#but seriously? you read the contents of that thread and still have it in you to complain about having to think before you tweet for

[jungkoode]

ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS

➔ PAIRING: Taehyung x Y/N (ballerina x stalker AU)

➔ MOODBOARD

➔ RATING: Mature, 18+, explicit themes and content.

➔ DATE POSTED: May 01, 2025.

➔ SUMMARY: Altars crumble faster in shallow water. But he still knelt like it was sacred. No one ever warned you that worship could look like love. Or that love could look like drowning.

➔ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, ballerina!Y/N, stalker!taehyung, obsessive devotion, psychological tension, fixation, worship dynamics, Paris setting, religious imagery, voyeurism, sacred/profane dichotomy, slow burn, touch starvation, ritualistic behavior, gradual corruption, power dynamics, mirror imagery, water symbolism, sensory details, clean/unclean fixation, contamination OCD, professional dancer, self-destructive patterns, compulsive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive tendencies, praise addiction, spiritual yearning, toxic attraction, dangerous adoration, self-loathing, body discipline, mental health issues, self-harm, mental deterioration, unresolved sexual tension (for now).

➔ CONTENT in this chapter: first sight, obsessive observation, ballet practice scene, initial fixation development, mirror dynamics, ritual beginnings, sensory fixation, internal monologue, self-loathing, self-discipline, cleanliness obsession, OCD, asocial/antisocial behaviors.

➔ AUTHOR’S INTRO AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

➔ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2.9k

➔ A/N: Before we even begin, let me say this loud and clear: This story explores dark themes, toxic dynamics, and morally fucked behavior. If that’s not your vibe or you’re in a vulnerable place right now, please prioritize your mental health and click out. I have a trigger warning + author intro linked above in pink��read it before diving in. Know what you’re getting into. Once you scroll past this note, you’re responsible for engaging thoughtfully. This is not an endorsement of anything. This story is an exploration, not a statement of belief. Don’t absorb it at face value. Think critically. Or log off. Either works. Okay now that the serious voice is out of the way—WELCOME TO ASW. Yes. We’re doing this. Yes, Taehyung. No, I don’t know why either. He just… is. This fic has been rotting in my brain like a cursed wine cellar, and he fit the flavor of psychological mess I needed. It’s the velvet-soaked, morally gray, low-light, mid-cigarette kinda vibe. And you’re invited. This isn’t a longform fic like Fuck Me Up—it’s a series, a slower, tighter pace, same chaos engine running under the hood (hi, it’s me, Kiki Nation). If you’ve read my stuff before: buckle in. If you’re new: …I swear I’ve written fluff before. Maybe. No but seriously, if you like character-driven, trauma-informed, unhinged-but-meticulous messes with literary undertones, welcome. You’ve found your swamp. Also. I beg you to listen to the ASW playlist I linked. It’s essential. Think: Paris—but not “Emily in Paris.” More like the kind of Paris where you haven’t slept in three days and your eyeliner’s smudged and some man with secrets is staring at you across a neon-lit dive bar while Edith Piaf plays from a busted speaker. That Paris.

See you on the other side. You’ve been warned.

➔ SERIES : NEXT

KIKI NATION’S DISCUSSION THREAD FOR THIS CHAPTER

PLAYLIST

Worthless.

The word sits in Taehyung's skull like a rotting tooth.

Not painful anymore—just there, decayed into the bone, a permanent fixture. Worthless. His mother's voice, twenty-something years later, still echoing.

Sometimes he imagines cutting into his brain, finding where that word lives, and scrubbing it clean. But nothing ever gets clean enough.

Paris is outside—pavement slicked with cold, the breath of a morning rain barely dried. In here, the air is flat. 

Fluorescent. 

Everything smells faintly of mop water and dying batteries. 

He exists behind the counter, with his wrists tucked close, thumbnail grinding against the seam where the plastic laminate splits. It’s not a conscious movement. The itch just collects there—under his skin, inside his jaw, everywhere his mother’s voice ever landed. 

(worthless)

The shelf by the door coughs out its contents: a can rolls, then a bottle, another bottle, a clatter that jars the pulse behind his eye. Sticky leaks on the tiles. No one looks at him—customer, manager, pink-haired girl behind the second register sketching with a dried-out pen. He’s the quiet one. The shadow. The clean-up.

He counts the droplets on the ground. One. Two. The stain widens. Beer and cola. A chemical amber, eating its way along the grout. His fingers twitch for the cheap blue rag balled up under the till. Sticky spots, dirty dots, broken thoughts. Three. Four. Five. It’s spreading. Marcel’s voice always comes before the panic does.

“Kid! Clean that shit up, come on! Clients don’t have all day.”

He sees the world in surfaces and stains. Every footprint etched in last night’s grime. Chewing gum slicked flat under a boot near the cooler. The way someone’s fingernails left half-moons in the tape over the torn cereal box. Small atrocities. He is intimately acquainted with the way filth lingers—in the cracks, yes, but also in his chest, in the language of his own hands.

He moves without thinking: rag in hand, knees bending. The bottle neck is sticky. His palm leaves a ghost on the glass—oily, ugly. 

(dirty, dirty, dirtydirtydirt)

He swears he can hear her voice; the echo that raised him sharper than any cradle song. 

He wipes too hard, more circles than necessary, like there is any chance of making the world new.

