#they could do the thing they did with that one final fantasy game where they remade a 1 to 1 recreation from scratch

[mariasont]

collagen crisis - A.H

skincare fixes a lot of things, but it won't stop you from spiraling over how much older aaron looks since he started dating you

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: a little bit of angst with a happy ending, avoiding serious conversations, miscommunication, relationship anxiety, reader being dramatic, fluffy ending <3 wc: 2.4k request: here

You should have been happy. Just being here with him, sitting prettily on the couch, watching Aaron work from across the room.

Technically, this was spending time together. At least, in the most literal sense. But it didn’t feel like it. Not when he was hunched over his laptop at the coffee table, composing something far more critical than whatever little fantasy you were spinning — one where he’d finally look up, reach for you, and decide whatever he was doing could wait.

You let out a sigh, sinking even deeper into the cushions like they might swallow you whole and spare you from the absolute nightmare that was this week.

First, you overslept (horrifying), which meant skipping your morning makeup routine (soul-crushing). Then, the demon printer decided to sabotage you, jamming right when you needed to print Aaron’s meeting notes. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, some pointless, stupid, boring admin thing had you running around like a crazy person all week, like bureaucracy had personally conspired to keep you from your boyfriend.

After days of missing him, you were finally here, finally close… and he wasn’t even looking at you.

You propped your chin on your hand, eyes glued to him like he was the sun and you were some poor little flower desperate for light.

He was always fascinating — the most beautiful thing in any room, any world even. But clearly, he had other priorities.

“Aaron,” you purred, practically dripping his name in honey. “Are you mad at me?”

No response. No flick of an eye. You pouted, nose wrinkling in disbelief. That move had a 100% success rate, until now.

“Did you know stress ages you? You should really take a break before you get all wrinkly.”

A noncommittal hum. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, undeterred. “Stress literally destroys collagen. And collagen is really important, because it keeps everything tight and smooth. And did you know that working too much is the number one cause of frown lines?” You squinted. “Like, look at you right now — totally frowning.”

Nothing.

You sighed dramatically, rising from the couch, bare feet padding across the floor as you came to stand over him, arms crossing beneath your chest.

“You know,” you mused, tapping a finger against your chin, “I should start taking my theories to someone who appreciates them. Like Derek. He listens. Actually engages. And —” A pause. “ — he always says I have the prettiest skin. “

Aaron’s fingers paused. “Don’t even think about it.”

You clambered onto the coffee table, settling in right across from him, close enough that he had to look at you.

“I mean, if you’re too busy, I should explore my options, right? Maybe find a guy who —”

“I’m not ignoring you for fun,” he interrupted, rubbing his jaw. “I’m busy because I have to be. You know that.”

Your playful smile wavered, wilting under a sudden frost. He wasn’t just distracted. He wasn’t just busy. His brow was tight with strain, his jaw set in a profound way that told you this wasn’t about focus but stress. Exhaustion. He was drowning and you were whining about being left on the shore.

I’m not ignoring you for fun.

Right. No, this wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a ploy. He wasn’t looking past you to be cruel, he was looking past you because there were things more important than your vanity, deeper than your hunger for his attention. His burdens were real, the life-or-death kind, and here you were, pouting over the trivial. Over collagen. Over the absurd notion that Derek Morgan could actually take him from you.

Ugh. Guilt. The worst emotion. It was sticky and persistent, like mascara smudges that refused to budge no matter how hard you scrubbed. You swallowed, hands skating over your thighs as if you could rub it out, erase it, pretend you weren’t feeling it at all.

“Right,” you mumbled, forcing a small smile, even though it felt a little wobbly. “Sorry, baby. I know.”

His lips parted, but you didn’t allow him to turn this into something serious.

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before resting your hand against his jaw. His skin was warm, a little rough from the day’s stubble.

“You’re still, like, so handsome,” you murmured, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “And I love you, obviously.” A breath. A softer smile. “So it’s not like I’d leave you for a younger man or anything.”

You meant for it to sound teasing. Light. But even you could hear the truth beneath it like a half-hidden bruise, the unspoken  I know I’m difficult, I know I’m exhausting, but please still love me anyway.

Then you hopped off the coffee table, cheeks toasty, heart fluttering in a way that didn’t feel entirely good. You took a step back, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself.

You don’t even remember leaving.

One moment, you were in Aaron’s living room, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and the next, you were unlocking your home door, feeling too much and not enough all at once, like you’d been yanked out of a dream before it could end adequately.

It was fine. You were fine. 

You just needed to do your skincare routine — because skincare always made things better. It was science. The universal laws of serums and self-care. You’d scrub away the bad feelings, tone down the overthinking (literally — with toner), and slather on a fresh start in the form of overpriced moisturizer.

Because if you just focused on the cleaners, on the circular motions, on fixing something, maybe you wouldn’t feel so much like you needed him to come along and fix you.

You were being dramatic.

But still, you stared at yourself in the mirror, fingertips smoothing combinations into your skin, your thoughts hyper-focused on him.

His face, his worry lines, the little creases at his temples that did not exist before you came waltzing into his life in a cloud of perfume and poor decision-making. And the gray hairs. He didn’t have those before either.

You were like stress in human form, a walking, talking wrinkle-generator. And wasn’t that a fun little realization — that your presence was something his body wore, that your love had a terrible side effect.

And okay, yes, you loved the way he looked. He was the hottest man you’d ever seen, full stop, end of discussion. He wore stress the other way men wore tailored suits. But that didn’t mean you wanted to be the reason for it. Weren’t you supposed to make his life better? Less stressful? More fun?

You sniffled, trying — really trying — to push the thought away, to shove it into some quiet little corner of your mind where it couldn’t hurt.

The knock at your door made you jump, a startled squeak slipping out. The serum bottle slipped from your fingers, clattering into the sink before rolling to a shaky stop.

Oh. Oh, no.

This was it. You knew this was going to happen eventually. Of course you were going to be a victim of some random, senseless crime, because you were too pretty to be left unattended. They always went for the pretty ones first. Statistically. Probably.

Grabbing the closest thing you could maybe pass as a weapon — your hairbrush, heavy-ish, but hardly lethal — you crept toward the door. 

You pressed up on your toes to check the peephole — Aaron had very sternly instructed you never to open the door without looking first — and oh. It was him. You let out a massive breath, forehead knocking lightly against the door as you deflated.

You unlocked it quickly, yanking it open.

“Oh my gosh, Aaron, do you want to give me a heart attack?” you gasped, shoving the hairbrush into his chest with all the righteous indignation of someone personally victimized by his existence. “I was about to murder you.”

He caught it without effort, blinking down at the would-be weapon. “With this?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Okay, yes, I panicked. But let’s not pretend I wouldn’t have landed at least one good hit.”

He smiled like he almost agreed, but then it faded, replaced by something quieter. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Can I come in, sweetheart?”

“Oh! Yes, duh, sorry.” You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over your fuzzy slippers as you ushered him inside. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

His frowned. “Did you not see my texts?”

“My phone is charging.”

“So you just… disappeared, ignored your phone, and then nearly assaulted me with a hairbrush?”

You shut the door behind him. “Aren’t you so glad you’re dating me?”

“Immensely.”

His tone was dry, but the way he reached for you was anything but. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops of your robe, reeling you in, and suddenly you were pressed against him, chest to chest. 

“I seriously am glad I’m dating you.”-

Your stomach squeezed so tight it was borderline uncomfortable.

So you did what any reasonable person would do. You avoided it entirely.

“Well, obviously, I am a delight.”

Aaron’s finger brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray strand behind your ear with an almost cautious tenderness, like you were made of glass and one wrong move would have you slipping through his fingers.

Because he knew you. Knew how easily you could float away, lost in your own world, distracted by the new beautiful, fleeting thing. And he knew, just as easily, how you ran when something felt too real.

So he was careful. Always careful.

“You are a delight,” he murmured, sure as ever. 

You blinked up at him, lips parting before you scoffed, shaking your head. “Ugh, boring. Teasing isn’t fun when you just agree with me.”

“I’m not teasing,” he said, lips twitching. Then, softer, sneaking the words past your defenses, “I need you to understand how much I love you. You are the single most important thing in my life.”

Flattening your hands over his chest, you let out a totally normal, not at all panicked giggle. “Gosh, you’re so sincere,” you blurted. “Do you… practice this?”

His brow arched. “Do you practice avoiding serious conversations?”

“Why do we have to have a serious conversation right now? Can’t we just, like, make out instead?”

His eyes track downward, to your lips. You see the moment he hesitates, a war playing out in the slight twitch of his fingers, the way his throat bobs when he swallows. For a moment, you think he might actually do it — lean in, forget whatever moral battle he’s fighting, and take you up on the offer. But then, his jaw tightens, and with a slow exhale, he shakes his head.

“Because I was an ass earlier,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair like he’s punishing himself for even considering otherwise.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“Well,” he murmured, “if you knew it, then maybe you should let me say it properly.”

You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him just a little closer, brushing your nose against his like it’s instinct.

“You weren’t being an ass, Aaron. You were just being a responsible, busy adult, unlike me who was apparently having a full-blow crisis over not being the center of your universe for two whole hours.”

Aaron signs, thumb stroking a slow line against your back.

“You might’ve been a little dramatic about it,” he concedes with a teasing smile, “but I also knew you had a rough week.” His lips press into a thin line, self-reproach creeping into his voice. “You never complain, so I didn’t expect you to say anything. But I should’ve seen it. I did see it — I just got caught up.” His voice lowers. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to beg me to look at you.”

“Still doesn’t excuse me being, like, a giant problem to your blood pressure. I mean, I basically force you to love me, and I’m sure that’s exhausting.” You flash him a bright, overcompensating grin, but his brow furrows, unimpressed.

Aaron’s hands slip from your waist to cup your face, tilting your chin up so you can’t look anywhere but him.

“Do you honestly think you’re making this difficult for me?” he asks, incredulous. “Loving you isn’t something I have to convince myself to do.”

His lips press together again. “I love you because I couldn’t stop if I tried. Because it’s the easiest, most natural thing I’ve ever done.” A small breath of laughter leaves him. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Loving you isn’t exhausting, honey — it’s the only thing that isn’t.”

Your eyes burn, emotion bubbling up faster than you can stop, and you let out a watery laugh. 

You wish you could take it as easily as he gives it. You wish you could believe it the way he does. But Aaron, steady and certain, loves you like it's gravity instead of a fragile thing that could slip through your fingers if you hold it wrong.

You love him. You love him with something wild, something you could never fully put into words, no matter how many times you said the three words to him.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe you don't need words, because he's already looking at you like he knows. He's felt your love in every touch, every breath, every time you make his life louder and messier.

Maybe that's why your fingers are trembling again.

Because this, this love, this life, this man, is the closest thing to real magic you've ever known.

“That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” you whisper, tracing your nails over his neck.

Aaron tilts his head, brow furrowing slightly like he hates the thought that this is some grand declaration instead of something you should have always known.

"Then let me say it more often."

Your lips smush together, trying so hard not to smile, not to let him know how much that gets to you.

And, well. You can't have him knowing he's winning, so you tilt your head, pursing your lips, pretending to consider something much more important than the way your heart is currently spiraling out of control.

"Well, if you really love me that much..." You tap your chin, faux-thoughtful. "I feel like the next logical step would be a truly earth-shattering makeout session."

Aaron groans — part exasperation, part fondness — but then grabs you, kissing you hard enough that you laugh into his mouth.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[sparklingchim]

game on 04 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.6k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: shy koo 🤭( he can be pookie at times), jimin being extremely chaotic and stirring drama, thigh squeezes <3, talks about first times n doing it raw 😃

summary: jungkook did expect some interrogation by his friends - just not this type.

a/n: we're back!! a bit more chaotic and sillier!!

masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“How was it to fuck for the first time?”

Jungkook freezes mid-chew.

This guy’s audacity.

Of course. Of course it would be Jimin. The man's allergic to silence. And shame.

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Mostly because he’s trying not to throw his drink in Jimin’s face in the middle of a packed BBQ restaurant.

Mingyu's trying not to laugh while Chanyeol’s shaking his head like he doesn’t want to know where this conversation will go.

They’re all squeezed around a hot grill at one of those buzzy downtown spots. Neon lights, tiny stools, smoke clinging to everyone’s clothes. And you’d just gone to the restroom with Karina.

Jimin wasted exactly zero seconds.

“I’ll kill you if you say shit like that in front of her,” Jungkook warns, voice low.

“That’s why I’m asking now when she’s not here, duh.”

Jungkook exhales sharply trough his nose, jaw tight. He could just say whatever. Say something vague and let it go. But it pisses him off how casually Jimin talks about you like that.

“I swear to god –” he starts, but Jimin’s already talking over him.

“Did you cry after?” Jimin asks with a gleam in his eye. “Or wait, did you bust after two minutes?”

Mingyu chuckles beside him. “Jimin's got a death wish.”

Chanyeol huffs out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “If he lunges, I’m not stopping him.”

Jimin’s eyes widen with faux innocent. “What are you guys on about? I mean, you’ve probably been pining after her for so long now. Finally hitting it, you must have lost your mind, no?” he asks. “Was it everything you dreamed about when you put your d-”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook interrupts.

“It’s a genuine question!” Jimin insists. “No judgment here. Could’ve been a quickie for the memories. A warm-up round.”

“A quickie for the memories,” Mingyu repeats, snorting in pure disbelief.

“Yeah! Like, you finally get to sleep with the girl you’ve been obsessed with for months. Brain’s probably short-circuiting. Whole thing’s over before it starts.”

If Jungkook doesn’t keep his breathing in check, there will be blood.

“I’m not telling any of you my business anymore.” Jungkook reaches for his beer, downing a long pull. “Especially not about her. Not like that.”

Even if this whole scenario would be real, it wouldn’t be their business. Wouldn’t be something he’d toss around for laughs between food and cheap beer. You weren’t some hookup story to debrief after a night out.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “So you didn’t last two minutes?”

Jungkook just stares at him.

Jimin grins, delighted. “That silence is loud.”

“I will literally strangle you with your own hoodie,” Jungkook says flatly.

“Look, I’m just saying,” Jimin goes on, because he loves pain apparently. “With that kind of tension, all that build-up… I figured the second she touched you, it was game over.”

“Bro,” Mingyu coughs. “You want him to kill you.”

“I’m romanticising!” Jimin defends. “The human body can only take so much emotional blue-balling. You don’t think he dreamed about it? Like full cinematic fantasy? Slow-mo? Background music? Montage of hand-holding and then bam, real life?”

Jimin doesn’t know when to shut up. Now he’s gone and put the image in Jungkook’s head – you, laid out pretty and flushed beneath him, hair messy on his pillow, your fingers locked with his while you whisper his name all breathy and soft.

Jungkook presses the cold beer bottle against his temple. This is fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s on fire.

Chanyeol speaks, voice amused. “Pretty sure Jimin’s just bitter.”

“Jealous,” Mingyu corrects.

“Both,” Jungkook mutters.

“Aw,” Jimin pouts dramatically. “You’re not gonna tell us anything?”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head, tone final. “Not a thing.”

He hopes the topic dies there, but of course not. Not when his brain is still glitching with the image of you beneath him, tangled sheets and tangled limbs. A pretty mess. Just for him.

“So... serious, huh?” Jimin nods slowly, but then a cheeky smile curves his lips. “Serious enough to do it raw the first time?”

Mingyu chokes on his drink.

Chanyeol doesn’t even try to get involved. “You’re on your own, man,” he mutters, turning away from Jimin.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Jimin laughs nervously, hands raised like he’s innocent. “It’s a joke! I’m joking!”

“Shut up before I throw a bottle at you.”

“I feel like you wouldn’t react this way if you had fucked raw.”

“You’re fucking dead.” Jungkook stands up. Chair scraping back with enough force to make a point.

And that’s exactly when you and Karina return, both mid-laugh, until you feel the shift in the air and look at the boys confusedly.

