly the mission. Both had been limited, held back by their shared past – whatever it entailed – too caught up with their demons to realize what was needed for the mission. 

Rooster was surprised, coming face to face with him. Stopping in his stride the two men stood across another. The brunette looked at him questioningly. Under the observant, guarded look all words Hangman had carefully laid out in the last couple of minutes left him all at once. 

His tongue was tied, clued to the bottom of his mouth. Suddenly his lips felt dry and his throat had closed down entirely.

“You give ‘em hell!” He managed to utter, voice strained and close to cracking. Hangman wasn’t even sure if Rooster had heard him over the noise of the jets. Rooster’s eyes followed him, burning into his side until he was past the brunette.

“Dagger one is hit! I repeat, Dagger one is hit! 

Maverick is down.”

Phoenix’s crackly words coming over the radio comms sent a shockwave similarly big to the blast of the SAM hitting, through Hangman’s body. A shot of pure electricity raced up his spine, culminating in a deafening, mind-numbing sensation as the shock settled over him.

Over the comms followed Rooster’s stricken and panicked calls, requesting for their team leader to respond, to show any sign of life.

There was no response.

This couldn’t be happening. Maverick was the most qualified out of them all, the one with the least chance of crashing or getting hit, yet out of all of them it had been him.

No, actually it was him who was most likely to be hit. Maverick made it clear from the beginning that he’d protect his wingman, that he’d protect Rooster just as much as he would every other aviator under him.

For it to actually happen was entirely different from the possibility of the scenario.

“Comanche. Bandits inbound. Single group, hot. Recommend dagger flow south. One minute to intercept.”

Still no sign of Maverick, not even a parachute. Jake's teeth were grinding on another, back ramrod straight, hands balled into fists. Here he sat, strapped into his jet, on short standby to aid them. Why wasn’t he in the air with them?

His breath came in uneven, short bursts. Entirely contrary to how he was taught to stay calm and unaffected. Entirely opposite to how Hangman should act. How everyone expected him to act. Damn them, damn everyone. Damn the stupid fate.

Jake refused to believe that they could lose Maverick this easily. If his legendary exploits were anything they showed that to get rid of this man, death himself would have to step up and lead him to the gates of the afterlife. He refused to believe that they wouldn’t come back with everyone on their team from this mission. He refused to accept Maverick being gone.

They hadn’t lost him.

She couldn’t have lost him. Not another one. Ghost had just lost her father. If she now lost Maverick too, how would that wreck her?

She’d already suffered too much, much of it at the hands of him and Jake wouldn’t let her suffer even more, wouldn’t let her have to grieve another person. Even if that meant he had to go get Maverick on his own.

Jake scrambled, reaching for his mask. 

“Dagger Spare requests permission to launch and fly air cover.”

With bated breath and furrowed brows, hands ready to clasp his mask on entirely and get ready for take-off he waited for a response from the control room.

“Negative, spare.”

Disappointment and anger flushed him. Jake scrunched his face in annoyance, mask dropping to dangle down his side.

“Damn it.”

His balled fist hit the top of his thigh in anger. Sinking down back in his seat, the straps strained against his chest. It hurt, the space tight as his heart clenched in pain. Pain for Maverick and Ana.

Touching down with the jet back onto the deck felt great. But not even the euphoria and the adrenalin kick after the successful albeit close-cut mission could keep his thoughts of Ana away.

The high that had swept over him after shooting down the fifth-gen fighter and thus saving Maverick and Rooster came to a plummet the moment Hangman climbed down his jet.

His feet hit the deck, flight crew rushed all around him to aid Maverick and Rooster for their return. Eyes scanning the moving crowds where the duo seaters had gathered after coming back with the rest of the team, he stopped abruptly, a deep frown forming on his face.

Too late did he realize the person he was looking for wasn’t even on the ship. He was looking for her – subconsciously – to share the excitement, the high of the win, the success they had worked so hard for. 

She wasn’t there and it may well have been his fault entirely. 

All at once the euphoria of the mission, the relief that Maverick had survived the crash and both him and Rooster the following chase back to the carrier, his second shot down, it all seemed hollow and meaningless. None of it brought joy anymore. 