One. Two. Three. Seven. Seven. Seven again. If the number is right, the feeling dulls. 

Nothing makes it right. 

The rag soaks up sugar, cheap wheat, that thin acrid scent that reminds him of old men on metro benches. The stickiness clings to his fingers, seeping past skin and nail, as if he’s absorbing the world’s waste molecule by molecule. 

If he had a choice, he’d bleach the whole city. Himself first.

Someone steps around him—he feels the shadow before the person—a grunt, a grumble in French about the mess, about incompetence. He shrinks into the crouch. Tries to take up less space. 

Sometimes, he wonders what it would take to be truly invisible. 

Sometimes, he thinks he’s halfway there already.

(worthless) 

He doesn’t know when the word started looping. Was it, really, at two years old? Maybe three. Maybe four, when he dropped a bowl and she made him hold the shards, blood trailing into the grout as proof of his clumsiness. 

‘If you were worth anything, you’d be clean. You’d be careful. You’d be quiet and good and wanted.’

He’s quiet. He’s careful. He’s so good at disappearing he startles himself when Marcel barks his name—the only time he hears it, sandpapered into a reprimand. 

Sometimes the sound of it makes him nauseous.

He presses the rag into the floor. Bleach sting in the back of his throat. Nails scrub until knuckles ache, the line between diligent and desperate lost years ago. He likes this better than standing—the way knees grind bone against bone, the ache that says he’s solid, present, here. 

It almost feels like penance.

He glances up—Sophie sketches him again, glancing once, twice, pausing on the curl of his neck. He will become a line in her notebook, a story she tells at parties, a tragic fixture in the background of her real life. He hates that he has thoughts about being observed. If anyone really saw, they’d peel back layers until nothing was left but the word. 

(worthless)

The store’s radio coughs static. Some old pop song limping its way through a broken speaker. The world blurs at the edges—what is Paris, if not concrete and piss and distant sunlight, leaking slowly across linoleum? He wishes the tiles here would just dissolve. 

Wishes his skin would too.

He wrings the rag out in the bucket, watches beer foam swirl with grime down the cheap plastic drain. His hands are pink, raw, stained with the same feeling that never quite leaves. His fingertips burn. Sometimes they bleed. That’s good. 

Pain is clean. Pain is honest.

Marcel doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t look at him. Sophie tucks her drawing away, eyes flickering elsewhere. Taehyung straightens, wipes his palms on his trousers, and returns to the counter. He exists to erase.

Counting in his head—seven steps to the end of the aisle. Seven minutes until the shift ends. Seven letters in the nine his mother wrote under his skin:

Worthless.

Sometimes he thinks it’s the only word he’ll ever earn.

And outside, the city is gray. Inside, he is nothing. Inside, he is clean.

(For a moment. For seven counts. That’s all.)

The water makes patterns like fractured light.

His shift ends like they always do—uneventful, almost unregistered in the library of his mind. 

Paris is set in a brooding mood, rain stalking down the windows carelessly. Taehyung watches each droplet make its slow descent, leaving dirty trails on the glass he'd scrubbed this morning. 

Seven hours ago. The bleach has worn off. Everything wears off eventually.

He'll have to clean the windows before going home. Marcel doesn't really care. Clean windows mean cleaner space. Cleaner space is good for Marcel's business. Or its reputation at least. Not that Taehyung cares about reputation or lack thereof, he just needs to quiet down the bubbling pressure that builds in his chest when the water droplets remove the bleach he's injected into the glass this morning.

The streak marks form constellations he doesn't know the names of. Names have never mattered much to him. Except when they belong to ghosts.

(worthlessworthlessworthless)

The register drawer sticks when he pulls it, a metallic scrape that makes his molars ache. He counts the bills by sevens—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Again. Again. The rhythm is comforting, like a metronome he can set his pulse to. His fingers leave no prints on the paper. He's careful about that. So careful.

Sophie comes by his counter, as she usually does at this time. Her hair is wet at the ends, dripping onto her shoulders. The moisture makes him twitch. He knows the pattern, knows how her hand raises to pat him in the shoulder, so he moves. Just lightly. A shift to the left. His body tilting away from contact like a plant bending from shadow.

She notices. She always notices. But she never says anything about it.

"Marcel left early," she says, tapping her pen against her lower lip. "Something about his daughter's recital. You know how he gets about that little prodigy of his."

Taehyung doesn't respond. He doesn't know what it's like to have a father proud enough to leave work early. He doesn't know what it's like to have someone watch you with anything but disappointment.

Sophie sighs into the silence. The sound scrapes against his eardrums. He counts the register one more time, even though the numbers are perfect. They're always perfect. He makes sure of it.

"You should really come to the dinner tonight. Would do some good for you to socialize," she says with a grin that shows too many teeth. 

Her lipstick is smudged at the corner. Imperfect. He wants to hand her a tissue but his hands stay where they are, counting, ordering, fixing what isn't broken.

He doesn't blame her for trying. He doesn't blame her for the invitation that comes every Friday, the same words in slightly different arrangements. He doesn't blame her for not understanding that socializing feels like drowning with an audience.

Taehyung doesn't respond, simply nods. He's learned the minimum requirements for human interaction. Nod. Blink. Breathe. Exist without being noticed.

She sighs, signals two fingers over her forehead as she exits the store, all while saying, "Don't stay too late, and close before you leave!"