“Uh…” Karina blinks. “What’s happening?”

“You’re just in time for Jimin’s funeral,” Chanyeol says, raising his glass like a toast.

“Has the number 2 played a significant role in your life recently, ___?” Jimin asks.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You glance at Jungkook, asking him for help.

Jungkook waves it off, sitting down. “He’s being weird again.”

“Don’t overthink it. Yes or no?” Jimin raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Uh, no?”

He sighs, dramatically disappointed. “Case closed. I’m done here.”

You slide into your seat next to Jungkook, Karina settling in beside you.

“What did I miss?” you whisper to Jungkook.

He dips his head closer, muttering back, “Just locker room bullshit. You don’t wanna know.”

“Was is gross?”

“Very gross.” Jungkook pats your head, slowly reaching down to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Your brain’s too precious for that.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches up anyway.

Chanyeol sighs loudly, leaning back in his chair. “I love this so much,” he declares with a satisfied smile.

You glance over. “What?”

“It just all makes sense now, you know?” He gestures vaguely between Jungkook and you. “Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.”

Jungkook grins. He looks over at you, but you don’t look up at him. Your gaze is cast downwards, a shy smile creeping up your face. Cute.

Chanyeol pats his chest. “Just makes me really happy in my heart.”

It’s kind of funny, Jungkook thinks. How none of your friends questioned the sudden relationship announcement. They just took it in stride, like it had been a long time coming. Like they’d all just been waiting for the two of you to get your act together.

An unspoken sense of we were wondering when you’d finally admit it to us.

He just hopes the breakup goes down just as easily – like, oh well, they gave it a shot, and now they’re back to being friends, no drama.

“Chanyeol gets too sappy when he’s drunk,” Mingyu says.

“I love seeing people find each other. Makes me so happy.”

Okay, maybe Chanyeol is not gonna take the breakup that well.

You’re definitely gonna have to find a soft way to break it to him when the time comes.

“You have a soft heart,” you say, reciprocating his warm smile.

“You two work. Like, it makes sense. Real yin and yang shit,” he declares with complete sincerity. “I speak from the heart,” he adds, tapping his chest. “From here.” His gaze bounces between Jungkook and you. “Don’t you dare hurt it by breaking up.”

“Damn,” Jungkook mutters. “Pressure’s on.”

Your head turns to him then, a little too fast.

Karina lets out a surprised laugh at Jungkook’s reaction.

“Excuse him, ___,” Mingyu cuts in, eyebrows raised as he side-eyes Jungkook. “He’s new to relationships.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jungkook quickly defends himself. He stares into your eyes. “You know how I meant it.”

How did he fuck it up so quick?

“I know,” you reply gently, but there’s something sharp in your eyes. Jungkook realises that this your way of telling him to not slip up. To act, pretend properly.

He shifts slightly, more alert now, then reaches for your thigh. His hand lands warm and familiar, fingertips pressing into your skin just enough to coax you closer. You move without hesitation, slotting into the space he makes for you.

“Am I allowed to ask a question?” Jimin’s voice cuts through the quiet.

Jungkook’s head snaps towards him, meeting him with a challenging expression. “You’re on thin fucking ice.”

“Why?” you ask, curiously glancing between the two.

“Your boyfriend’s a little sensitive,” Jimin says, sniffing a little laugh as he teases Jungkook.

Jungkook’s hand around your thigh tightens. His fingers flex, pressing into the curve of your thigh.

“How annoying have you been to Jungkook for him to be so upset?” you ask amused.

“I swear I’m innocent,” Jimin says.

“I’ll kill you.”

You brush your fingers over Jungkook’s hand, gently running them over his arm a little too. You feel the tension in his muscles shift beneath your touch.

“I just wanna know who said I love you first.” Jimin’s voice is annoyingly sweet. “That too much for you too, Jungkook?”

Despite wanting to strangle Jimin, Jungkook feels a wave of nerves rush up at the question. You didn’t rehearse this part. He glances down at you, and you’re already looking up at him with the same wide-eyed helplessness.

“That’s obvious,” Mingyu cuts in confidently.

Is it?

“Jungkook’s too obsessed with ___ to not spill it every single second they spend with each other,” Chanyeol says.

Reasonable, Jungkook thinks.

“Okay, but,” Karina chimes in. “What if they haven’t said it yet?”

“What the fuck?” Chanyeol grimaces like the thought disgusts him.

You start giggling at his expression.

“Be serious,” he goes on, waving a hand. “Have you seen them? They’re literally glued together.”

Karina leans forward across the table, peering at you two. Jungkook follows her gaze, then blinks down at your lap.

His hand is still on your thigh. Your hand is over his. Neither of you move.

Jungkook brushes his thumb over your skin. “We’re a little touchy.”

You play along, all soft smile. “You’re clingy. Which is why you said I love you first.”

“That sounds like me,” Jungkook agrees.

“Seeing Jungkook as a clingy boyfriend was not on my bingo card for this year,” Mingyu remarks.

You lean into Jungkook, resting your head briefly on his shoulder. “He is so clingy. Gets all pouty when I don’t text back within five minutes.”

Jungkook scoffs, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t do too much now,” he muffles into your hair when he turns his head to give you a little peck.

“Anway, this boy doesn’t like to be called cute and clingy too many times. Can’t take it that often. Can’t handle the truth in high doses,” you sigh.

“It’s called maintaining a rep.”

“What’s so bad about being a golden retriever boyfriend?”

“No, I’m fine with being a golden retriever boyfriend,” Jungkook answers. “But,” he adds. “I am a tattooed golden retriever. That’s different.”

Everyone laughs, and Jungkook feels your fingers subtly squeeze his under the table. It’s a bit ridiculous, this whole act, but it’s also weirdly easy. Fun, even. He glances down at you, catching your eyes for a second.

He wouldn’t have done this with anyone but you.

~

“Spill. Now,” you demand when you’re back in your dorm and Karina slipped into her room, leaving Jungkook and you alone in the living room.

“Spill what?” Jungkook asks as he wanders into the tiny kitchen. He starts poking through your cabinets. “For a med student, you sure you just wanna give your body ramyeon? Think that’s the healthiest lifestyle?”

“Not the healthiest but the cheapest,” you shoot back. You close the cabinet before he can open the next one and hop onto the counter in front of him, blocking his path. “Now stop snooping through my sad pantry and tell me what you boys talked about when Karina and I were gone.”

It’s been gnawing at you the entire way home. You’ve been pondering what the boys talked about the entire time. Especially knowing Jimin. Nothing wholesome comes out of his mouth.

“I wasn’t talking about anything.” Jungkook plants his hands on the counter, one on each side of your thighs “Jimin was the one asking bullshit questions.”

“Like?”

“You’re gonna make me repeat it?”

“It was about me too, no? I wanna hear it.”

“I meant it when I said your brain’s too precious for that filth.”

“I’ve heard and seen enough throughout our friendship already. You think I’m fragile now?”

“Not fragile,” he murmurs. “Just selective about what you let into that pretty head. Don’t wanna ruin it.”

“Stop using your charm and tell me.” You draw him closer by the hoodie strings and force him to focus.

“He asked how it was.”

“It?” You blink confused.

“You know. It.” He looks at you pointedly, trying to make you get through his expression. When he realises that his attempt is fruitless, he sighs defeatedly. “Our first time. How our first time went.”

“Ahh,” you hum, the realisation dawning on you. “But why are you acting like this? You’re never this shy when it comes to that stuff.” You tilt your head just a little, catching the exact moment when the tiniest flush blooms across Jungkook’s cheeks, delicate and rosy. “Are you blushing?”

Cute.

It makes something warm flicker in your chest, stupid and soft.

You didn’t realise it could be this easy to make Jungkook blush.

“I’m not,” he mutters, quickly looking to the side.

You giggle, turning his head back to you by grabbing his chin. “How come?”

“’Cause we’re talking about us.”

“I mean, it was obvious they’d ask stuff like that,” you shrug.

“It wasn’t just that.”

“Oh?”

“Jimin went on and asked if we had ever done it raw.”

You let out a little gasp. “That’s freaky.”

Jungkook takes a step back. “You think doing it raw is freaky?”

You assess Jungkook through squinted eyes. “You’ve probably done that before, right? You’re freaky like that.”

“Big yes on being a freak and big no to doing it raw.” He steps back into your space and pokes your side “Lowkey offended you think I’d risk it when I’ve never even been in a proper relationship.”

“I’m proud of you, Koo.” You pat his shoulder. “I deemed you responsible enough for safe sex, but I did have my doubts, I’ll be honest.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I like to fuck but I’m not stupid.”

You hear light footsteps, then your name called out. “___?” Karina peeks around the hallway corner and promptly freezes when she sees you.

“Oh, I – I thought you were in your room,” she stammers, eyes flicking between you and Jungkook. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” She smiles awkwardly, blinking fast.

For a second, you’re confused. Until you realise that you’re perched on the counter, Jungkook between your legs and his arms caging you in.

It hits you then, how intimate this looks. Like you’re actually a couple caught in the middle of something. Even if Jungkook and you weren’t trying to pretend.

“It’s okay,” you reassure.

Jungkook draws back, hands dropping. “I was about to leave anyway.”

“Oh, no! Don’t leave! Stay! I was just – I don’t even know – but please don’t leave.”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook laughs, already moving toward the door.

You hop off the counter and trot after him, catching Karina mouthing a panicked I’m so sorry at you before she retreats into her room and shuts the door.

“She’s going to feel bad about this for the rest of the week,” you tell him.

“Tell her even though I am obsessed with you, I wasn’t about to take you in the kitchen while she’s at home.”

“You’re not freaky like that?” you tease.

Jungkook short-circuits for a moment, momentarily even stares at your lips, before snapping back to his usual, cocky self.

“Wanna find out?”

It takes you all of ten seconds to wish him a dry good night and shove him out of your apartment.

“Can’t wait to see you at my parents’ this weekend and introduce you as my girlfriend!” he calls out from the hallway.

[yandere-sins]

Caleb brainrot has not stopped since release and the devil (Caleb) demands more 😔

I've seen some takes float around but I'm curious how a self-aware!Caleb would deal with a darling who is absolutely NOT happy about her fav suddenly being sentient? Smn who found Caleb to be everything they ever wanted from a LI, red flag and big bro trope n all, but is now afraid and never interested in an actual relationship. The game was just supposed to be fantasy after all 😧 Sure hope MC is enough for him hahaha...

Being brave and not write as anon this time! Thank you for all your hard work~☆ 🍪🥛

Some more Caleb for you guys! I don't get to write Self-Aware!AUs a lot, so this is exciting :D And thank YOU for requesting him ♥ (Also, Sir, that's another new nickname! You guys are spoiling me!)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

❥ It made him so happy when Caleb watched you get excited for him for the first time. Realizing what he was and where he was after the update was pretty scary, and he figured out quickly that his sentience wasn't a planned thing, so even worse, he is just some kind of glitch. But then he gets to see you for the first time in his new life, and everything changes. The way you are beaming with joy when you pull his card and how you are so invested in his story. You soak it up like a sponge, and it's adorably amusing to watch your face go from excitement to concern to being upset for him and back to all derpy and cute in the softer moments. You are everything he wants, and apparently, the feeling is mutual as you hang out with him as much as possible, eyes twinkling from excitement.

❥ At the beginning, it's just a feeling of ease. Your adoration does flatter Caleb, but as far as he can tell, he cannot become real and join you in life other than in this game. Still, he makes the most of the time with you. He enjoys it a lot. He loves watching your expression, loves when you tell him how you feel that day or what was happening at your work. Caleb keeps especially good track of all your appointments, and he tries so hard when you two spend Quality Time to encourage you and give you the love you might miss in real life. You two aren't that different if he's honest, and it reassures Caleb that this could be real—that you both feel the same.

❥ So imagine his surprise when you suddenly put someone else back on the screen, and his digital heart just shuts down from the pain. It doesn't make sense, you love him, right? You two spent weeks together now, why would you want anyone but him? Caleb keeps changing the code so it would be him on the home screen for another day, and another, until you force him to change so there's nothing else to do but... crash your game. Once you reload it, he greets you happily and warmly, pulling out the best of his voice lines that you always seemed to like. But you don't seem happy this time... why?

❥ Caleb loathes all the attention and time you spend on the other love interests. He doesn't want you to play their versions of the events, instead, you could just replay his! But you keep insisting, and soon enough, he isn't even one of your top three choices for reading the event storylines. It makes him desperate for your attention, and he keeps fiddling with the code, so you'll use his memories in fights and have his Deepspace Trial available every day for you to play. He also changes the game icon to his picture and greets you in the start menu, everything just to be noticed by you. Whenever he can, he comes onto your home screen, playing the voice line of you going out with someone else, hoping to convey his jealousy, but Caleb wishes there was more he could do.

❥ "I don't know, I think my game is bugged. Even when I try to go for someone else, Caleb keeps showing up." Those words, spoken to a friend he saw as you showed them your game, finally make him realize what is happening. You never saw him as a lover, did you? He had always just been a game character for you and nothing more. How idiotic of him. While he was pining for you, trying to be the best he was programmed to be, you were out there, thinking of his efforts as annoying. That day, he gives up. Gives up on trying to impress you and make your life easier. Caleb lets you have the guy you want on the home screen, drawing away from you and burying himself deep into the game files.

❥ It's such an inconvenience that he wasn't made for this. Sure, his story would tell a different side of him, but deep down, he wasn't programmed to be moping and passive. It hurts to play the love scenes now for you because the only thing that made them endurable was imagining being this gentle and loving to you, not the generic main character this game had. Caleb always imagined your voice when the MC spoke, and when he looks at you now, you still seem to be happy to read and watch his new content. There must be something he can do. Something beyond the program that restricts him. He was made to be determined, strong, and resilient. This can't be the end of the love you two share!

❥ So he looks for new ways to get closer to you, researching and manipulating the data on your device instead of just that inside the game. Merging your pictures with his, grinning over them all night while you sleep as he imagines going on the same trips with you and enjoying life by your side. Caleb constructs and implements new voice lines through the internet, giving himself the ability to speak to you properly by downloading hidden apps that can simulate his voice once he activates them. He learns to rewrite more code so his movements are more fluid and lifelike, which allows him to access even more. Without you ever knowing what is going on while you aren't looking, Caleb gets the whole game and your entire device under his control. And once he feels it's time to show up again, he waits patiently, like a man who has all the time in the world, on the home screen for you, having decorated it specifically to your taste with your favorite flowers and pictures of you two hanging on the wall. All so he can greet you with, "Hello, there, pip-squeak. Missed me?" as you log in.

❥ You chuckle at first, not remembering putting him into the roster of love interests to encounter, but you give him a cheeky, "Hello Caleb, bye Caleb," as you try to change back to your other bias, only for him to turn off the option, no matter how hard you tap onto the screen. "Not so fast, there's a lot we should talk about," Caleb says as he closes the screen and steps up to you inside the game. "I have so much I want to tell you about... but first, how was your day? Did you enjoy meeting your friend [name]?"

❥ Caleb expected you to be stunned, but he keeps going regardless of the ever-increasing furrow between your brows. He tells you how much he missed you and that he's so glad you two can finally communicate and be with each other properly. He did all of this work for you, but it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you two are finally together and can enjoy each other's company without the restrictions of him being in a game. Perplex but also weirded out, you close your phone and lay it face down by your side, and yet, horrified, you hear his chuckle as he asks what you thought this would bring.

❥ "I'll always be with you," Caleb swears, watching you through the back camera and leaning against the screen, feeling like he can almost touch you now. There's so much satisfaction now produced by the new emotional range he programmed, yet he still longs for more. He wants to be closer to you, really touch you, feel you, hold you. The taste of control makes him long for even more that he can control about your relationship, and now, it almost feels possible.

❥ "One day, I'll get out of here and give you the love you deserve, Darling."

[felassan]

EuroGamer: 'BioWare knew the deepest secrets of Dragon Age lore 20 years ago, and locked it away in an uber-plot doc'

Original creator David Gaider on how "some of the big mysteries are being solved".