Hangman felt guilty, he felt angry, and sad. And on top of that the realization, just as it had happened the first time, that he had taken the life of another person – another human – perhaps a guiltless one and for certain a life the same as those of his colleagues, like his, swept over him. The weight of it crashed into him full front, nearly taking him off his feet.

His breath grew heavy and labored, each intake harder than the last as a mechanical vice wrapped around his torso and squeezed him tighter and tighter. He couldn’t breathe and it made him dizzy.

Smoke from the wrecked F-14 drifted over the deck, the flight crew littered the space around the jet. Maverick and Rooster. He had to make sure they were actually alright. With shaky, unsteady legs Jake started to march, quickly transitioning into a jog toward the crowd,  weaving his way through the cheering figures until he stepped up to Rooster. 

With every step from his jet he’d gradually forced himself to appear calm and collected, even though the sweat trailed down his skin in heaps, it stung in his eyes and left a salty taste on his lips. By the time he stood in front of the brunette nothing but the slight flaring of his nostril indicated his troubled mind.

Jake was genuinely glad Maverick and Rooster appeared to be alright. The brunette, even with what had happened shortly before the mission with Ana, grinned at him. It was a grin that – for the short moment of it – made him forget the horrible guilt running through every cell of his body.

A relieved grin brightened atop his face as they looked at each other, Jake ultimately holding his hand out to him to shake. In congratulations. Rooster took the hand, shaking it.

“You shot yourself another kill.” 

Although well-meaning, the words left an aching pang in his chest, his grin momentarily dimming. 

Remember who you are. 

And so, with another grin, even brighter now and entirely Hangman, he answered “That makes two.”

While everyone else was still swapped up in the celebration of the successful mission, Jake had withdrawn inside. Somewhere quieter, somewhere he could be alone.

In his hand lay his phone now. All his thoughts had centered on Ana once more after he quelled the rising panic in him. Her contact opened on the dim screen in front of him, he had his thumb hovering over the call button.

For the last ten minutes, he’d been stuck in this position. Going between hovering over the icon and changing his mind. To call her or not to call her. What would he say if he did? 

Before he could pull through or back down Jake was startled. Rooster appeared along the hallway, coming towards him. He quickly put his phone down, locking the device, its screen turning black. Not fast enough.

“If you think she’d even answer you are mighty stupid.”

The words were clipped and strained. Nothing of the friendliness, the truce between them, was left. Rooster now eyed him with open animosity, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“The only reason I haven’t killed you for what you did to her was the mission. Regulations may keep me from doing anything right now but don’t think I won’t take the chance once we are off this damn ship.”

Gradually Rooster’s voice had become more furious and resentful. Not that Hangman could blame him for it.

“You had no right to say this to her. Who the hell do you think you are, to accuse her of something that doesn’t even concern you–”

The realization came over him like a wave. Of course, how didn’t he realize that Rooster must have known from the beginning? As close as the two of them were. 

“–Not like you are going to have anything to do with her after this mission. You like shooting people down, don’t you?”

Seething jealousy filled him at the thought that Rooster had known all along. “You done now? I get it. I was an asshole and I made a huge mistake. I was already regretting it before you had to rub it in.” 

Jealousy was an ugly thing, almost as rotting as his hurt had been at the funeral, he added as if it was entirely blasé “Why do you even care so much?”

“Because she is family. The Kazansky’s have been there for nearly my entire life. I’ll be damned if I let you hurt her even more.”

With every word, Rooster came closer to him. Dangerously close. Now they stood nose to nose, with the slightly taller brunette staring down at him murderously.

For a moment Jake wasn’t sure if Rooster would do something more, go against regulation, and beat him up here and there. Instead, Rooster walked past him, shoulder bumping harshly into his.

That night, long after the mission when they were already on their way back to home port, Jake was lying in his bunk.

The dim, blueish glow of his phone lit up the confined space. Opened was a chat window. An empty one.

A lengthy message was already typed out in the little box, the obnoxious arrow taunting him to send it off. Just as with the call button, his thumb hovered over the arrow.

It would take little effort for him to send the message off. His eyes jumped up to the name on top of the window. 

Ghost.

In the end he deleted the message.