Taehyung didn't need the reminder. He always checks seven times before he leaves, that the door is closed. 

Sophie knows. He knows she knows. He still doesn't say a word, just nods. Then, Sophie is gone.

Solitude, at last. 

Empty store, peace restored.

His fingers move to the cloth under the register. It's damp from earlier, beer and soda and whatever else the world tracked in. He should get a fresh one. Clean things with clean tools. His mother taught him that, at least, between the lessons about worthlessness.

The rain comes down harder now, drumming against the glass. The windows will need extra attention. He can already feel the itch building under his skin, the need to make everything spotless before he leaves. Before he walks through the rain and into his apartment, where everything is already clean but never clean enough.

He moves methodically. Counts each step. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Again. The mop bucket rattles as he pulls it from the back room. Water sloshes against plastic sides. He measures the bleach precisely. One cap. Two caps. The smell burns his nostrils, familiar and comforting. It smells like absolution.

The store is empty now. Just him and the endless task of erasing evidence that anyone was ever here. He likes it this way. Prefers it. People leave messes. People notice things. People try to touch his shoulder and invite him to dinners where he would have to speak and be seen and remembered.

No one remembers the person who cleans up after them. That's the beauty of it.

The mop makes wet streaks across the floor. He counts each stroke. Seven in one direction. Seven in the other. The pattern matters. The rhythm matters. If he gets it wrong, something terrible might happen. He doesn't know what. He just knows the fear tastes like metal at the back of his throat.

The windows come last. He saves them because they're the worst. Because they connect inside to outside. Because they're never truly clean, no matter how hard he scrubs.

He sprays the glass, watches the solution drip down in rivulets that mirror the rain on the other side. Seven sprays. Seven wipes. Seven circles clockwise, seven counterclockwise. The ritual matters. The counting matters.

When he's done, the store gleams under the harsh lights. No evidence that anyone has been here. No evidence that he exists at all, except in the absence of dirt.

Then, a sound.

 It comes from behind the door nobody opens.

Not the storeroom where Marcel keeps the cigarettes he thinks no one knows about, not the employee bathroom with its perpetually damp floor—the other one. The abandoned space where even Marcel refuses to go.

Taehyung freezes mid-wipe, cloth suspended against glass. The sound isn't loud. Just different. A disruption in the pattern of silence he's grown accustomed to.

He finishes the seventh circle, completing the ritual. Can't leave it unfinished. Bad things happen when rituals break. His mother taught him that—one of the few lessons that wasn't delivered with a slap or that word.

(worthless)

The sound comes again. Not a crash or a thud, but something lighter. A scrape, perhaps. The shuffle of something being moved after years of stillness.

His bleach bottle is nearly empty. The level has dropped below the label, and the thought of finishing his cleaning without it makes his chest cave inward. The supply closet—the forbidden one—holds what he needs. Marcel put the cleaning supplies there because no one else wants them. Because Taehyung is the only one who uses them. Because Marcel knows he'll go, no matter how much it terrifies him.

The handle feels wrong under his palm. Not cold or hot, but somehow both. The metal leaves an impression on his skin that he'll need to scrub away later. Seven times. With soap that smells like nothing.

The door creaks—not dramatically like in films, but with the quiet protest of hinges that have forgotten their purpose. The smell hits him first: dust and mildew, ancient paper, and something underneath it all that reminds him of childhood. 

Not his childhood—someone else's. Someone who was allowed to be happy.

Taehyung doesn't step fully inside. He hovers at the threshold, one foot in darkness, one in light. Liminal. The word appears in his head unbidden. He knows it from somewhere. A book, maybe. Something he read in the quiet hours when sleep refused to come.

The bleach is stacked against the far wall. Seven bottles. Always seven. Marcel orders them in sevens now without being asked. It's the only kindness Taehyung has ever noticed from the man.

He'll have to cross the room to get there. Step fully into the space that feels wrong. 

His skin prickles with contamination.

One step. The floor creaks.

Two. Dust motes dance in what little light filters through a grimy window.

Three. His breathing shallows.

Four. The sound comes again, clearer now. Not from this room, but beyond it.

Five. His hand twitches at his side, wanting to count on fingers but knowing better. Counting out loud is for children. Counting visibly is for the insane.

Six. He sees the wall isn't solid. There's glass embedded in it, cloudy with years of neglect.

Seven. He stops, right where he needs to be. The bottles wait, patient as saints.

He crouches, careful not to let his knees touch the floor. It's filthy here. Beyond salvaging. The kind of dirty that lives in the bones of a place, too deep for even bleach to reach. He imagines gutting the room—tearing out floorboards, scraping walls down to bare structure, burning it all and starting fresh. The fantasy calms him enough to grab a bottle.

That's when the melody starts.

Piano notes, distant but clear. A practice scale, then something more complex. The music doesn't filter through the wall—it seems to emerge from it, as if the plaster itself remembers a tune.

Taehyung stands, bottle clutched to his chest. His eyes find the glass panel naturally, drawn by the sound. It's a mirror, he realizes. Or it was meant to be. Years of grime have turned it into a cloudy barrier between this space and whatever lies beyond.

Curiosity is dangerous. His mother taught him that too. But the music pulls at something in him—a thread he didn't know was loose.

He approaches the glass, steps measured in sevens. The closer he gets, the clearer the sound becomes. Not just piano now. There's movement.