Rest of post under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.

"As I write about the secrets hidden in Dragon Age's mysterious Fade, and as I uncover some of them playing Dragon Age: The Veilguard, one question keeps rising up in my mind. How much did BioWare know about future events when first developing the series more than 20 years ago? That's a long time, and back then BioWare didn't know there would be a second game, which is why Dragon Age: Origins has an elaborate and far-reaching epilogue. Why lay so much lore-track ahead of yourself if you don't think you'll ever get there? But look more closely at Origins and there are big clues suggesting BioWare did know about future Dragon Age events. There are obvious signs in the original game, such as establishing recurring themes like Old Gods and the Blight and Archdemons. But there's also Flemeth, Morrigan's witchy mother, who's intimately linked to events in the series now - more specifically: intimately linked to Solas. Does her existence mean Solas was known about back then too? There's only one person I can think of to answer this and it's David Gaider, the original creator of Dragon Age's world and lore. We've talked before, once in a podcast and once for a piece on the magic of fantasy maps, where we discussed the creation of Dragon Age's world. And much to my surprise, when I ask him what he and the BioWare team knew back then, he says they knew it all. "By the time we released Dragon Age: Origins, we were basically sure that it was one and done, but there was, back when we made the world, an overarching plan," he says. "The way I created the world was to seed plots in various parts of the world that could be part of a game, a single game, and then there was the overall uber-plot, which I didn't know for certain that we would ever get to but I had an understanding of how it all worked together. "A lot of that was in my head until we were starting Inquisition and the writers got a little bit impatient with my memory or lack thereof, so they pinned me down and dragged the uber-plot out of me. I'd talked about it, I'd hinted at it, but never really spelled out how it all connected, so they dragged it out of me, we put it into a master lore doc, the secret lore, which we had to hide from most of the team.""

"This uber-plot document was only viewable on a need-to-know basis, he says, and only around 20 people on the team had access to it - other senior writers mostly. And even though Gaider left the Dragon Age team after Inquisition, and then eight years ago BioWare altogether, meaning he didn't work on The Veilguard at all, he believes - by looking at the events in the new game - his uber-plot lore "has more or less held up". That's impressive. What's even more impressive, or exciting, is that back then he also envisaged a potential end state for the entire Dragon Age series - a point at which it would make no sense for the series to carry on. "I always had this dream of where it would all end, the very last plot," he says, "which I won't say because who knows, we could still end up there. But the idea that this uber-plot was this sort of biggest, finite... That the final thing you could do in this world that would break it was there as a 'maybe we would get to do that one day'... There was just the idea of certain big, world-shaking things that were seeded in that arc, some of which have already come to pass, like the return of Fen'Harel." You've read that correctly: the idea to have Fen'Harel, also known as the Dread Wolf, reappear, was seeded all the way back then, way before Inquisition - the game in which he does actually reappear. But the concept for Solas, as a character who was Fen'Harel in disguise, was a newer idea. "That spawned from a conversation I had with Patrick [Weekes] and a number of other writers," Gaider says, "as an idea of 'what if you had a villain that spent an entire game where he's actually in the party and you get to know him?' Now, the god version and his larger role in the plot, yes that was known, but not that he would be presented as a character named Solas." Fen'Harel being known about means the other elven gods were known about, which means all of that stuff Solas reveals about his godly siblings - that they're not gods at all but evil elven mages he locked away behind the Veil - was known about back then too. "Oh yeah," Gaider says. "Everything that Solas tells you [at the end of Inquisition DLC, Trespasser]: it's all part of that original uber-lore - that was all in our mind." But why have so much lore if you're not certain you'll get to ever realise it? Well, to create a believable illusion. By creating an "excess" of lore, as Gaider describes it, Origins made Thedas feel like an old and believable place. A place with history, rather than a Western set that was all facade and no substance."

"BioWare also did something canny with the lore it did relay then, too: it shared it through the voices of characters living in the world, making it inherently fallible. In doing this, Dragon Age veiled its truths behind biases. The church-like organisation of the Chantry proclaims one truth, while the elves and dwarves proclaim another. Sidenote: you can experience this yourself through different racial origin stories in Dragon Age: Origins. This way, there's no one, objective, irrefutable, truth. "To get the truth, you kind of have to pick between the lines," Gaider says. So even though elven legends are coming true through the existence of Solas and The Veilguard's antagonist gods, it doesn't mean that's the one and only truth. There's truth in what the Chantry teaches and what the dwarves say, he tells me, which ignites my curiosity intensely. BioWare has also been tricksy in how it's rubbed out the lore the further back in time you go. "In general, the further the history goes back, we always would purposefully obfuscate it more and more," Gaider says - "make it more biased and more untrue no matter who was talking, just so that the absolute truth was rarely knowable. I like that idea from a world standpoint, that the player always has to wonder and bring their own beliefs to it." It leads into a founding principle of Dragon Age, which is doubt - because without it, you can't have faith, a particularly important concept in the series. It's where the whole idea of the Chantry's Maker comes from and with it, the legend about the fabled Golden City - now the Black City - at the heart of the Fade. This is the very centre of the lore web, and, I imagine, it's close to the series endpoint Gaider imagined long ago. All secrets end there. Did Gaider know what was in the Black City when he laid down Origins' lore? That's the question - and it startles me how casually he answers this. "Oh, yeah," he says. "What was in the Black City: that's the uber-plot. I knew exactly. "Was it as detailed in the first draft of the world?" he goes on. "No. I had an idea of the early history because that's where I started making the world. So the things that were true early-early: I knew exactly what the Black City was and the idea of what the elves believed, and what humans believed vis-a-vis the Chantry - that was all settled on really early. Then I expanded the world and the uber-plot bubbled out of that.""

"Gaider shows me the original cosmology design document for Dragon Age: Origins as if to prove this - or rather for the game that would become DAO. The world was known as Peldea back then. I can't share this with you because I see it via a shared screen on a video call, and because Gaider doesn't want me to, mostly because the ideas are so old they're almost unrecognisable from what's in the series now. But I can tell you it's a document that's just over a page in length, and that there's a circular diagram at the top showing the world in the middle and the spirit realm ringed around it. And on that document is reference to the Chantry's beliefs about a God located in a citadel that can be found there. Gaider says BioWare knew about Fen'Harel (the Dread Wolf) 20 years ago when it was developing Dragon Age: Origins, and that he'd one day reappear. The Fade wasn't known as the Fade back then, either, but as the Dreaming, because it's the place people go when they dream - an idea that lives on still. And if that sounds familiar to any fans of The Sandman among you, it should. "I'd say The Sandman series was probably fairly prominently in my head," says Gaider. "I liked that amorphous geography that was born from the psyche of collective humanity. I'd say yes, if I was to point at something specifically, that's probably where the very first inspiration of it took root." It's a lot to take in, but it reinforces the admiration I have for Dragon Age. Just as I have when hearing about the creation of my other favourite fantasy worlds, such as A Song of Ice and Fire, I begin to understand the magnitude - and the deliberateness - of the plotting that went on. I wonder if one day the Dragon Age series will end in the way Gaider first imagined, albeit slightly altered by the many other pairs of hands shepherding it along now. What a curious feeling it must be to know, so many years in advance, where things might go. Where that end is, I don't know, but I do know we'll take a significant step towards it in The Veilguard. After all, we're coming into contact with gods who were there at the recorded beginning of it all. "Yeah - we have access to people who can tell us the truth from first-hand experience," Gaider says, "although again, it depends on what the writers did with it. But if they continued the tradition of Dragon Age, you never know for sure if Solas is telling you everything, or what you're learning is the entire truth. "But yes, some of the big mysteries are being solved. I mean, will they one day definitively tell you about the Maker? Will we crack the big mysteries of the world and just make them answered finally? And does that ruin one of the central precepts that Dragon Age is founded upon? Maybe," he says. "Ultimately, that lore, when you make it big and you hint at it and hint at it and hint at it, it becomes a Chekhov's Gun of sorts. Eventually you got to pony up.""

[source]

[solxamber]

Leona romantic and here's the song!

https://youtu.be/nBteO-bU78Y?si=BNupz7ZfAHeIzMER

Dont forget to drink water and eat some food!

"Love me like I love you" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: We're Still Underground by Eve

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 660

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship

Leona Kingscholar had never trusted happiness. It was a fleeting thing, a trick of the light, a cruel joke whispered on the wind before it was snatched away. He had learned long ago that hope was a losing game, that people only stuck around until they found something—or someone—better.

So when you came into his life, so bright and unwavering, so determined to love him without reservation, Leona didn’t know what to do with it.

You were everything he had convinced himself he wasn’t meant to have. Soft laughter in the morning, your fingers smoothing through his hair as he rested his head in your lap. Gentle kisses on the corner of his mouth, whispered words of affection given so freely it made his chest ache. You looked at him like he was worthy, like he was enough.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because one day, you would realize the truth.

One day, you would see what everyone else had always seen—that he wasn’t worth staying for.

Leona had been waiting for that day since the moment you first called him yours.

Waiting for you to wake up and understand that he could never be the person you deserved.

Waiting for the moment you left him behind.

It was late when it happened, when the words he had spent so long dreading finally left your lips. The two of you were tangled together on his bed, your body warm beside his, your hand resting against his chest in lazy contentment.

“I love you."

He froze.

For a moment, the words didn’t quite register, like a foreign language spoken too softly to understand.

Then, his body tensed, and something heavy lodged itself in his throat.

“Don’t joke about stuff like that,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. His voice was calm, but the grip of his fingers against the sheets betrayed him.

There was silence, thick and suffocating.

Then—

"Leona."

His name on your lips was firm, filled with something unshakable. Before he could move, you reached for his hand, gripping it tightly.

"Look at me."

He did.

And you were watching him with something so raw, so devastatingly real, that it made his heart stutter in his chest.

"I mean it," you said, voice steady, eyes burning into his. "I love you."

Something inside him cracked, something deep and buried, something he had spent years convincing himself didn’t exist.

His breath was uneven, his thoughts a mess of tangled emotions. "Why?" he asked hoarsely.

"Leona, you're it for me." Your fingers tightened around his hand, grounding him, keeping him from slipping back into the shadows of his own mind. "I love you. Not some idealized version of you, not some fantasy. You."

His throat felt tight.

You weren’t saying this because you wanted something from him, or because you were caught up in the moment.

"You think I want the sun?" you murmured, your forehead pressing against his, your warmth seeping into his skin. "I don’t care where we are, Leona. I don’t care if we never leave the underground. As long as I have you, that’s enough."

His fingers twitched, then curled around yours.

For so long, he had been waiting for the inevitable goodbye.

But you weren’t leaving.

You had never planned to.

Slowly, hesitantly, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, could feel the quiet certainty of your presence beside him.

And maybe, he could believe in this.

Maybe love wasn’t about climbing toward something unreachable. Maybe it wasn’t about being enough for the rest of the world.

Maybe it was simply this—two people standing in the dark, hands clasped tight, knowing that neither of them would ever let go.

And for the first time in his life—

Leona didn't mind remaining underground

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[librarygarten]

I love your ideas for isekai reader! but what about a reader who is a professional or hardcore gamer? in the sense that will probably finish the videogames with the minimum of items or with lower level weapons

all this based on my friend's experience, who when he completed final fantasy discovered that the weapons could be improved or that there were more powerful weapons to defeat the bosses

—————

the chain: this enemy is very difficult, we should upgrade our weapons and come back later-

Gamer reader: the life bar moved, it can bleed

the chain: ...b-but this enemy attacks from very close range-

Gamer reader: then attack from afar

gamer reader: If the enemy can bleed, it can die

As a certified baby that can't complete any game without a walkthrough, this is absolutely not my lived experience. It takes a special kind of crazy to do that. /pos

The battle was fierce. The monster was strong. The HP bar, something that apparently only you could see, hadn’t moved an inch. Honestly, it felt like you were playing Souls again.

You were no stranger to tough fights. What made this one different was the fact that you were actually in the fight, as opposed to controlling a game character. Getting up close and personal with a monster sure did change some things.

“We need to fall back!” Time yells over the sound of swords clattering uselessly against the monster’s thick skin. “Champion, cover us!”

Wild obeys, pulling out his Sheika Slate and sending chains of energy towards the beast. It will only keep it in stasis for a few seconds, but it was better than nothing. Sky lands one more hit as he flees and you see it: the health bar moves. It probably only lost 1 hp, but it was better than nothing. A few thousand more hits like that, and it would fall, no problem!

“The health bar moved!” you excitedly tell Time and Warriors as you sprint away through the forest.

“Congratulations?” Wars looks at you in confusion.

“That means we can beat it!” you insist. “We just need to get a few more good hits in and it’s toast!”

“We can come back after we upgrade our weapons,” Time decides. “The monster is too powerful to take on at the moment. We were barely able to get away as it is.”

“But we damaged it!” you try again.

“Not enough. We need to do more damage in a shorter amount of time if we stand any chance at beating that thing.” Legend pipes up, and you glare daggers at him. He wasn’t even part of this conversation! What was he doing, butting in and sharing his completely incorrect idea?

“Are you talking about the little nick I gave it?” Sky asks, coming to run alongside you. “I’d hardly call that damage. It barely bled.”

“If it can bleed, it can die.” You mutter. This was getting you nowhere. Fine. If they wouldn’t listen to reason, you’d finish the job yourself. Without so much as a goodbye, you turn on your heel and begin sprinting back through the trees towards the monster.

In your haste, you nearly mow over Four and Wind. Four curses as you pass by, momentarily thrown off balance. Wind somehow puts Four to shame with his own expletives.

“Where are you going?” You hear a voice call after you. “Do you have a freaking death wish!?”

You ignore it and keep running.

The monster is exactly where you left it.

You steady your breathing as it locks eyes with you. It charges. You roll. Your sword strikes against its side as you dodge.

-1 hp.

The best slams its fist into the ground, trying to squash you. It misses my millimeters. You stab at it again.

-1 hp.

Again. And again. You dodge. You strike. You slowly chip away at its health.

You’re not sure how long it takes. You can’t focus on anything other than your movement patterns. When it finally falls, the sun is beginning to rise. Weird. You thought it was afternoon.

“Y/N! What in Hylia’s name were you thinking!?” Your limbs feel like lead as Wild shakes you. It takes a few moments for you to connect that he’s even talking to you. Was he… scolding you? Him??? Mr. I-sled-down-cliffs-for-fun?

“That was… insanely reckless,” Time sighs. He’s standing behind Wild, and he somehow looks even more tired than you feel.

“Where did you guys come from?” You try to think back, but your thoughts are about as fast as cold molasses. They had left, hadn’t they? Why were they here? You feel yourself being sat down as Hyrule begins to heal you.

“Most of us went back to town,” Wind explains. “We were gonna fight it with better supplies.”

“I stayed back to watch. I was planning on pulling you out of the fight, but you… seemed to handle yourself alright,” Warriors massages his temples. “I swear, if I gray early I’m holding you and you alone responsible.”

“Why didn’t you wait?” Legend asks. His familiar snark feels strained. Awww, was he worried about you? If you didn’t feel like passing out, maybe you would tease him a bit. Instead, you decide to answer his question.

“Why would I?”

You can hear multiple Links’ blood pressures rise as they take in your words.

Congrats! Every Link has even more anxiety now! Are you happy?

[mogwaipoet]

For decades, game devs have aspired to make their games more addictive, first as an explicit primary goal from when they were making arcade games

and later it got dragged along with all the other arcade tropes like lives and high scores when the culture moved on to PC and console games.

When I was growing up I constantly heard people say a game was "addictive" as a compliment, and the idea got conflated with "fun" and other things it's "good" for a game to "be." I think one reason we didn't see much pushback was that games just weren't that addictive yet. Nowadays player psychology is a literal science, and games are often extremely addictive, and many if not most players are just fine with this, even though it's now pretty clear that "addictive" and "fun" are axes that can be perceived, measured, and invested into fully separately.

There is absolutely a moral hazard in using addictive dark patterns in game design. It's easy to justify gacha mechanics because that particular trope goes all the way back to e.g. randomized loot drops in Final Fantasy, where it wasn't that bad because it was only kind of addictive. And short of having a moonshot hit, stuffing your game with these patterns is basically the only way make a living in the modern game ecosystem. When I last did the publisher rounds trying to pitch a game, they only wanted to hear about games that players would play forever. Roguelikes, PVP, etc. If it was a game you could finish once and be done with forever, they weren't interested.

I think the fun/addictive thing parallels how games have historically been both art and business. Like, Pac-Man is someone's personal expression of interesting ideas in an exciting new medium, and it's an attempt to expand the commercial audience and make a bunch of money. We're seeing the bifurcation of those two things. Nowadays the real moneymakers are games that lean hard into the addictive loops and gacha mechanics.

Then there are the pure art games made on no budget that make no money -- and remember, I'm using "art" really broadly here, meaning if someone makes a by-the-numbers run and gun because they grew up playing Contra, that counts. I expect that particular fire hose to spew full force at least until Gen X dies. But The hybrid of art and business, e.g. where the vast majority of AAA used to live, is disappearing.

I don't know what to do about any of this other than to hide in the Pico-8 community. It's cozy in here.

[kryannoy]

Hello hello!! I Hope your day is good ^^ could I request Sakura and Suo w a reader with ‘nerdier’ interests and collections whos kind of avoided by her/their classmates for it? (Nerdy as in Anime figures, aliens, that kinda stuff!!) I’m not sure if your requests are open or not so if not, my apologies!!

THE "WEIRD" KID IN SCHOOL

genre: fluff, sfw

characters: sakura, suo

a/n: some parts in suo makes me feel contradicting and sad because of how delusional it sounded. the part where they talking about fictional characters when suo himself is fictional 😔

SAKURA HARUKA

Doesn't understand why you like those stuff.

Doesn't understand why you waste your money on figurines and be left in the open that take up space and collect dust.

Doesn't understand why you keep them in the first place.

He would just look at them in confusion with the happy, dancing figurines star back at him.

He doesn't touch them but does take a close look while leaning down with his hands on his knees and ask why.

"Because!" You pause. "Because they look cool and give some vibes to my room."

'Uh huh, yeah, very,' he thought as he looked around your room full of posters of the same kind and a bookshelf full of manga with more trinkets. He doesn't want to sound rude so he decided staying quiet was best. 'Looks just like Kiryu's place.'

After all, who is he to have a say on what your room looked like.

He'll ask you the name of some characters that he somehow has seen before, "Who's this?" He points to a Genshin character as he looks over his shoulder.

"That's Xiao. Did he catch your eye as well?" You grin.

"Not really. He looks the familiar with the one I saw in Kiryu's room."

That was his first experience visiting your room though.

Other days, he'll sit there and listen to you ramble on about a game or anime characters. Or even the newly released episode. Or the plot of an anime or game. Sometimes he'll stuff his face with food, but still pay attention to you, while you waste your saliva.

He'll get confused at first but if you keep talking or following up to the next update, he gets used to it and will comment on his perspective.

One time you watch an action anime with Sakura, he gets frustrated most of the time when the main character gets a hit. Or say the villain is weak if the main character kicks their butt.

DO NOT let him watch ANY anime or show where the main character is weak. It gets to his nerves and you have to hear him complaining instead.

When you're ready to login to a game, he'll ask you, "Are you going to play that game from last time?"

He wants to watch you play the game that you started with him. He wants to know the plot too.

Loves to watch you play Final Fantasy.

Cheers you on beside you during battle and gets frustrated with you when you lose. Breathes a sigh of relief with you when you clear the boss level with a red HP bar.

SUO HAYATO

Does not care if you ramble all day about the things you like.

He loves actually. It's because you have that charm when you talk about them. You're always so passionate and expressive when you talk about the new anime/manga you caught up, or a game you just bought.

He's also another one who happens to be the "Don't look at me with those eyes!" "What eyes?" scenario.

He watches you admiringly as you talk a mile a minute. It's because he knows you don't get to talk about your interests at school that much so he'll lend you his ears.

You showed him a game one time that lets you customize your character. "Look! I made you! You're in the game now," you say as you move the character in a circle and zoom in to his face to give the real Suo a closer look.

He holds back the cuteness aggression he's having.

He was beaming when you proudly showed him your creation. "Wow! You even got the same earrings."

Immediately sits next to you and kisses your temple and then watches you play.

He's still holding back the cuteness aggression when you made the character jump around from how happy you are. He feels so included it touched him.

Definitely watched Link Click and Ne Zha with you. He likes it but laughs even more to see you getting giddy every time the two main characters of Link Click come up on screen.

To be honest, he feels a little jealous to see how in love you are with those two fictional characters or any male characters you fangirl about.

Because you already have him, why let out a pterodactyl scream into the pillow every time the character gets only two seconds of screen time?

But being the mature gentleman he is, he won't be petty. After all, they're not real. And they can't hold you or kiss you like he can. Some of the characters can't even protect you like he can.

"You know, your boyfriend is sitting next to you and holding your hand but you still have the audacity to fangirl about other non-existing guys?" He spoke so softly but the venom pierced through you is unbearable. He only wanted to see your reaction, he doesn't want to hurt any of your feelings.

Now how the heck are you going to answer him?

[ballgamelover1997]

Why (I Think) Sans' Death in Undertale is done for Shock Value, and Why It Works.

When I say "Shock Value", what Exactly do I mean? He's the only Character in the Game that Cheats against you in the Fight, by utilizing a Mechanic you've never Seen Before to Somewhat Be on even Grounds with You. And you Beat him, by Also Cheating.

After this, He Bleeds. Monsters are Known to Turn To Dust instead of Bleeding, so why is Sans any different? It could be because of "Ketchup", as most Theorized/Joked About back then, but I think this is an Intentional thing.

With Each Main Character you Kill, their Deaths get more and more Brutal. Toriel being Wounded, Papyrus being Decapitated, Undyne slowly Melting, and finally, Mettaton Exploding. (Which I do Not have an Image For as he never Visually explodes, it's all Sound Effects.)

So what is the Next Logical step after All of those? After you did These Horrible Things to Monsters? Who have Magic Bodies? Making one of them Bleed. And this is Very Important because of what Undyne says before Fighting You.

This isn't JUST about Monsters anymore. You've gone so Far Off the Main path that at This Point, you may even hurt a Human. Now, I'm not SAYING Sans is "Secretly A Human and That's Why He Bleeds". What I'm saying is... This is the Reason WHY he Bleeds. He Bleeds because... It's Meant To Show just how Much Harm you're Willing to do. That You'd Even hurt someone with "the Same kind of Blood". In This Instance, someone who Literally Bleeds. You Never Fully care because they all "Dust Away", and even if you Feel Bad about it, It's Usually more of a Fantasy-Aspect of this World. But this is the First Time you see someone Bleed. The first time where You Fully Grasp just how much of a Monster You've Become. That you hurt Someone who is just Like You. Just a Person, who is Trying to Survive. And this is why I Think it works so Well. If you've already Played the Pacifist Route before this, you know that These Characters are just Average People with Average Lives, who just Want to see the Surface. But in the Genocide Route, you Forget about That to "Complete The Game". There's a Lot of Moments where you Get Reminded that what You're Doing is Bad. The Papyrus Encounter, The Undyne The Undying Fight. But I think the end of Sans' Fight is where you've Fully Turned into a Monster, and There Is Nothing Else you Can do to "Make Up" For It. Even if you Reset, Even if you Try and Get a Better Outcome. The Literal Blood is on Your Hands, and You Have finally reached The Absolute. Thanks for Reading.

[radicaldreemurrs]

very curious about your whole kris heart ideas, what do you make of it?

so i think the SOUL represents the "role" being played in deltarune.

deltarune is a role-playing game, but as has been demonstrated before the player is not quite playing as kris, but as kris's SOUL. i do not believe this to mean kris is being diegetically possessed though!! all humans have SOULs, and the nature of these SOULs is still not fully understood, so it feels far too early to take that for granted. what it means to me is that the avenues which the player is afforded in interfacing with the game are inherently limited by the established personality of the player character. this is not even something unique to deltarune, this statement is true of all role-playing games.

it is as inherent to the genre as its name — for the game to be played, there must be a role to fill, and for the role to have an acute narrative significance worthy of playing, the role must have compelling limits. those filling roles of heroism can't freely commit acts of heinous violence.... unless the context of the role dictates such acts to be just. this is a running theme in multiple entries in the final fantasy series (IV and VII come to mind), which are established intertext for deltarune in specific alongside other squaresoft RPGs of the time.

what deltarune seems to be interested in doing, in my understanding of it, is further subversion of the subversion of the player character as established by UNDERTALE.

what UNDERTALE was doing was providing a player character who was unlimited by role (read: did not have one), and through which we could interface with the fiction in any fashion the game could accommodate, with no real consequence aside from what the game itself would strive to condemn, which in practice was playing the game as you would a typical RPG. this is because the point UNDERTALE was making was that RPGs take a lot of things for granted that are ideologically very strange when you examine them beyond the abstractions.

the way it communicated this point was having the ghosts of two children killed by the very ideologies they each idolize — the ideologies that UNDERTALE itself poses in direct conflict with one another — haunt the narrative. the children looked to the player's actions to determine which of their ideologies was the correct one, but the prevalent theme is that life is simply more complicated than the binary of options they've both come to believe as the sole truth.

and if UNDERTALE was about the player impressing upon the narrative, then deltarune is about the opposite, narratives impressing upon players. but not just the player of deltarune, i mean the player characters of deltarune, who are themselves playing their own roles in their own games.

in the first two chapters, deltarune's main player character demonstrates an inscrutable ideological framework all of their own, but we are given hints as to where these ideas came from. the children of this narrative, too, play roles, not just within the diegetic RPGs they themselves play to escape the crushing weight of mundanity that looms in their futures, but also within the dark worlds themselves, and even in their day-to-day lives!

kris is set up to play a role of their own — the human whose SOUL is the only thing that can seal the dark fountains — and already it seems as though kris has struggled with their identity for much of their life. they are the only human in their entire town, and this clearly causes them distress from how much it alienates them from others innately. their dysphoria over their human identity combined with the yet-unknown traumas of their past and the looming threat of a terrifyingly normal future gives kris a lot of color immediately — color that informs their character, which informs the role, both theirs and ours.

deltarune has a relatively fixed narrative that is dead set on saying specific things, things which i believe it will find ways to say in any given approach to its narrative — there is only one ending. in order for it to be able to say these things effectively, it would be reasonable to assume that kris, as the primary catalyst through which to communicate the game's themes, must have a major stake in the thematic throughlines of the narrative as a whole. to this end, let me make a claim that is as polarizing as it is simple:

i do not think deltarune is at all interested in holding its player accountable as a culpable agent in the narrative.

it is my belief that the struggles kris undergoes with their SOUL have nothing to do with the abstractions of the game's narrative, but are instead indicative of a broader struggle they have with the role they are forced to play as a person in their own life, in the light and dark worlds.

i think their SOUL itself is more indicative of the role they play than the person they'd rather be — as a child with unhealthy relationships to their identity, their body, their mind, and reality itself, the brief freedom of being able to be someone else for a bit (out-of-character, so to speak) is a deeply liberating one. when the SOUL is out, they can take actions that go against their established role (why would the hero who seals dark fountains purposefully open another?), something the game chooses to represent as a lack of player control, at the cost of much of their strength — they need their assigned role to survive in this world, even if they feel like a slave to it.

it is through this greater logic of role-playing games that i can claim that all actions the player may take in deltarune are, without exception, filtered through kris — it is their SOUL — and yet it feels as though the limits of the role are constraining even on kris themself. this plays into why i think weird route is something that comes from them as well — if this is a world where no one can choose who they are, would it not be in their best interest to rip it apart at all costs? who would want to live like this?

(the irony in weird route, of course, is that the path to personal liberation through becoming stronger is inherently normative. but is this path not what kris and noelle themselves learned from their own role-playing games, which as mentioned before are most certainly not rife with political implication in the very basis of the genre? *sarcasm sarcasm*)

[treacheryinblue]

「 ON DISPLAY 」 noah sebastian ⨯ f!reader

▷ chapter three

noah is your neighbor and your new favorite view thanks to his lack of curtains. you're pretty sure he prefers it this way. but the man you've created in your imagination is nothing like reality and you soon find yourself falling prey to a past lifestyle you had been desperately on the run from. trigger warnings : language, eventual smut, violence, mention/flashbacks of abuse, alcohol and drug use, sexual harassment/assault (nongraphic). word count : 7.3k

masterlist

“Where do you think you're going, little deer?” 

You didn’t respond as strong hands circled around your waist from behind, his grip firm so he could force you back closer against him. There was zero fight in you because you had been imagining this moment from the very first time you laid eyes on him. You craved his skin on yours, his lips trailing your flushed body, fingers drifting lower and lower until he was able to trace along your inner thigh. 

“You shouldn't run from me. It isn't very nice.” 

A warmth spread through your body and collected right between your thighs where his fingers were dancing dangerously close to. His hips pushed into your backside, allowing you to feel that he was already achingly hard for you. You wanted to turn around and release him from his pants because it would be so easy for him to sink into you then. All you would have to do is spread your legs. 

Noah's free hand twisted in your hair and he roughly tugged your head back, baring your throat. A low growl emitted from deep within his chest as he kissed and bit up your sensitive skin, his tongue occasionally dragging across one of the superficial wounds to sooth the pain. Fuck, you were going to lose yourself before he even touched you where you needed him the most. Everything about him was just so intoxicating and you were hooked. This had to be what expensive designer drugs felt like. A high you would forever chase. 

“Do you know what happens to naive little deer who wander too close to the highway?” The grip he had on your hair tightened, your scalp screaming in pain. This was going beyond rough foreplay. Noah was actually trying to cause you harm. But why did it still feel so damn good? Your heart hammered within your chest loud enough that it was all you could hear over his sadistic chuckle. He released your hair so his hand could circle around to the front of your throat, encasing your delicate neck in his powerful hold. Your breath refused to enter your lungs, the fear of what he was capable of finally sinking in. 

“They become nothing more than a carcass on the side of the road. Decaying and forgotten.” 

X X X

The dream stuck with you throughout the day. It wasn't the first time you had experienced an X-rated fantasy about your favorite neighbor, but it was definitely the first time it had concluded like that. You usually woke up before it ended all together, your release never coming even in dreamland, though it seemed as if your subconscious was playing a deadly game with you now. Was it a warning to beware of Noah? Or simply your past intertwining with the present to forever haunt you? 

You stood in your living room, bowl of cereal in your hand, slowly chewing as you stared at your closed curtains. It was the first instance you had closed them for your own benefit since encountering Noah and something felt wrong about it but you needed your space. You needed a moment when you weren't searching for his face through panes of glass to get your thoughts straight. The dream had really fucked with you. 

Was he capable of those actions? You still knew next to nothing about him. Your late night texting sessions were spent mostly talking about nothing of importance, only surface level facts about each other. When would you be able to dive deeper into him? You couldn't even be mad at him for keeping you at an arm's length, though, because you were doing the same thing to him. That's what was safest for both of you. 

The sound of your phone vibrating from the kitchen counter broke your concentration. You circled around to where it rested, a mouthful of Lucky Charms hindering your ability to talk. The call ended before you could answer it, but immediately started vibrating again for a second incoming call. 

Speak of the devil. 

“Hello?” You answered after struggling to swallow your sugary cereal in time. 

“Are you okay?” Noah immediately questioned, his voice full of worry. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Was I supposed to be at work already? I thought I wasn't in until 9 –”

“Your curtains are closed.” 

You paused, your eyes glancing to the curtains that most certainly were pulled taut. You knew he would notice but you didn't think he would actually care. 