Without thinking, he raises his free hand—the one not clutching bleach like a lifeline—and wipes a small circle in the grime. The action is so automatic, so ingrained, that he doesn't register the contamination until it's done. 

His palm is gray with dust. He'll need to wash it. Scrub it. Make it clean again.

But then he sees through the cleared space, and everything else falls away.

The room beyond isn't abandoned. It's alive with light—not the harsh fluorescence of the convenience store, but something softer. Golden. The floors are wood, worn but cared for. Barres line the walls. A practice room.

And in its center, a figure moves.

You don’t dance to the piano. 

You are the music. 

(worthyworthyworthy)

Your body creates shapes he doesn't have names for. Arcs and lines that make his breath catch.

Taehyung doesn't know ballet. Doesn't know dance at all. But he knows beauty when he sees it. Knows holiness. Recognizes glory.

The glass, he realizes, isn't just dirty. It's one-way. A mirror on your side, a window on his. You can't see him watching. Don’t know you’re being witnessed.

The knowledge makes him feel profane. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be seeing this. It's too intimate, too sacred for someone like him.

(worthless)

But he can't look away.

Your hair is pulled back, severe and perfect. No strand out of place. Your leotard (is that the word? he thinks it might be) clings to a form that seems impossible—all angles and curves existing together in defiance of what bodies should be able to do.

When you turn, your face catches light. Features like a doll. But your gaze is nothing like that. Eyes focused on nothing but your reflection. On perfection. On control.

You are everything he is not.

Clean. 

Worthy.

Then, a series of turns that make his head spin just watching. You’re counting, he realizes. Your lips move slightly with each rotation. One, two, three... he can't tell how high you go. Can't follow the complexity of it.

The bleach bottle is cold against his chest. His palm still dirty. His breath fogging the small clear spot he's made in the glass.

He should leave. Should run. Should take his bleach and go back to his world of sticky floors and meaningless tasks. Should never come back here again.

But even as he thinks it, he knows he will. Knows that he'll return tomorrow, like he has to now. And the day after. And every day the store is open. Just to stand in this filthy room he can't bear to be in. Just to watch you move like water, like air.

Like everything pure in a world of contamination.

goal: 150 notes.

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw

© jungkoode 2025. | banners and dividers by dailynnt

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[regretisstoredintheme]

I just had an idea! And I think its cute yet funny and maybe even a little angsty, but hear me out. Reader got a crush on rise! Donnie but doesn’t act on it/tries to stomp it down cuz Donnie is obviously married to science. But then! He got accidentally splashed/drunk a love potion (which actually heightens the emotions and feelings for a person that are already there) and Donnie looks at reader and he falls for them! (He already had a liking towards them but now it got heightened)

He still acts like himself but in love and more boldly!

Reader feels conflicted because they like the attention and stuff Donnie gives them but also sad because Donnie only acts like that because of the potion. Shenanigans ensue, till the potion wears off andddd you decide how it ends

I thought this could be a pretty fun prompt/theme/etc to do

Also you’re amazing! Love you’re writing! I definitely vote for you! And I hope you have an amazing timezone!

*crawls out of cave and GRASPS request*

Well hello there heh… if it isn’t my imaginary audience!

In the name of Science (A oneshot) - Rise!Donatello X Reader

Warnings: Possibly OOC? if you’ve seen the ROTTMNT episode “mind meld” then this will be fine In comparison

A/N: I know this isn’t exactly what was requested, but I hope it’s fun to read! I feel like I’m a full fledged fanfiction writer now that I have a love potion story 😭😭 I doubt this person even remembers their request anymore, but it was great inspiration nonetheless, thank you to them!

—

Here’s the thing, Donnie wasn’t exactly the easiest turtle to get a hold of. Not when he’s holed up in his room, working on the next big this or the breakthrough that.. at least, he always seemed to be, around you. Clearly he was avoiding you, right? Why would he be so boisterous and proud around his brothers and then suddenly become a recluse with you? April suggested he was simply not warmed up yet, however the little inkling of doubt in your brain strung into the long thread of yarn that wove a different tale.

No, he had to hate you. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much. If he hated you, and didn’t simply not like you.

That’s why this was so conflicting.

He had been giving a demonstration, only to you, of something that he had created. (Of course, nobody else was home for him to rant to, naturally he would target the one person who happened to walk into his lab. This wasn’t special, you weren’t special, right? It was a matter of chance— don’t get your hopes up.)

The genius scientist seemed rather excited about this mysterious concoction, which he held in a glass vial. Something, something Oxytocin something, something heartrate— it was lovely just to see him ramble to YOU for once— not that this was special, of course.

At the last possible moment, he had offered you the vial, a proud smile on his face as he suggested you take a closer look at its contents. Unfortunately, you were a little… side tracked. It was heavier than you had expected— even if only by a few grams— that unfortunately didn’t matter when you were staring at the glass on the floor and the mysterious solution that had spilled everywhere including on the two of your feet. You were wearing shoes, but Donnie— well, he never wore shoes.

Donnie’s eyes widened as he looked up at you, horror etched in every wrinkle of his frown. You looked so apologetic, so, so very sorry that his only successful experiment was lying in pieces on the ground. Your eyes were so worried, so caring about what he had to say, and well…

“Shit.” Donnie threw his eyes in another direction, grabbing a rag from off the counter and squatting to try and get the solution off his skin. He hadn’t thought of the idea that it might work through topical use… Ergo! He was royally fucked.

“Donnie? Donnie seriously, if there’s any way I can make it up to you—“

He swallowed, looking back in your direction only to see your face again. How he hated the worry on your face, if it was any other situation he would have been angry and frustrated— but this was different. The solution was for you, anyway, what did it matter if you broke it? It was yours, and so was his heart the moment he laid eyes on you.

“Don’t—“ he coughed, “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it, it only took me a few days to make.” He shrugged it off like it was nothing, the flames of his frustration strangely suppressed under the blush on his face.

Pretty? That was new. He’d never spoken that way before..

“Donnie?” Your head tilted, eyes widened.

He liked that look on you, the confusion of his behavior— it meant you were paying attention. “What? This?” He glanced down at the mess, which seemed like a puddle of nothing now, he stepped through it to get closer. “Don’t worry about that.”

You were starting to wonder what the experiment actually was…

Meanwhile, Donnie was wondering how important his mysterious bad boy image actually was..

“Don’t worry about it? Donnie, what did that liquid do?” Your voice was like music, if he were himself, he would have been upset with how little you had paid attention, but you were looking at him now, weren’t you? He’d be happy to re-explain!

“A neuron chemical enhancer.” He spoke in that way he always does, but upon seeing the confusion grow on your face, he found himself wanting to elaborate in your terms. He loved your terms. “I curated it specifically for… romance.” He continued to explain, getting a little closer to you now. It was subconscious, he didn’t even realize he was doing it, he simply was.

That’s when it clicked. A love potion, that’s what it was— he had chemically engineered a love potion — what for? Why did he make it? You weren’t sure, but you knew his sudden advances couldn’t be genuine.

And yet, as his hand grabbed your wrist, you found yourself.. yearning for this side of him.

“Are you hurt? Didn’t get hit by the glass, did you?” Donnie asked, despite the fact that he, himself was standing in the shards. Jesus— you knew he was made for war, but… Wasn’t that uncomfortable? You’d never seen him so worried about anything other than quadratic equations..

“No— no, Donnie— are you sure you’re quite yourself?” Your words were drowned out by the smile on his face, the sigh of relief in which he was so glad you weren’t hurt. He couldn’t bear if you were hurt by one of his experiments, it would crush him. “Oh I’m so glad!” He immediately lit up, the kind of expression you were sure only his brothers saw— if his brothers even looked hard enough to see it. It was the kind of look he gave when he entered a library, when he was showing off an invention. The way his eyes crinkled at the edges and he lightly squeezed your arm, “Well, now that that’s taken care of, how about we sit down so you can listen to more of my thoughts?” It was too much.

“Donnie, Donnie— I’m starting to get worried about you..” your hand rested on his shell— well, on his battle shell, and he frowned, his brows raised, “well, if you don’t want that, perhaps I could interest you in some other stimulating entertainment?” He gestured grandiosely back at his elaborate gaming setup, hoping to tempt you into gaming with him.

“No, not like that,” You almost wanted to laugh, he was suddenly so desperate to keep you in his lab. “You don’t normally act like this… this.. interested..”

Interested? Whatever could you possibly mean? He hadn’t the foggiest! “Surely you’re not declining?” He frowned, brows furrowed.

“No, I’m just saying,” You continued to try and explain your point, lightly pushing him away and watching as he descended into discomfort at the distance, “You’re never this touchy— you don’t touch at all, in fact. This all started with that experiment… are you sure you’re not…”

Donnie’s eyes searched your expression as you spoke. He was unable to make eye contact for more than a moment, but he blamed that on your superb features. “Not what?” He folded his arms, more and more upset as he was pushed away. “Do you suddenly dislike my presence?”

“Donnie, no..” you sighed at the soft shell’s… soft shell. “Are you sure you’re not under the influence of anything?”

The turtle laughed, no, scoffed right in your face. “Me? Influenced by something? Please.” Donnie ‘susceptible to hypnosis’ Hamato confidently got closer again, now convinced you weren’t avoiding him for the reasons he was worried about. “The only thing I am influenced by is the way you captivate me.”

He paused, a look of horror appearing back onto his face. Okay, he was seeing it now. Did that really fall out of his mouth? He… no, it couldn’t be— could it? He… he sounded like… like Leo! His hand covered his mouth.

It seemed his experiment had finally worn off.

“Oh no.” If it was possible, he went pale in the face, the confidence from earlier completely stripped away as he stood with only a racing heart and flushed face. “What happened? What did I do?” He speedily backed up, momentarily lapsing memory of the past five minutes. You immediately felt bad.

“Nothing, Don, are you okay?” Of course it wasn’t real, why would it be real? He was just embarrassed by how the solution affected him.

Donnie grimaced, remembering what had happened in the span of a few moments. Many emotions were coursing through him right now— discomfort, embarrassment, frustration… and disappointment. “I’m…” his furrowed brows softened, his expression shifted to remorse. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.” He folded his arms once again, his hands clenched into fists.

What did he mean by that? As a matter of fact…

“Donnie, what was the potion… originally for?” You took a step forward, over the spill on the floor. The terrapin huffed, “it’s not a potion. It’s not mystic— I made it myself!” He was caught between wanting to be haughty and proud of himself and feeling bad for.. well..