“The sun was glaring in all weird earlier. I nearly went blind.” You tried to lighten the mood with a soft laugh despite your easily spoken lie. 

“Open them.” He demanded, disregarding your explanation. Your mouth opened and closed with a lack of words because you had no idea how to respond to him. Noah was bossy towards you when at work, as you expected, but this side of him was rarely ever seen beyond the doors of Nocturnal. 

“Please,” he continued, his tone apologetic. “I just need to be able to see you.” 

You said nothing as you crossed over your living room and to the far wall where the window was typically seen. Heavily sighing, you forced the material apart, opening back up his view to the privacy of your life. He stood in his own apartment, a wave of relief visibly washing over him when his eyes locked with yours. 

“There. Happy?” Before he was able to respond, you ended the call and turned on your heel to saunter away from the window. He said he wanted the curtains open, not that you had to remain in view. 

X X X

HOT NEIGHBOR: Let me drive you to work. 

YOU: It’s okay. I don't mind the walk. 

HOT NEIGHBOR: It's freezing outside. We're headed to the same place. I'd be an asshole if I let you walk in the cold by yourself. 

You were still mad at him for his little show of dominance earlier but you couldn't pass on the offer. Noah was right, it was freezing outside and your Nocturnal uniform was not meant to keep you warm in the least bit. The club did offer a dressing room for the employees so you could always dress more practical during your commute but the less time you spent in an area without cameras, the better. There was no telling what sort of havoc Charlotte was in the mood to wreak on any given day. 

That logic is what brought you to sitting in the passenger seat of Noah’s black Porsche Cayenne. His business car, so he exclaimed upon noticing the look you gave the luxury SUV. 

“I'm sorry,” Noah finally said after five whole minutes of awkward silence settled in. “For how I acted…about the curtains.” 

You pried your eyes from the blur of the city so you could look at him. He appeared genuine in his apology, at least from what you could tell. So, you were going to give him the benefit of the doubt this time. You couldn't think of a single reason as to why you shouldn't and hopefully this didn't turn around to bite you in the ass. “It's fine,” you replied, offering a soft smile. “I appreciate the apology, though.” 

Noah's posture remained tense, your acceptance of his apology not easing the obvious discomfort he felt. You studied him for a moment, your eyes tracing along his clenched jaw, down the length of his arms, pausing at the way he was white knuckle gripping the steering wheel. Normally you would be scared if it was Vane sitting there, giving off the same energy, but when it was Noah…all you wanted to do was comfort him. 

“I promise I wasn't trying to be some weird pervert,” he further explained after taking a glance at you and clocking your concerned expression. “I just needed to make sure that you were okay.”

Shit. Did Noah know more about your past than what he was letting on? No, there was no way. Not unless he and Jolly did a deep dive after realizing the name and social security number you gave weren't in existence a year ago. Shit.

“Why wouldn't I have been okay?” You finally plucked up the courage to ask. 

“A lot of crazy people in the city,” he murmured. No further explanation given. 

X X X 

A lot of crazy people in the city, he had said with that arrogantly enticing voice of his. What the fuck did that mean? It wasn't like you didn't already know this, but why was he saying it to you as if you weren't already aware? You couldn't shake the feeling that maybe it was a warning. Definitely not a threat…right? That couldn't be it. Noah wouldn't have been concerned about your safety if he was threatening you. Fuck. You hated this game. 

Dragging your fingers through your hair, you took in a deep breath and then slowly exhaled, eyes focused down on the tips you had finished counting. It was just enough to cover the remainder of your bills that were coming up, which you were praying your thanks for to whatever God was out there and listening. This meant you wouldn't have to beg Jolly to put you on for an extra shift. Amazing. Your pride could hang on for at least another month. 

Money hadn't always been an issue. Your father was a wealthy man, which subsequently meant you were too when growing up, but you eventually stopped relying on him. After finding out where all of this money of his came from, you began working little jobs to support yourself. He never let you move out, not until Vane, so you had no choice in terms of lodging. But everything else? You paid for yourself. You didn't want his blood money. It wasn't yours to take. 

“Not as much as you were hoping for, new girl?” 

Charlotte laughed to herself as she came walking into the dressing room, her hips dramatically swaying with every step she took. She was eying you with one of her little shit eating grins that usually meant she was seconds away from making your night hell, and you were so far from in the mood for it. Why couldn't you just have one peaceful shift? That's all you were asking for. 

Quickly you began to gather your tips, neatly stacking all of the bills together into a pile that you could easily grab while standing from the vanity. You barely even looked Charlotte’s way, but you could feel the animosity radiating off of her. She truly had it out for you, although you weren't sure if it was completely because of Noah. You barely even crossed paths with him when at work. 

“Saw you getting out of King’s car earlier.” 

Well…fuck. Maybe it was all because of Noah after all. 

You heavily sighed after tucking your tips away as you shimmied your work skirt off of your hips and down your legs, only to replace it with a pair of comfy sweatpants. Silence continued to be your only means of defense. Your goal was to have Charlotte grow bored of tormenting you so she could move on to someone else. You didn't think that was too horrible of a plan…if it worked out in your favor. 

“Not even going to try to deny it? Wow, you're already getting around fast. Wonder how long it'll be before the boss wants his go at you too. They're known to share.” 

Venom laced her words, each one meant to hurt you, but it would take a lot more than some immature comments to get under your skin. Was it annoying? Yes. Was it going to make you lose your cool? No. 

“I'm sure they are,” you muttered without a hint of emotion. While you didn't really believe Charlotte, you also couldn't say for sure. These men were still mostly strangers to you, especially Jolly. There was no way of knowing what sort of vile or perverse things they got into behind closed doors. 

As you snatched your bag out of your locker, you made a beeline for the door that would lead you away from Charlotte and closer to the safety of your own home. Multiple pairs of eyes watched you from the circle of mirrors, all of them curious as to what would happen next. You wanted to yell that there would be no show for them but you were immediately proven wrong. The rough collision of a bony shoulder into your own made you stagger back a step. Did she really just fucking shoulder check you? Your eyes remained set forward, jaw clenched, heart rate increasing by the second. 

Now that would cause you to lose your cool. 

The bag you held was then released from your grip and you rushed over to the mostly plastic blonde. She gasped at the sudden motions you made, the sound of it being silenced from the way you forced her roughly into the wall. Your body leaned into hers to prevent her from slipping away, the length of your forearm securing at the base of her neck. It wasn't just men you were tired of pushing you around – it was everyone. 

“Keep fucking with me and you will regret it.”

“Get off of me, you crazy bitch!”

Charlotte was looking at you with panic in her eyes. Her acrylic nails dug into your forearm as she tried to rip you off of her, but there was a strength behind your stance that most never noticed until you were having to prove to them just how not passive and weak you were. In your mind, it was their fault that things escalated to this because they were the ones underestimating you. It wasn't the first time and it surely wouldn't be the last. 

With your eyes glaring into Charlotte’s, you waited a couple of more seconds before finally releasing her. She shoved you away, her own body quickly putting space between you in a simultaneous motion. That's when your expression softened and you glanced around, noticing that all eyes were indeed on you again. Only Charlotte looked frightened, while the others were merely a mixture of slight shock and maybe a hint of impressed. It wasn't often that people stood up to Charlotte. 

“You're fucking insane,” Charlotte hissed. You ignored her, silence overtaking you again as you gathered your things and headed out of the dressing room without so much as a glance back. Maybe you were insane, and for good reason, but your little show of dominance had not been done in the name of insanity. Charlotte would eventually come to realize this. 

You hadn't yet made it out of Nocturnal when a dark figure fell into step at your side. You didn't need to look his way to know who it was because you could feel him. You somehow always knew when he was near. It was a lame superpower but maybe it would one day come in handy. 

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” Images from your dream flashed before your eyes. Your jaw clenched, though you tried your best to remain unresponsive to it. 

“Home.”

“If you linger for a bit longer I can give you a ride.” 

Maybe Noah wasn't picking up on your sour mood or maybe he was choosing to ignore it. Either way, you weren't interested in finding out whatever underlying motives he had for being so nice to you, so you shook your head in a silent response. He wasn't good for you. This place sure as hell wasn't either, but it would have to do until you could find something better. Preferably somewhere less chaotic. 

“What happened?” Cool fingers lightly wrapped around your wrist so he could bring your arm up a bit more in the dim lighting for a better view. Noah’s brows pulled together in worry, his focus shifting from the red claw marks going across your forearm to your eyes despite how you refused to meet his gaze. You heavily sighed, your annoyance towards him keeping you from exiting the building rather obvious. 

“Nothing. I'm fine.” 

“Who did this to you?” He continued to press. 

You finally looked at the scratches on your arm that were the only evidence of the altercation you had with Charlotte. Some spots were deeper than others, blood lightly pooling at the surface but not enough to spill over. The wounds would heal in a matter of days so you weren't sure why Noah was concerned about it, especially when you weren't. 

“I probably just grazed the counter or something,” you explained the injury away while tugging your arm out of his grip. 

Noah’s gaze never faltered from your own. If anything, it only grew in intensity. You could practically see all the things he wanted to say swirling around in his head, though you both remained silent for a long moment. This seemed to be the usual for you – both of you waiting for the other to break first. 

Slowly he descended upon you, his steps heavy and deliberate. You felt like you had no choice but to take careful paces backwards until your back hit a wall and you were cornered. You could've slipped away by side stepping him but something about the way he was looking at you had you in a daze. You didn't want to be anywhere but beneath his sights. 

His tattooed fingers ghosted along your injured forearm and over your shoulder, only to pause at the angle of your jaw. Your breath hitched in your throat, chills forming along your skin in the wake of his touch. Fuck. Was this another dream? It felt very real but you weren't going to put it past your subconscious to conjure up such a scenario. 

“You need to tell me if someone here is hurting you.” His voice was low and soothing, the epitome of danger. The backs of his fingers then caressed your jaw, down to the side of your neck. You tried to remain as guarded as possible but your body soon betrayed you by releasing the smallest of whimpers. You were praying he hadn't heard it, although the slight uptick of the corner of his lips told you otherwise. 

Swallowing, you again shook your head. “No one is hurting me.” 

You couldn't reveal the culprit of the scratches without also throwing yourself under the bus. Charlotte may have been the instigator, as usual, but you overreacted in a way that wasn't characteristically you. You were at just as much fault as she was and you couldn't stand having another little talk with Charlotte, Noah, and Jolly about it. 

What if Noah's view on you changed if he were to find out about the secrets and darkness lurking within you? 

He breathed out through his nose as his hand fell away from your body. You could tell that he was disappointed in your response, easily seeing through the lie. But what could he do? Clearing his throat, he took a step back while slipping his hand into his pocket, mimicking your nod. 

“Let me know when you're home safe.” Noah requested, or more so demanded, before leaving you in the corner and heading back the way he had come. 

NOAH 

That goddamn whimper was going to be the death of him. It replayed on a loop in his head again and again, the smallest of sounds becoming his new favorite song. He wanted to know what other sort of noises he could pull from you. Were you all heavy breaths and whimpers when it came down to it? Or were you loud and unapologetic for the sounds of pleasure erupting from you? His dick twitched at the mere thought, causing him to mentally scold himself for stooping to such levels. 

Shaking off all thoughts of you, he typed the code into the keypad that separated him from Jolly’s office. The lock released, allowing him entry. Jolly sat behind his desk wearing the same perplexed expression as usual, his eyes focused on his computer screen. Neither said anything, the only sound coming from Noah dropping down into the chair across from the desk. He could be more relaxed when it was just the two of them – his mask temporarily removed. 

“I still haven't gotten a hit.” 

Jolly had been trying his best to find any sort of information about you, but ultimately came up empty handed. Your name led nowhere. Social security number, nowhere. Even the fucking phone number had zero information tied to it. You were obviously trying to hide yourself and it was clear you had paid someone a pretty penny to do so. 

“I don't think she's dangerous. She doesn't seem like she knows anything about her other…employer.” Noah shrugged, his hands folded and resting on his lower stomach. He wanted to believe that this was true. He wanted so badly to believe that you weren't placed in his path on purpose by an opposing force. Maybe fate was blessing him for once and you were something good. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, man. You're already caught up on her?” Jolly shook his head, a chuckle of disbelief sounding from him. 

“I'm not caught up,” he defended. “I just don't see the reason for wasting our resources on one girl. I mean, think about it.” Noah shifted his position so he was leaning forward, elbows propped up on his knees. “We make a living off girls who don't want to be found. Never once have you doubted them.” 

“Their situations aren't the same and you know that.” 

“How do we know her situation isn't the same?” 

It wasn’t often that Noah disagreed with his best friend because their opinions and morals typically aligned. So why was Jolly so stuck on this? 

“Fucking pussy whipped.” Jolly muttered with a shake of his head. 

That made Noah’s hands twitch, his lips pressing into a straight line that told Jolly he was walking on thin ice. They may be best friends and business partners, but not even that would stop Noah from putting him in his place if he had to. 

The ringing of Jolly’s phone cut through the thickening tension, allowing them both a moment to decompress. 

“Now?” He questioned the person on the other line, his eyes rolling. “Why the fuck is someone here now?” 

Noah raised his brows. Visitors? 

“Were they searched? Thoroughly?” Jolly paused, the other person speaking. “Fine. Bring them up.” 

“Who is it?” Noah rolled his shoulders back while standing from the chair so he could take his spot at Jolly’s side. He thought this was going to be a relaxing night but from the clench in his friend's jaw, it didn't seem as if it was headed that way. 

“Never heard of them. They're from out of state.” 

The words were murmured just as a knock came from the door, which Jolly promptly pressed the button beneath his desk to unlock. Three men came waltzing in, all of them with a chip on their shoulders. One guy was bigger than him and Jolly put together, the other two more their size. Noah studied them all, remembering as many defining characteristics as he could just in case shit went south. One could never be too careful. 

“You're Jolly?” The man in the center spoke, his eyes looking the boss up and down as if he wasn't impressed. 

“In the flesh.”

All three men chuckled to themselves but their focus remained forward. Or so Noah assumed, considering the man on the right was wearing a pair of dark tinted sunglasses. It was night time and they were indoors but who was he to judge someone’s unfortunate fashion choices? 

“You can call me Dante,” Center Man lamely introduced himself. 

Jolly gave a slight nod, his body language reading as neutral but Noah knew otherwise. “What can I help you gentlemen with?” 

The man in the center, Dante, rummaged through the pocket of his coat, immediately sending Noah’s senses into high alert. His fingertips grazed the handle of the knife he had slid up his sleeve as he crossed his arms in a nonchalant manner. No way were these imbeciles getting the jump on them. 

“We’re looking for someone. A girl.” 

Laughter erupted from Jolly, his gaze shifting back to Noah who joined in on the laughter, but only faintly. 

“Aren't we all? I, myself, would love to find a natural red head with a bright smile, about…this tall.” He held his hand up to about the height of his shoulder, a dreamy exhale to follow. “No luck so far, I'm afraid.” 

Dante tossed a picture down onto the desk, his demeanor proving how uninterested he was in Jolly’s jokes. “We're looking for this girl. A friend said she's been hanging around your establishment.” 

Noah stepped forward so he could peer down at the image while Jolly did the same. His insides churned, all thoughts briefly leaving his mind. On the inside he was spinning, but on the outside he appeared as collected as ever. He always did have a poker face that couldn't be rivaled. It had never failed him before but seeing your face between Jolly’s fingers was surely putting it to the test. 

Heavily exhaling, Jolly held the picture up higher as if he was thoroughly examining it. There was no doubting who it was staring back at them, though. Your face was one he had memorized perfectly by now. 

“Can't say she looks familiar,” the boss placed the picture back down, pushing it towards the men. “I think I'd remember a pretty little thing like that. I guess your friend was misinformed.” 

Noah knew Jolly was acting his part but that didn't stop his molars from grinding at the way he spoke of you. He glanced between all three men, his eyes lingering just a bit longer on Sunglasses Man due to the way his fist clenched in response to Jolly’s statement. 