“And.. it was for you.” He sighed, fiddling with his elbow pads, “I thought I could win you over with the power of science— clearly my methods weren’t as successful as I would have hoped.” He didn’t feel guilty, no— rather, he was upset the potion.. sorry, SOLUTION hadn’t worked for a longer period of time. “It clearly wasn’t strong enough..” he frowned, frustration building back up in his chest, “I’ll have to start from scratch, perhaps I can up the concentration of the liquified gasses…” he turned to his work station, his notes, reading on as if you weren’t there.

“It was for… me?” It felt like a bomb exploding in your chest. He what!? For you? For why? You approached the desk, seeing as the lists of chemical compounds and experiments, diagrams of neuron pathways and the science of this thing called “romance.”

He was doing everything in the book BUT courting you.

“Donnie?” You placed his hand on his shoulder this time, to which he lifted up his goggles and met your gaze, “hm? Yes?” He didn’t seem at all phased by you figuring out his plan, rather he seemed more steadfast in his science.

“Was it for… you.. and me…? For…?”

Nod.

“You know this isn’t necessary, right?”

Pause.

“..What’s that supposed to mean?” He furrowed his brows, what were you saying now? He tapped his fingers on his desk, waiting eagerly for your reply. You took deep breaths, stilling your heart beneath his intense gaze.

“I already like you, Donnie.”

….

He stood from his desk, staring at you. His eyes held something unintelligible, searching your face. His brows furrowed and mouth slightly agape, you could swear he had stopped breathing.

……..

………..

“What?!”

—

A/N: considering Donnie had literally changed his brother’s brain chemistry in making them more like him, he is NOT above trying to change the thought processes of someone he likes LMAOOO

[evenyvn]

— streamer! aventurine x supermodel spouse! reader

cw ;; gn reader, fluff, sfw, kinda househusband aventurine since he's already retired from his former job on ipc.

and happiest birthday to my beloved aventurine ♡

streamer aventurine! who streams for fun and got popular quickly due to his former job, and he streams regularly now since he got plenty of times.

streamer aventurine! who streams about video games (mostly gacha games) and probably reviewing fancy products that he got, such as watch, perfumes etc etc. honestly he do whatever he wanted to do and everyone seems to like it.

streamer aventurine! that got viral because his god luck on rolling for gacha games, literally got 3 5 stars on his first 10 pulls, always won 50/50 and soft pity at that, he did stream contents like "pulling on my viewers accounts" and always ended up with crazy luck on his rolls, literally his viewers crying that they finally broke their 50/50 losing streak thanks to aventurine.

streamer aventurine! that shocked everyone when you accidentally walked in one of his streams, but with only your body that have been seen, and he's adamant to keep your face hidden because he wanted to keep your pretty face all for himself. his viewers think that you kinda look familiar but aventurine just shrugs it off with a knowing smirk.

streamer aventurine! that will get teased by his viewers once they knew he's married to a very attractive person (you). they'll be saying something like "is your roommate single?" or other down bad comments just to get his reactions.

stellarjadehunter donated 100 credits! : roommate's face reveal when?

"excuse you? that's my spouse right there!" cue him looking at the camera with an offended look, your laughter can be heard from the other room making him pout.

another comment pointing out that you look like you could be a supermodel makes him giggles behind his hand, trying so hard not to burst out laughing.

after that whole things happened, now you seem to be appearing more on his streams (without showing your face still). sometimes you just sit somewhere off camera or sometimes stand beside him while holding a food and occasionally feeds him, his viewers think your actions are cute and he think it's endearing.

that's it until someone point out how aventurine's spouse looks a little bit too much like a certain famous supermodel, aventurine saw someone who did a whole research and analysis on this and post it on social media, he just laugh it off saying that they're being delulu.

"seriously guys, i saw someone making a whole thread about my spouse, believe me when i say they're just a normal person"

yea no one believes him, ouch.

veritasratio : they're already know, you cannot fool them anymore.

"shut up veritas"

now onto the part where his viewers catch a glimps of your face or hair, the whole community went crazy and the truth finally unfolds. aventurine's spouse is the crazy famous intergalactic supermodel.

aventurine's not happy with it but he's definitely going to brag about it everytime on the stream now. everyone is tired.

"well, I'm a husband of-"

topaznnumby donated 200 credits : "okay okay WE GET IT, your spouse is a SUPERMODEL"

now that your identity has revealed you're showing your face more on stream, even sometimes doing a cooking or baking stream together with your husband (it's honestly just you cooking while he just looks at you with a lovesick face the whole time).

streamer! aventurine who sometimes get on a friendly banter with your fans, literally just him saying that he's your biggest fan and more bragging. he's greatful that your fanbase is actually really chill because you yourself never tried to hide the fact that you're happily married on interviews.

streamer! aventurine who gets more popular, because half of his viewers are just your fanbase now lmao.