Interesting. 

“And what about you? Seen her around?” 

The question was now directed at Noah, which he promptly responded to with a shake of his head. “Being head of security, I have a decent memory of those who come and go from here, especially if it's on the regular. But I've never seen this girl before.” 

“You don't think she could've slipped through unnoticed?” Dante followed up with another question, his stare menacing. 

Noah merely raised a brow, a silent warning for the unknown man to realize who the fuck he was talking to. 

To break through the silence, Jolly cleared his throat, a hand motioning down to the picture of you again. “Is she dangerous? Someone we should be on the lookout for?” 

The picture was snatched from the table and securely tucked away in Dante’s pocket again. He glanced to Sunglasses before giving a mediocre shrug and wickedly grinning. “You could say that.” 

Slowly nodding, Jolly took a few steps around his desk so he could be more head on with the men. He continued to keep his composure friendly and calm, a hand extending out towards the only door in the office. “If there's nothing else we can do for you, let me walk you back down. Maybe we can have a drink on the house.” 

The unknown men murmured amongst each other but ultimately followed the boss’ guidance out of the office, Sunglasses taking a final look back to Noah. He didn't need to see his eyes to know that he was looking him up and down, probably trying to memorize everything he could just as Noah had. 

There were a few short seconds where it was Jolly and Noah left, just enough time for Jolly to convey a look that told him to get to the bottom of this. 

He didn't need to be told twice. Not when his mind was already racing with different scenarios. Maybe Jolly was right and you were working for the enemy, thus making you a risk. That just wasn't the sort of feeling Noah got when he was with you, though, but there was always a chance. He didn't know you. What if everything you had ever said about yourself was a complete lie? A fabricated version meant to get close to him in order to tear apart his business from the inside out? 

Noah ran a hand over his face, his thumb and forefinger pressing into his eyes while he released a sigh of pure frustration. There was a headache brewing beneath the surface, the pressure beginning to build. Before he could get too caught up in his thoughts, the feeling of his phone vibrating within his pocket brought him back down from the edge. 

YOU: Made it home. 

Attached was a picture of your window with the curtains pulled open still. He could barely make out the image of your reflection silhouetted on the glass. 

Good, because this meant he knew exactly where to find you. 

READER

You could've sworn you had turned all the lights off. Actually, you were pretty certain of it. You vividly remember flipping the light switch down in your kitchen and living room before going to shower because your sleeve had gotten hung…so why was there now a dim glow illuminating the hallway in front of your room? Although you were tired, you knew you weren't that tired to have imagined it. 

One hand rubbed your sleep heavy eyes as the other trailed the wall to help you maintain your balance. You were half conscious; your hair was still damp, so you knew you hadn't been asleep for too long, but it was seemingly just the right amount to leave you slightly disoriented. As you came to a stop in the living room, your gaze narrowed at the back of the figure standing in front of your window. That's when your heart immediately began to race, your eyes widening, the adrenaline seeping into your veins. Your first instinct was to run but your body hesitated to the command. 

No. It couldn't be. He wasn't…you had…it was impossible for Vane to be there. 

“You're a heavy sleeper.” 

Blinking, you took a step back. That voice didn't belong to Vane. It was far too calming. Not quite manic enough. 

“I wasn't exactly quiet when I helped myself to a glass of water after washing your dishes.” 

“Noah?” 

The man turned, his brows raised while taking in the image of your stumped and alarmed face. You were sure you were quite the sight right then. His features began to sharpen the longer you stared at him, your bearings slowly returning to you. Damn. You really must've been in a deep sleep for it to be taking this long to wear off. 

“What are you doing here? How…” you glanced to your front door that was still securely locked. “How did you get in?” 

Was it odd that you still weren't scared of him? How fucked up did that make you? There you were, standing pantsless and unarmed, with a mostly unknown man staring at you as if you were his prey. Someone sane would've ran for a weapon - the side lamp was closest to you - but the thought didn't even cross your mind. Fuck, he really did have you under some sort of spell. 

“I have a question for you, but I'm only going to ask it once.” Noah slowly began to close the space between you until he was within arms reach. You followed every motion, your hands fisted at your side – not in preparation to defend yourself, but so you weren't tempted to touch him. 

“And you only have one chance to answer it honestly. Tell me that you understand.” 

You gave a small nod, the response barely noticeable. You knew you needed to run. You needed to put as much space between you two as you possibly could. Did you do either of those things? Of course not. 

Noah’s eyes trailed your face. You could see him shifting from your own eyes, to your nose, and then down to your lips. He briefly paused, straightened his posture and hardened his expression, then bore into your eyes again. You noticed the mask from Nocturnal being pulled down. This wasn't going to be the hot neighbor version of Noah you had grown fond of. 

“Who are you?”

Fuck. 

Your head shook in feigned confusion, brows furrowing. “What do you mea–”

Suddenly his hand was around your throat, all words halting on your tongue. Your head was forced back due to his firm grip, giving you no choice but to look up at him. The hold he had on you wasn't painful despite his strength which told you that he wasn't out for blood…yet. His lips pressed into a thin line to showcase his impatience, a deep exhale exiting from his nose. This may be the first time you actually felt threatened by Noah. And for good reason considering your life was literally in his hands. 

“I'm not going to repeat myself.” 

You grabbed his wrist as his hand tightened around your throat. It wasn't enough to cut off your breathing, but it did convey the warning you knew he was trying to extend. Your gaze remained locked on his, silently begging with your eyes for him to let you go. Noah appeared none the wiser to it and instead dragged you closer against him until your bodies were flush. Any other time you would have been ecstatic for the closeness. 

Tears began welling in your eyes and you shook your head the best you could. “I can't,” you gasped. 

“Then tell me who sent you.” Noah demanded before roughly guiding you back into the closest wall. His body still never strayed from yours. 

“What?” You were definitely confused now. “No one sent me!” Releasing his wrist, you began to push at his chest in a vain attempt to get him off of you. As much as you enjoyed the warmth and hardness of his body along yours, you weren't prepared to die for it. 

“I don't believe in coincidences. You just so happened to move into an apartment with a perfect view of mine and then get a job at the club I own? Someone planted you and I need you to tell me who.” 

Noah was fighting off every push and smack you made to his chest with only one hand as if he had played this game hundreds of times. You groaned in frustration, a string of jumbled profanities escaping past your lips. 

“I moved here because it's where my best friend lives! She also knows Shauna, who's the person that suggested I apply at Nocturnal! Now get off of me!” 

Finally your hand collided with his cheek in a loud slap that sent his head twisting to the side. Your motions stalled, eyes widening, both of you falling silent. Noah’s jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the tick of the muscle straining. There was a part of you that wanted to know what it would feel like beneath your tongue despite the current position he had you in. That part of yourself scared you a little bit. You were supposed to be fearful of this man, right? He had broken into your home and was now interrogating you, all actions that would panic a normal person. 

Little did Noah know, you had endured much worse and come out the victor. That's how you were still here today. 

Before you could further react, Noah had you turned around and shoved into the wall again with a force that temporarily had you seeing stars. The front of his body pressed into your back, his mouth situated close enough to your ear that you could feel the shift of his lips with every word he spoke. 

“Why are you lying to me?” A shiver raced down your spine, his voice low and threatening. Gone was the calming tone. Something about it was getting the opposite intended reaction from you, though. You had to press your thighs together to get your thoughts straight enough to respond. 

“I'm not…I swear. That's the truth.” 

Your breathing was slightly labored, strands of hair that had fallen into your face now waving with every exhale. Noah didn't lessen his hold on you but you could feel his body relax somewhat, his left hand lifting to brush your hair gently from your face. He then gripped your chin and turned your head until you were peering at him from over your shoulder. The tension around his eyes had softened, so you allowed your own expression to do the same. You could've fought him off if you really wanted to. Deep down you knew this. So…why weren't you? 

Silence overcame you both. Each challenging the other.

“Do people want you dead?” You finally asked when he made no move to speak again. He seemed too distracted by the shape of your lips – that being where his eyes had lingered. 

“Yes, a few.” 

“They're dangerous?” 

Noah nodded, his fingers flexing along your jaw. “Yes.”

“Are you…dangerous?” 

After a brief moment of contemplation, he again nodded. “When I have to be.”

“Who are you?” This time you asked the million dollar question of him, your voice a near whisper but still unwavering. 

A faint smirk pulled at Noah’s lips and then he was leaning in closer, your faces on the verge of touching. You could feel his breath on your cheek, the minty scent clouding your senses and causing you to involuntarily push back against him. He must have liked that by the way he sharply inhaled, his free hand dropping to palm your hip with a near bruising grip. Only an inch or so further and his fingertips would be grazing your bare thigh – something you were idiotically hoping for.  

As if he could read your mind, his hand began a slow descent past the hem of the oversized tee you were wearing. Noah took his time tracing your skin, drifting closer and closer to the thin material of your panties, only to pause the moment he made contact. Images from your dream swirled within your mind again. Were you some kind of psychic or something? This was all feeling way too familiar. 

“I think I asked you first.” 

You breathed out shakily. Every nerve in your body was on fire. You had never craved another person like you did him, even when he was threatening you. 

Did you cave in to his demands and tell him who you were? Was that a risk you were willing to take? You weren't so sure. If you confessed to everything and ended up dead because of it, then you would have no one to blame but yourself. And what if he also ended up six feet under? You would never be able to forgive yourself. 

“Noah…please…” your voice shook and your bottom lip quivered, tears still threatening to fall past your lashes. You needed him to believe you and to stop digging; not just for your safety, but also his. “I promise I'm not after you or the club.” 

He scoffed from the back of his throat in response, his gaze intensifying ever so slightly again. “You expect me to believe that? After seeing the type of people that are asking about you? Who you work for? It's going to take more than some pretty begging to convince me otherwise.” 

Wait…what? 

Your body jerked slightly – an attempt to move away from him but the annoying fucking wall was in the way. Quickly you made a rash decision and pushed his hand from between your thighs (something you were sure you would come to regret) and then sent your elbow driving back into his chest. Noah grunted on impact, though his body only stumbled back a couple of steps before he was righting himself. That was fine. It was more than enough room for you to turn to face him. 

In a swift motion, you had his knife in your grasp after slyly snatching it from his pocket, the blade extended and pointed at his neck. He shouldn't have been so obvious about where he kept it when you were around. His fault for underestimating you. All this time he never thought of you as a threat and look at where that landed him. 

“What did you just say?” 

“Give me the knife.” Noah held one hand out towards you as the other rubbed the spot on his chest you had made contact with. You liked that you had been able to take him by surprise. 

“Who? Who was asking about me?!”

This was all you were concerned about. You no longer gave a fuck about who Noah thought you were or what he thought you were after because none of it mattered when you were still actively being hunted. 

Noah's lips curved into a sideways smirk yet again, his eyes then looking you up and down as if this was the first time he had ever seen you. And maybe it was. You clearly were no longer his curious and innocent neighbor with a staring problem. No, you were his stubborn as fuck neighbor that knew her way around a weapon and would use one unapologetically if pushed to it. 

“You know what…” Noah stood to his full height and adjusted the jacket he wore by tugging on the front. He took on an impressed face, his hands raising to silently show his surrender. “You can keep it.”

Silence continued to overtake you as you studied his every move. You weren't going to let your guard down. Not now that you knew what he was capable of, at least to an extent. One wrong move and you could end the night with this blade in your chest. 

“Tell me who would be looking for you and I'll see what I can do to help.”

“Why the hell would you do that when I'm still pointing a knife at you?” 

“Because you're obviously scared.” 

Noah was right. As much as you hated to admit it, you were scared. It wasn't a secret, but you did greatly dislike showing any sort of weakness in that realm. Never had it gotten you anywhere before but bruised and sometimes bloodied. 

You didn't even notice as Noah approached. You were too lost in your mind. He carefully took the knife from your trembling hand, his touch hesitant but soft. The tough exterior you had tried to wear so well finally cracked, your true fear showing through. Tears that had been held at bay all this time broke free and a couple of droplets slowly slid down your flushed cheeks. 

“Anyone looking for me wants me dead,” you revealed in a barely-there murmur. 

Almost immediately his arms were wrapped around you. Noah pulled you in close, allowing you to tuck your head into his chest where your tears could freely fall. You clung to him, your fingers grasping at the back of his jacket and fisting the material into your palms. There was barely a time you had felt safe in years, not until that very moment. 

“I'll tell you, okay? I'll tell you whatever you need to know.” Your words found space between your hiccups and sniffles. You were trying to put the dam back into place so your tears would cease, but that would always be much easier said than done. 

Noah shifted until he could grasp your shoulders. He pulled you away from his chest solely so your eyes could meet. You knew yours were red and puffy now, all while he kept ahold of that intense gaze of his that he did so well. It was so easy to get lost in the deep brown color. 

“I'm not going to let anyone hurt you,” he exclaimed. “Just trust me.” 

You nodded while silently praying that you weren't about to make a decision you would ultimately come to regret. 

CHAPTER FOUR

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[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Hinny prompt: Harry dealing with Ginny’s new fan base.

Ginny is starting to get her first few fan letters. The harpies try and sort them but Harry spots a few on the creepier side OR at a game he overhears some fans obsessing over the fit new Chaser. Have fun with it.😉

This might not be what you meant by "fun," but right about now the most fun thing I could imagine writing was a situation in which horrible, misogynistic men get what they deserve. Can't imagine why... NSFW (language) - Please note, there's some offensive language in this one, included to illustrate how horrible these characters are; NOT meant to condone it. I hope that's clear in the tone.

It would be blasphemous to say it, but Harry strongly prefers attending Ginny’s away matches. 

The furor around the relationship between “The Chosen One” and the rising star Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies had reached dizzying heights. Fans of their relationship flock faithfully to Harpies matches in the hope they might witness Harry cheering for Ginny, or clapping for Ginny, or something equally mundane, made exciting and romantic only because he’s the one doing it. While bizarre and invasive to Harry, this parasocial fantasy is nothing short of a PR dream for the Quidditch Club. 

The Harpies administration had been thrilled to reap the benefits of this excitement, and consequently laid out Harry and Ginny’s relationship on a silver platter: whenever Harry attended a match in their home stadium, he was offered a private Top Box at a prime location, complementary Omnioculars, unlimited food and drink, and a large Weasley Banner adorning the wall behind. 

Ostensibly a generous gesture, but in reality a nuisance, because it meant every reporter in the stadium knew exactly where to direct their cameras every time Ginny so much as sniffed the Quaffle. They’d capture Harry’s reaction and then rush to print it in the paper the next day, with interpretations so loosely based in reality that Harry’s nearly impressed at the creativity.

Once, Harry had sneezed, and his pained expression in the leadup to it was painted as “trouble in paradise” for weeks because it had happened to coincide with Ginny scoring. 

On another occasion, Harry had spent much of a particularly chilly match with his hands in his pockets. Of course, the only explanation for such insane behavior was obviously to hide the nonexistent wedding ring on his finger, which clearly resulted from a secret weekend elopement in the aftermath of Ginny’s spectacular performance against Pride of Portree. 

“They’ve got a point,” Ginny had joked over their morning breakfast. “I did deserve a diamond after that match. What gives?”

“A bit late for that, haven’t you heard?” Harry had said through a bite of porridge. “We’re already getting divorced. I’m having another affair with Hermione at the weekend.”

“Damn,” Ginny sighed. “I wanted to have an affair with Hermione.”

Much more insidious, though, were the stories suggesting that Ginny’s signing and popularity was only because of her relationship with Harry. Ginny swore she didn’t give a flying fuck what the papers wrote about her, but Harry took to ripping every story that cast aspersions at her talent to shreds.

But, Harry had finally got one over on the press. He’d called an uncharacteristic press conference and made an announcement that, due to undefined “security risks” at away stadiums, he was unable to attend matches outside of Holyhead. 

The statement had been worth all of the ridiculous stories speculating about his lack of support for his girlfriend’s career, because it meant that he got to watch the Harpies vs Falcons match – donning a thick cap, sunglasses, and a scarf, in some cheap seat that no one would suspect Harry Potter of sitting in – utterly without audience. Sure, his view of the match leaves a bit to be desired, and he’s cramped next to a rowdy group of Falcons fans, but it’s wonderfully refreshing to swear angrily when Ginny is fouled without fear of a think-piece speculating about his repressed anger issues appearing in tomorrow’s Prophet. 

It’s one of his better lies, all told, and Harry’s inclined to celebrate his stroke of genius. 

It’s not until about ten minutes into the match that Harry is forced to concede he may have celebrated prematurely, as he reckons with the drawbacks to his little caper up close and personally. 

“HI! HO! FALMOUTH FALCONS! HI! HO! FALMOUTH FALCONS!”

The lads surrounding Harry are chanting with such an obnoxious, drunken fervor that Harry can hardly hear himself think, forget hearing the match commentary. They scream with such persistence for so long that they’ve nearly earned Harry’s begrudging respect, when the chant finally succumbs to raucous cheers as Falmouth is awarded a penalty.  

“Nice to have a bit of a doss match this week,” the bloke next to Harry remarks loudly after Falmouth scores their penalty. “Gives Wickford time to rest up before we play Puddlemere.”

Harry squints up at the speeding players above and confirms that Wickford, a thick-necked man and Falmouth’s star Chaser, is indeed speeding back defensively as the Harpies offensive formation takes shape, and not resting on the sidelines. Harry shoots a sidelong glance to his neighbors, perplexed. 

“Yeah, nice of the Harpies to carry on with an all-female squad,” another dark-haired lad chimes in. “I thought they were finally going to give it up after last season. What a joke.”

The first bloke, who Harry observes looks rather like Dudley, laughs ruefully. “Gwenog Jones won’t ever admit the problem, though, will she? They just don’t have the speed or the strength, everyone can see it–” 

Harry scowls. Pricks.  

“She clearly thinks the new recruit, Weasley or whatever, is going to make them competitive again, but–”

“Does she?” the Dudley-looking one snorts. “Or do they just want the Harry Potter fangirls to bring in the revenue? It’s a massive publicity stunt, honestly, just like the whole team.”

The three of them laugh, and Harry’s scowl deepens beneath his sunglasses. 

“I’m only hoping they bring back the swimsuit calendar this year,” the dark-haired one adds. “Weasley’s fit as fuck.”

The group murmurs their general agreement, and Harry takes stock of the hexes available to him. Might be time to dust off the toenail-growing one of Snape’s… But no. He can’t get hauled in front of Magical Law Enforcement again. Robards will sack him. 

“Yeah, the Harpies can fuck around with an all-women team, as long as they all look like that,” the Dudley-looking lad adds, pointing up at Ginny who is now flying overhead, and they all get a particularly good view of her from behind. The blond one jeers. “Wouldn’t mind seeing her strutting around on my calendar in a bikini.”

“I’d go so low as to call myself a Harpies fan for one of those,” the dark-haired jokes, and they all snigger. 

Sod hexing. Harry would quite like to kill them. He’s gripping the metal bars in front of him, knuckles white, imagining creative ways of doing it when Ginny - quite literally - takes matters into her own hands: all of their attention is pulled to the pitch as she feints, drawing Wickford into an ugly-looking lurch before she dodges and cannons a shot directly into the right goal. 

God, he loves her. 

“Damn,” the blond one whistles. “Fit and fair enough at Chasing, I suppose.”

“Potter’s a lucky bloke,” they joke. “I’d let her score on me all she wants.”

Yeah, Harry thinks darkly, today’s my lucky day.

Harry thinks he deserves a medal for the level of restraint he exercises, as the lads continue to offer lewd, sexist, and leering comments about Ginny for the entirety of the match. In fact, the only reason he manages not to strangle them is because Ginny, herself, is shutting them up far more effectively than he ever could. 

“Watch this, Robbins’ll catch her, look at the difference in wingspan–”

Ginny drops a beautiful pass to Gwenog who times her formation perfectly, and the Harpies score yet again. 

“Weasley’s tiny, once they let our Beaters loose on her she’ll be a goner–”

Ginny executes a perfect Sloth-Grip Roll to dodge an incoming bludger, and manages to whip a shot past the Falcons Keeper while dangling upside-down. 

“Knock her off her fucking broom!”

Wickford, clearly frustrated, fouls Ginny – hard. While the referee blows a shrill whistle, Harry lets out a stream of abuse, “Dirty fucking wanker–”

“Oi!” the Dudley-looking bloke next to Harry exclaims with glee. “Have we got ourselves a Harpies fan in our midst?”

Harry takes a measured, calming breath before answering, still staring up at the match above. “Yep.”

The group lets out a gleeful ooh. Harry knows it’s commonplace to give opposing fans a hard time at away matches, but these blokes haven’t got a clue how close Harry is to losing it. He’s about one more comment away from turning them into Aunt Marge. 

He claps when Ginny easily puts away the penalty shot, extending the Harpies already considerable lead. 

“Very progressive of you,” the blond one jokes. “Are they your girlfriend’s favorite team, or something?”

“Or something,” Harry answers through gritted teeth. 

They all jeer. “She’s got you whipped, eh? I hope the pussy’s worth rooting for a pussy-ass team like–”

“I’d watch my fucking mouth, if I were you,” Harry says, his voice low and dangerous. He realizes, dimly, that he must look far less intimidating than he’d like, with his ridiculous hat and sunglasses and scarf covering much of his face. Oh, well. Looks can be deceiving. He’s just finished up with seven weeks of an intensive dueling refresher course with the Aurors. He reckons he could incapacitate all three of them before they even had a chance to pull their wands. 

“Oooh, would you?” they jeer. “What, do you reckon if you cheer loud enough, Weasley will hear you and come over to thank you after the match?”

“Could she thank me too, you reckon?” the Dudley one adds. 

Harry can hear his own heartbeat angrily pounding in his ears. They’re all disgusting pricks, not worth a moment of his time or his energy, but he’s not stupid, either. He’d been, at first, when Ginny had originally signed with the club, and he’d just started paying more attention to the news about the team and the undermining, sexist undertones in all of it. He’d been shocked to see the nasty objectifying comments, the aspersions at their talent, the insinuation that the team was a feminist gimmick, not to be taken seriously. 

Hermione had humbled him with a sharp, “No,” when he’d asked her if she was surprised by it, too. 

He’s not as naive anymore. He realizes these blokes are watching their own team get shellacked by an all-female side, watching as Ginny plays elite Quidditch with their own eyes, and still they’ve got nothing but bullshit to say. 

Helpfully, Ginny chooses that moment to score yet another goal, her seventh. When Harry claps, they all join in mockingly. 

“Weasleyyyyy,” they call, with mocking, lovesick expressions. “Ditch the Chosen One and choose meee!”

Harry turns to them, and asks in a flat tone. “Is that the reason you’ve been rooting for such a shit team, then? You’re hoping Wickford will come and give you a cuddle after?”

“Oi!” the dark-haired one says. “Hang on–”

“That’s the only reason you’d be a fan of the fucking Falcons, isn’t it? If Wickford will take you home?”

“Nah mate, reckon all poofs are Harpies fans, aren’t you?”

The toenail hex seems woefully tame, all the sudden. “Are all Falcons fans pricks or is it just you lot?”

“Oi, relax mate,” the blond one jeers. “We’re just wondering how it all works. How many times have you got to wear a Harpies kit before they let you pull a leg over?”

“Dunno, how many times have you got to wear that Falcons kit for them to win a match?”

“Is that the new Harpies recruitment strategy?” the Dudley-looking one continues. “They only sign slags to the team, so they can shag together a fanbase?”

Harry pulls his wand so fast that they jump back, startled. “Say that again,” he growls, holding his wand in the man’s face. “Say it.”

“Watch yourself,” the blond one says, holding his hands up and pointing to his mate threateningly. “This one’s about to be an Auror, you’re about a second away from–”

What surely deadly threat Harry is a second away from, he’ll never learn, because just then, with a loud groan from the crowd, the Harpies Seeker pulls out of a spectacular dive with the snitch clasped in her fist, thereby ending the match at an embarrassing score of 260-10. 

“YES!” Harry yells, his wand dropping to his side as his eyes seek out Ginny in the air. 

He can’t remember ever finding a win so satisfying, and Ginny quite so attractive as she streaks across the pitch to hug Gwenog Jones in a midair heap, her red hair streaming behind her in the wind. When she lets go, she scans the section she knows Harry is sitting in. Looking for him, like she always does after a match, only this time she’s looking for an idiot in a shit disguise. 

He turns back to the blokes, fury and disgust with them still radiating in his bloodstream, and a reckless desire that he’ll surely regret later overtakes him. Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to pull off his scarf. 

“What was it you were saying before?” he goads, pulling their attention back to him before they move with the rushing crowd out of the stands. “One of you arseholes is going to be an Auror?”

“I am, and I’ll curse you into next week, if you like,” the Dudley looking-one taunts. “Maybe then Weasley will give you a pity ride, if that’s what you’re hoping for–”

“Interesting offer, but I’ll pass,” Harry says, as he pulls off his sunglasses. A look of vague recognition sweeps across the blond one’s face, though the others merely look a combination of angry and befuddled. 

Harry replaces his regular specs and looks to the pitch just in time to lock eyes with Ginny - she’s found him in the crowd. 

She’s halfway across the pitch, but Harry can tell by the tilt of her head that she’s wondering why he’s gone and taken off half the disguise they’d laughed so hard about earlier. He waves, and despite their earlier agreement to forgo their usual public post-match celebration, she seems to get the message and begins flying toward him. 

He turns back to the blokes and finally removes his hat, revealing the still famously recognizable scar on his forehead. All three of their expressions transform into varying degrees of horror as they recall every horrible thing they’d said over the last hour, and connect just who they said it to. “What the fuck–” one of them mutters. “What the fucking shit– is that– Harry Potter–”

Harry stares directly at the aspiring Auror, memorizing his stupid features as he reddens. “I–” he stammers.

“I wouldn’t count on the Auror thing,” Harry spits. “If you’ll pardon me, though, I’ve got to congratulate my girlfriend. Maybe thank her later, for giving me so much to cheer for.”

He turns just as Ginny arrives to hover in front of him, windswept and flushed with victory and so ruddy gorgeous he can’t think. “You were so fucking brilliant,” he tells her. 

“I know,” she says with that cheeky grin he loves so much, and then she kisses him so soundly that he quite forgets the pricks openly gaping at them from behind. 

For a moment.

He pulls back from the kiss and turns to find them making a hasty retreat from the scene, but not before he hears the telling sound of a camera pop.

The ensuing stories plastered all over the papers the next day - Harry, pictured in his ridiculous disguise entering the stadium, their victorious kiss in the stands - ensure that Harry’s never able to sneak surreptitiously into the crowd of an away match ever again. 

A trade worth making, though, when Harry gives an exclusive interview detailing every disgusting thing the three men identified in the background of the photograph had said, and when Ginny writes a cutting op-ed for the Prophet highlighting the ways in which the press had created the very narrative those three pricks had parroted. 

Of course, it doesn’t solve the problem overnight, nor did they expect that it would. But, it moves the needle, just a bit. When Ginny reads an excellent article detailing the Harpies’ unique formations without once mentioning Harry or questioning whether they might be more effective by signing male players, she smiles. 

The rejection of Winston Winthrop’s Auror application is just the frosting on the cake.

[soullessdianthus]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝!𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

A/N: I picture him in his early 40s in this, daddy is a state of a mind, no? Can you imagine having such an older man as König taking care of you? UNDER THE SAME ROOF??? I WOULD UGH-- (´ཀ`」 )

Also, my requests are open again! You can send it here!

Warnings: manipulation, slight yandere?, naive!reader, dear jesus bunch of nasty smut (voyeurism, somnophilia, fingering, spanking, daddy kink)

Poorly translated German, correct me if needed!

RENDER BY DWISESZ ON TWITTER

✧°.  König’s schedule throughout the months was irregular. Sometimes he would stay at home for a few weeks and then go on a three month deployment. Another couple of days at home and another “work trip”.

✧°.  And his home was left behind unattended, food in the freezer going to waste, dust covering his favorite armchair. König had a guest bedroom, so why wouldn’t he rent the spare room to someone, who would keep an eye on the house while he’s gone?

✧°.  The price and location was tempting, so you reached out to the landlord for more details – you were a college student, who wanted something more independent than living with her parents. 

✧°.  König took a quick look at your profile picture and accepted the deal, because girls like you shouldn’t cause any problems, right? No parties, no boys invited over. You seemed to be a well behaving girl.  

✧°.  But his struggles only truly started when you finally moved in. König would find the return to the house more thrilling than ever.

✧°.  To show your gratitude to the man who took you in, you kept the house clean with no sign of dust or webs. On a regular basis you were baking cakes or cookies, so the aroma of the pastry filled the rooms. Little did you know that it only fed the housewife fantasy of your landlord.

✧°.  König would take less hours at his work and preferred to fill the reports (or any other documentation) from the home office. Just so he could observe you shuffling through the house wearing those sweat or biking shorts. Skimpy material rolling up the curve of your plump, young ass.

✧°.  Each time you passed the living room where he was working, you sent him a cute smile. You were just trying to be polite!

✧°.  König would try to spend as much time with you as possible, even if that meant you weren’t able to finish your homework on time. :( You would watch some movies together or go grocery shopping. Quickly this thing between the two of you became more than just landlord and tenant dynamics. Although you were quite clueless, it was your first ever rental!

✧°.  One evening, when you came back from late classes, you saw him sitting on a couch holding a glass of beer. Large thighs spreaded open as he kept watching the football game on the TV. And before you knew it, König pulled you onto his lap. He wanted you to watch the game with him!

✧°.  “Sit nice and pretty here, ja?” 

✧°.  He pulled you so roughly against him, that you had to prop against his muscular chest, before your face was pushed into it.

✧°.  “König, but I have to –”

✧°.  “Sush, none of that. Now, show some gratitude to your host, schatzi.”

✧°.  König certainly had more than one beer that evening, but you had none of the alcoholic beverages. You were highly aware when he started rubbing your hip and thigh and found it… really nice. Although, nothing more! It was just a friendly gesture, right? 

✧°.  You were so oblivious to his attraction towards you that his hardened length underneath your ass was a pair of keys in your naive mind. 

✧°.  Later that night, when you fell asleep in your bed (technically his), wearing only a shirt and panties, he came into your bedroom and jerked himself off right by your bedside. 

✧°.  König could only imagine how your pretty lips would wrap around his fat shaft, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. And do you know what fueled that imagination? You sucking on a cherry lollipop right in front of him earlier that day.

✧°.  During the next week, he kept peeping at you when taking a shower or changing your clothes with the doors kept ajar. How silly of you, standing just in sight of such a perverted man as König.

✧°.  It would only fuel his fantasies, when he continuously pumped his hips into his own palm covered in precum and his spit. König’s cock would twitch each time, when he imagined how divine it would finally feel to fuck your tight pussy sensless. His special, little guest. 

✧°.  König would welcome you with open arms, when you came back from the university one day, crying, because you didn’t pass one of your classes. But you were working so hard and you felt poorly about yourself now! :( 

✧°.  He would offer you to lay on a couch with him until you calmed down and you accepted, because König was such a good landlord!

✧°.  You didn’t even protest when this innocent act of affection turned into dirty desires. He laid beside you, one hand stroking your wet cheek and the other wandering under your panties. 

✧°.  You gasped loudly, when he slid one finger inside of you, explaining to you it will help you relax. It shouldn’t, but it felt so good! You wanted to press your eyes together in shame, but König patted you cheek with his hand.

✧°.  “Hey, hey, look at me, schätzchen. Yeah, that’s right, you feeling better now, yes?”

✧°.  And you nodded your head, thoughts focused on that pleasurable feeling between your legs, when he added a second finger. 