✦thank you for reading, likes and reblogs are very appreciated♡

[velarisdusk]

Burning Desire

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Series Masterlist Part 4 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 6 - Embers to Ice

word count: 17k (AAAAA?) content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, BDSM, power dynamics, bondage, gags, sensory deprivation, pain play, spanking, paddling, flogging, begging, degradation, praise | infidelity, emotional infidelity, explicit language, alcohol, drinking, smoking (cigarettes, marijuana), bitches are fake as fuck, bad rebound choices, i.e. casually fucking someone who you KNOW has had an actual crush on you for years and not caring, the Vanserra family is a loving one in this he deserves happiness ] summary: In a depression following being caught cheating, a troubling phone call brings a harsh revelation. Distraught and in need of comfort, you turn to Eris, who's been trying to reach out since that night. He provides the emotional and physical escape you need. author's note: oh. my. god. i've been working on this for what feels like a decade i feel like years have been taken off of my life. school has been killer (negative), writing this was killer (positive), and i hope you enjoy >:)

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of rotting in bed, drowning in self-pity, and starting your days with cigarettes and bottles of rum. Over a week ago, you threw your phone into the drawer of your nightstand, barely resisting the urge to post a pity-filled story for your close friends. Before you essentially vanished, you noticed texts from Feyre and Mor. That was nothing out of the ordinary, but you didn't read them, dreading their content. Were they upset? Angry? What did they think of you? Were the messages even about the situation? You couldn't say if they knew or not.

You also received messages from Az, Eris, and Tarquin. Their concern surprised you, figuring that bro code would have outranked you on the list of priorities. But then, were they even still talking? If you were Cassian, you’d probably cut off all communication.

It was a complicated situation. They all worked together and had for years. They couldn’t just walk away; they were bound by contracts. You wondered how practice was faring if it was even happening. By now, they must have realized that Cassian wasn’t speaking to you. Whether they kept things private or shared the news with Feyre, Mor, or anyone else, you had no idea. You hoped they had the sense not to all come downstairs at once after your departure with Cassian. But even if they were careful, it must have been noticeable when they started reappearing suddenly.

Two weeks of these thoughts hurtling through your mind.

You haven’t told your mother why you showed up disheveled at her door in the night. How could you? You couldn’t bear to face her after admitting what you’ve done.

But as the hours stretch endlessly, a surge of loneliness (only the latest of many) finally drives you to your phone. You respond to the texts from Azriel and Tarquin, reassuring them that you’re as fine as you can be. When you open the text thread with Eris, you’re caught off guard.

Hey, just checking in. How are you holding up?

If you need someone to talk to I’m around. Seriously.

Look, I get that it might seem weird coming from me, but I’m genuinely concerned. No strings, I just want to make sure you’re okay.

I’m not trying to pry, but isolation doesn’t help. If you need a break from everything, my line’s always open.

You sit there, staring at the string of messages, each one making you feel a little more seen, a little more cared for. You aren’t even sure you want to acknowledge that right now. It’s almost too much, the kindness wrapped in Eris’ words, especially when everything else feels like it’s crumbling around you.

But Eris’ texts… they’re a lifeline, a small thread of connection in a sea of isolation. You pick up your phone again, reading through the messages once more, feeling the sincerity behind them. The idea of responding, of reaching out, is both comforting and terrifying. But the thought of facing all of this alone, of letting it continue to eat away at you in silence, is somehow worse.

Your fingers start to move, typing out a response before you can second-guess yourself.

you’re not prying, thanks for checking in. captain morgan’s been keeping me company lmfao

No sooner do you turn your phone off and toss it onto the bed beside you does the screen light up again with a buzz. That was fast.

Sounds like he’s good company, but maybe not the best listener. How about a real conversation instead?

You can almost hear the playful tone in his words, a lightness that cuts through the heavy fog of your thoughts. It’s enough to make you smile, just a little, even as the weight of everything else still hangs over you.

Another buzz and his next message appears.

Seriously, if you want to talk, my door’s open. No pressure, just an offer.

You can tell he’s trying to strike a balance, not pushing it too hard but still getting through your head that he’s there. It’s disarming in a way, and it leaves you wondering if maybe, just maybe, you should take him up on that offer.

thanks eris, i might take you up on that. it’s just… a lot rn, yknow?

There’s a pause, the seconds ticking by as you wait for his reply. You don’t have to wait long, and it’s as straightforward a reply as you expected.

I get it. You didn’t make the mess alone, just wanted you to know you don’t have to deal with it alone. And if you want to get out of your place for a bit, my offer still stands. You can even invite the captain as your plus one if that helps.

You smile at that, a small huff of amusement escaping you. The thought of getting out of your old childhood bedroom, of not being surrounded by the same four walls that have seen you at your lowest, is more appealing than you’d like to admit. Maybe a change of scenery, and the chance to talk things out with someone, would help.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you think about how to respond. Part of you wants to dive in and take him up on the offer right away, but another part of you hesitates, unsure how it would look if Cassian found out. You decide to keep things simple. You don’t respond.

Without paying any mind to the countless social media, text, and call notifications from your other friends, you open your texts with Nesta and make a FaceTime call. The thought of her blunt honesty is a small comfort in your otherwise bleak current existence.

Her face appears on the screen, and though her expression is one of surprise and concern, you can’t help but feel a twinge of relief.

“Where’ve you been? You look…”

She trails off, her eyes narrowing as she takes in your appearance. You glance at yourself in the small window at the top corner of the screen. Your eyes are puffy and red, your face is pale, and the bags under your eyes seem darker than ever.

“Talk to me,” Nesta says, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to cut through the fog of your despair.

You draw a deep breath, the weight of your emotions pressing heavily on your chest. “I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart. I’m a fucking mess.”

Nesta’s gaze softens further, her concern palpable. She leans in slightly, her tone soothing yet resolute. “You can tell me whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m here.”