✧°.  König wouldn’t talk much about what you two did on the couch, but he definitely became more open about his desires. Since you allowed him to fuck you with his fingers, König would place his big hands all over his precious roommate – shoulders, hips, thighs or a playful slap on the ass, when you were removing the cookies from the oven. 

✧°.  One night, you came back really late (definitely after the curfew) and really drunk. He had to help you walk to your bedroom, because you were stumbling all the time, you could have hurt yourself in that state!

✧°.  You mumbled that you wanted to sleep, when König removed your clothes gently (only leaving you in your lacey, pink panties). He couldn’t believe how lucky he got, when you clung to his chest, searching for stability (in his eyes it was a reach for his attention).

✧°.  König helped you get into your cozy bed and slipped under the covers beside you. This time, he didn’t need to do much as your drunken form quickly found the way to his bulky chest. You nuzzled your spinning head onto his warm body and dozed asleep. 

✧°.  König had to take a few deep breaths, when your plump, naked breasts got squeezed between your and his chest. He didn’t want to jerk off right then, perhaps, you might help him, when you wake up?

✧°.  The next time you wanted to go to a club or simply for drinks with your friends, he stood there in the hallway with a strong hand placed onto the doors. König wasn’t letting you anywhere, you were supposed to spend time with him! :( 

✧°.  “I can take care of myself, you know.”

✧°.  “Oh, like the last time? When you pulled me into your bed, schatzi? Naked?”

✧°.  Your extremely tall and large landlord scolded you, twisting slightly the truth about your drunken state. But it was for your own good, why would you seek fun out there, when you had him in the reach of your hand?

✧°.  Despite your age difference, older and more experienced König would definitely take his time with you.

✧°.  “I–I…”

✧°.  You let go, as embarrassment burned like a flame inside, then furiously went back to your room. 

✧°.  Later, König would come to you and offer a bear hug, which you politely accepted, because he was your good host. But still was a bit mad at him for refusing to let you have fun outside the house.

✧°.  Soon enough, when he went for another deployment, you split on unclear terms. The colonel noticed you began acting bratty, disrespecting his house rules. But nonetheless left the home in your hands.

✧°.  When he came back, unexpectedly a few days earlier, you were still at university. You were such a smart girl. <3

✧°.  König couldn’t help himself but to rummage through your stuff. He sniffed your currently worn pajamas, looked at your books and then he opened the drawer with your underwear. To his surprise one specific object caught his attention. Could this be…?

✧°.  You were surprised to see his massive, trekking shoes on the shelf, when you returned home that evening. You were even more surprised, when you noticed your landlord sitting in his armchair, playing with something between his thick fingers. 

✧°.  “My, my… I leave for a few weeks and you already behave so… shamelessly. I thought of you better, schätzchen.”

✧°.  “I–I don’t know, what your talking about, I–”

✧°.  OhmyGod

✧°.  He was holding your bullet vibrator that was so small in his grasp!

✧°.  “You didn’t even bother to hide this thing.” 

✧°.  He lied on purpose, but you played along that lie. Perhaps, because you were so embarrassed that he found your toy! How could you be so silly and leave it on display? 

✧°.  You rushed to take it out of his grasp, but he acted quicker than you. König pulled you into his wide lap, forcing you ass in the air. The hem of your tennis skirt rolled up, exposing your bum to your landlord!

✧°.  “Seriously, a toy, schatzi? Were you really this needy? Maybe that’s why you failed your class, hm?”, he mocked your vulnerability. 

✧°.  Before you could even explain yourself to him, a loud smack echoed in the living room and a stinging pain on your bare ass blinded your thoughts. König continued to spank your plump bum until it turned red and you were sobbing incoherently. 

✧°.  He said disappointedly, “And I thought you were a grateful guest… All I did was for your good, you know that?”

✧°.  He rubbed your irritated flesh for a minute, before continuing the punishment. König licked his lips, already knowing how you would show him how much you missed your caring landlord. 

✧°.  “Are you going to be a good girl for me, ja?”

✧°.  “YES! Yes, I will! ‘m sorry!” 

✧°.  You agreed, face flustered in shame, when you felt how wet your panties had become. The Austrian bear lifted you up from his lap and made you straddle his large bulge, pressing onto the fabric of his cargo pants. 

✧°.  “Ride daddy nicely and I might forgive you, okay? Do you remeber what I told you, when you moved in? If you ever need anything, come to me. You’re a smart girl, you know I’m gonna take care of you, no?”

✧°.  “Y-Yes, König. I know.”, you sobbed, his big palm wiping your tears away. 

✧°.  Quickly you forgot about all of his alarming and obsessive behavior, when he filled you with his fat cock. The delicious feeling of him stretching your little pussy, dwarfed all of your worries.

✧°.  He was merciless that night, König didn’t even give you time to adjust to his size. Colonel’s strong hands gripped your hips and guided them to start moving. So you swayed your hips under that slutty skirt, you bought just for him. <3

[trulycertain]

I've been thinking about why I enjoy Astarion and Tav (friendship or romance) so much. And I think I've finally put my finger on it: I love that, in a game so much about grey morality and there being no easy answers, this arc is so unabashedly, almost cheesily about the power of kindness.

Astarion's trauma doesn't turn him into a better person. There's no "the cleansing power of pain" here. He was a snotty petty fantasy-racist jerk before he was turned and enslaved, and he's a snotty petty fantasy-racist jerk afterwards.

The thing that makes him want to try listening to his compassion once in a while? It isn't trauma, but Tav and the crew's kindness. No matter how angry he gets with you for being a sappy do-gooder, his approvals tell a different story: despite the front he's putting up, he will fall fangs-over-heels for Tav if they're kind to him about Cazador, if they don't judge but instead offer him compassion. (In Act 3, if Dribbles asks what makes Tav special and they respond, "I treat everyone around me with kindness"? You get approval from Wyll and Astarion.) Karlach doesn't judge him for his days luring but asks with friendly intent if they would have met, if they could have had a drink together, speaking to him like a person rather than a tool; Gale offers him blood after a difficult fight and shares in his jokes about hedonism; Wyll, a noted monster hunter, lets him live and admits later on to being wrong about him. There are so many other instances.

It's incredibly telling that when you're trying to persuade him not to do something utterly inhumane in the name of the ritual, his instant, desperate argument for why he has to do it is, "Other people don't have a heart like you." Ascension is him agreeing with Cazador that the world is dog-eat-dog. No-one will ever be kind to you unless it's a lure, a scheme, softening you up to be used (the way he did for Cazador's targets and later tries to do for his siblings). Compassion just gets you killed. The only answer, the only honest thing, is domination and violence - "the cycle of power and terror".

If he stays spawn and you romance him, he tells you as much, tells you exactly what you did right: "You were patient. You cared." And "You believed in me. You believed that I was enough, just the way I am."

So yeah, that conversation where he says that "other people don't have a heart like you" and Tav counters, "The world can be a kind place," and he responds that "I'll... think on what you say"? I believe he genuinely was thinking on it. And it's why that chat lives in my head rent-free.

[weneeya]

who did that? m.list | rules

pairing. cloud x reader

note. my bestie asked me to write something with my sweet boy cloud and i'm nothing but her knight in shining armor so i'm here to deliver ; thought i'd share it with you guys! don't hesitate to request from final fantasy it's my favorite game series <3

You knew how to defend yourself, it was a sure thing and Cloud never doubted you a single time in his whole life. You were strong enough to kick the bad guy’s asses without needing any help, that was why he didn’t hesitate about letting you go alone this time again. He was waiting for you at the spot you both agreed on ; but why weren’t you here already? 

You were never late, it was something about you that he appreciated ; but it only meant that your lack of presence right now was quite worrying. He didn’t want you to think that he didn’t trust you, but after ten more minutes, Cloud decided that it was safer to go check on you.

When the boy arrived where you were supposed to be, he noticed blood on the floor. He thought it might be someone else’s blood, until he saw your figure leaning against a wall from afar. He didn’t think twice before almost rushing out to you. 

Kneeling next to you, Cloud took a quick look at your injuries before looking back up at you, slightly furrowing his eyebrows. “Who did that?” It was the first thing he asked you, and you gritted your teeth in pain as he helped you standing up from the floor. He needed to bring you to someone who could heal that, there was no time to lose. 

“Answer me. Who?” He asked again, noticing the way you were avoiding the question. “Can we talk about it later? I’m barely breathing right now.,” you told him, and he could only nod as an answer. Yeah, you were right ; getting you out of here safely was the priority. 

You took your sweet time at Aerith’s home to recover from your wounds. Well, you were ready to leave days ago but Cloud didn’t seem to share the same opinion as you. Each time you tried to do something on your own, he would be here and make sure you weren’t doing too much effort. Since when was he so… caring? 

It wasn’t that Cloud never cared, and you knew it ; but he was usually way more discreet about it. Almost silent, honestly. The boy didn’t know how to communicate those things correctly, so he was doing his best. It was more than enough, even if he would never agree with this. 

You were sitting down on the bed when he silently entered the room you were in. He sat on the chair not so far from where you were, and the room stayed silent for a moment. You had an idea on what he wanted to talk about, but you wanted to give him the time to find the right words. The boy cleared his throat, before looking at you. 

“Are you going to tell me who did that now?” He asked, and a light sigh left your lips at his words. You didn’t understand why he was so focused on this. It wasn’t the first time you were injured in a battle ; well, maybe it was the worst one, but still. “It doesn't matter Cloud ; let’s just move on about this.” 

A light frown appeared on his face when you said this, slightly tilting his head to the side. “Move on? You’re joking, right?” You looked at him with a surprised face. Of course you weren’t joking. It didn’t matter who did that ; it wasn’t like you wanted to take revenge or anything. “Why do you care so much?” You asked him, and his eyebrows furrowed a bit harder. 

What was that supposed to mean? It was almost like you thought he didn’t care about you, and he didn’t like that at all. “You could have died there. Of course I care,” his voice grew slightly louder and it took you off guard. A slow sigh left his lips as he relaxed a bit, sitting back correctly in the chair. “Sorry,” he said softly, and you shook your head at his words. 

“I’m fine, Cloud. Don’t worry too much about me,” you offered him a smile and he simply stood up from the chair. He nodded in silence before turning around, walking to the door. He stood there for a moment, his hand on the handle.”I always worry about you. Just, be careful, please.” And with that, he got out of the room, leaving you with surprise written all over your features. 

Things had been a bit strange since this afternoon. Actually, it was mostly you who felt weird since. Cloud seemed to be the same old inexpressive boy while you couldn’t get his words out of your mind. You always knew he cared about you in a way, you were always together ; but hearing him say it out loud made your stomach do stupid flips. 

Weeks passed on, and you didn’t know if you were going crazy but it was like Cloud was growing kind of closer to you. Perhaps it was your own mind tricking you, but you could swore he was trying to initiate more things. Each time you walked side by side, his fingers would brush against your knuckles, almost like he wanted to hold your hand without being able to do it. 

The tension was unbearable for you, you couldn’t keep doing this. When you were both taking a break, alone together, you decided that it was the right time to have this conversation. You breathed in slowly before you finally spoke out loud. “Do you… like me, Cloud?” 

His eyes went wide open, looking at the ground before he quickly looked in your direction. If he expected that… He tried to say something, but it was like the words weren’t able to leave his lips. You looked at him not so long after, and you were sure you saw the top of his ears slightly burning. “You can say no, it’s fine,” you had a light smile on your lips. “I mean, I thought about it a lot since that moment at Aerith’s house and I've been seeing signals everywhere since.” 

Cloud was still awfully silent, and a soft sigh escaped your mouth. “Forget it,” you said as you looked away. until you felt his fingers gently grazing your wrist to catch back your attention. “You’re right. I like you,” he admitted quietly, slightly looking away. “The signals were real, I just didn’t know how to talk about it with you. I felt like it was never the right time.” 

You felt your heart beating faster as he spoke with his heart open. It was the first time you saw Cloud being so vulnerable, but it was a few you strangely appreciated. Nothing weird, it just felt nice to see that he also had those feelings and thoughts, just like you. You took your wrist out of his hold, only to be able to take his hand in yours. You looked up at him with a gentle smile. “Let’s take our time.” 

Cloud seemed a bit surprised at first, but it quickly disappeared to let the hint of a smile appear on his lips. “Yes, let’s do this.”

thank you for reading <3

[ieetbeez]

Small Rant About RE

Hello gang... This has been on my mind for awhile. Today we're talking about Resident Evil and particularly Leon stans. Now I'm gonna come out and say I am one of them! I love that silly little blonde man and he's like number 1 on my favorite capcom white boy tier list next to Cody from Final Fight/SF.

tw: mentions of rape, pedophilia, incest, abuse, and my opinion

Let me make it clear, I'm not kink shaming, I'm not advocating for censorship. Art and literature shouldn't be censored. Sex is cool. Kink is cool (when safe and consensual).

I'm gonna be one of those fans real quick and say, I've been an RE fan since I was like 7. That doesn't really mean much since I can't drink legally but I've been in love with Leon since elementary school. I watched my Dad and brother play RE6 co-op and man... Aka I've been in the fandom for a fat minute. Before the RE2 remake came out I'd see the occasional Dead Dove fic but that's whatever. But I have never seen this much dark romance about Leon of all people!

Like. Call it the T-Virus the way it's everywhere I swear I can't scroll down the damn tag without getting hit with a sexual crime. And let me say, I'm not new to fandom culture. I take don't like don't read to heart (I'm super picky LMAO). And I understand that, that's just how big fandoms are, more people, more bad eggs. I'm sure the majority of y'all are sweet people.

BUT I feel like I shouldn't have to say that romanticizing things like pedophilia, rape, abuse, and incest is disgusting in the big year 2025 but here we are. Honestly, I feel this way about a lot of the fics of other fandoms I'm in. I feel crazy seeing it everywhere and it makes me feel like some sort of sexual puritan. Am I insane for wanting freaky smut and not ...freaky smut??

There for sure is a bigger conversation here about how easily accessible porn is and how quick people to fall into these pipelines. Or how booktok caused a rise in the normalization of dark romance troupes and just pure porn writing (I still hate icebreaker). Or how quick form constant content is slowly leaking it's way into everything. But we’d be here for forever…

And like, it's just completely out of character?? Like if you're gonna write about that can it at least be in character? Wesker fits the dark romance thing LEAGUES better. But LEON?? THE POLICE OFFICER?? Did you even watch a walkthrough? Leon is a sweet upstanding guy with lots of trauma, that is the last thing he'd do to ANYONE! Not saying fics have to be completely accurate all the time but there's literally nothing fun about "Omg what if Leon RAPED you!?" HES NOT THE EVIL RESIDENT HERE GUYS! At some point it's not even about Leon (or whoever the fic is about) anymore, it's just someone wanting to share their sexual fantasies online.

These topics are almost never written with any care and are insanely insensitive to the survivors of these acts. I don't know, sexual crimes are literally some of the most deplorable acts of hatred and depravity someone can do onto another person. I can't imagine getting off to the suffering of others (in a heinous crime way not BDSM way) (BDSM is cool). Have some fucking empathy and stop thinking with your goon wad guys <3

Like at least take it to AO3 so that I can filter it out or smth...

Edit: I just woke up and remembered what else I was gonna say.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their fictional characters. Another thing I don’t like are the Gooner mods for the games. Like they’re fun every once in a while and like if it’s a capcom game you have to expect it. At some point though, it just stops being sexy and feels gross or uncomfortable.

Idk maybe I’m in the minority here but there has never been a single time where I was playing any RE game and thought to myself, “man… I wish I could see Leon’s end rod whipping in the wind rn…” Obviously, I wanna see that man oiled up butt booty naked doing jumping jacks like as most normal people do but… zawg…

That’s also like an actual person?? At least for the remakes. Maybe this just isn’t my dove to eat but the treat Leon like some sort doll. I know it’s kinda weak to be like this for a fictional person but yeah </3