The hesitation is palpable as you search for the right words, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. Finally, you find the courage to confess. “I messed up, Nesta. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”

Nesta’s expression tightens, her eyes flicking to something off-screen for a moment before she returns her focus to you. She runs a hand through her hair, a sigh escaping her lips as she gathers her thoughts. “Just... try to explain what happened.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions before asking, “Do you know what’s been going on?”

Nesta’s gaze momentarily shifts away, a flicker of something you can’t quite read passing over her face. “I’ve heard bits and pieces,” she begins, her tone deliberately vague. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Sensing her evasiveness, you decide to give her a broad overview. You explain the guilt and confusion you're feeling, how everything seemed to unravel and make the situation worse than you could have imagined. You describe the betrayal and the weight of not knowing how to mend things. By the time you’ve caught her up, your words are coming out through hysterical cries and gasps for air between sobs.

Nesta listens quietly, absorbing the emotional weight of your words. Her expression reflects a mix of sympathy and contemplation as she processes the gravity of what you’ve shared.

“I broke that boundary to hell, Nesta. I ruined everything.” Your voice trembles with the weight of your confession, the words feeling like a leaden anchor pulling you down.

Nesta’s brows knit together, her concern deepening as she tilts her head slightly. “What boundary…?” she asks, her tone gentle yet probing, as if trying to piece together the fragments of your unraveling story.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your breath, but a sniffle escapes you. “They’ve all been pretty flirty with me since the beginning, and Cassian and I… we decided early on that we didn’t mind it?” You pause, glancing down at your hands as you fidget with the red scrunchie around your wrist, twisting the fabric between your fingers. “So we’d just let them like… make comments… touch up on me a little–”

A sudden, sharp gasp crackles through the phone speaker, cutting through your words like a knife. Your eyes narrow as you stare at the screen in confusion. That sound hadn’t come from Nesta; you’d been watching her intently this whole time, and her lips hadn’t moved.

You furrow your brows, your heart quickening with unease. “What was that? Is there someone there with you?” you ask, trying to keep the edge of suspicion out of your voice, but failing.

But her face is the image of calm, save for the confusion in her furrowed brows. “Huh? Oh, it was just the TV,” she says, quickly flipping her phone around to show you the screen. The shaky camera reveals a reality show playing in the background, the exaggerated drama of strangers’ lives filling the awkward silence.

But your gut tells you something’s off. The way her hand shook just a little as she moved the phone, the tension still lingering in her posture. It all feels wrong. Despite her attempt to brush it off, the seed of doubt has been planted, taking root in the back of your mind.

Nesta flips the phone back to face her, and her voice is smooth and encouraging as she speaks. “So, what are you going to do? Are you going to talk to him?”

You hesitate, letting out a sigh as you rub your temple. “I don’t know. I’m scared of what he’ll say, or worse... what he won’t say. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of rejection, Nesta.”

She nods slowly, her expression softening into one of understanding. “You have to do what feels right for you, but running away won’t make it any easier in the long run. I know it’s—and I’m sorry to say this—your fault, but you still deserve to know where things stand, even if it’s hard to face.”

You shift uncomfortably, the weight of her words pressing down on you. “I know, I just... I need time to think. To figure out what I want, what I’ll do.”

Nesta listens patiently, offering her quiet support as you continue to spill your thoughts. The conversation drifts from your immediate fears to the what-ifs. She shares some of her own experiences, her voice a mix of tough love and genuine care, giving you just enough space to feel heard without feeling judged.

The minutes tick by, and soon you find yourself leaning back into the pillows, the exhaustion creeping in. You talk about other things too, and an hour passes before you even realize it, the conversation winding down naturally, both of you running out of things to say. It’s a comfortable silence now, a brief respite from the storm of emotions you’ve been weathering.

“I should let you go,” you finally say, your voice soft. “Thanks for listening, Nes. I... I needed this.”

Nesta smiles, a touch of warmth breaking through her usual stoic demeanor. “Anytime. You know I’m here for you.”

You nod, feeling a little lighter, if only for a moment. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

As you move to end the call, you hear it—faint, but unmistakable. A voice, muffled but clear enough to make out the words: “No way–”

Your heart skips a beat, but before you can react, the call disconnects, leaving you staring at the screen, that single phrase echoing in your mind. The voice wasn’t Nesta’s, and it sure as hell didn’t come from the TV. You know that voice. It’s familiar in a way that makes your stomach churn, your pulse quicken. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

It was Elain’s. You’re sure of it. You sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, your mind racing. But why would she be there hidden from view? Why wouldn’t she just say hello or at least make her presence known? The questions tumble over each other, forming a gnawing pit of unease in your gut.

Then, like pieces of a puzzle snapping together, the thought hits you: Elain was listening in, but she didn’t want you to know she was there. The secrecy, the way Nesta quickly tried to cover it up. It wasn’t just about eavesdropping. No, it felt intentional, like Elain was trying to gain insight into your situation with Cassian. Your breath catches in your throat as the implications sink in. A cold, hard truth begins to crystallize in your mind. She wanted to know the details because it mattered to her. It mattered because she’s involved—because she and Cassian are…

You don’t want to finish the thought, but it’s there, undeniable and ugly. Elain and Cassian. It explains the secrecy, the way Nesta tried to protect her, and the sickening feeling gnawing at your insides.

The weight of it is almost unbearable, pressing down on you as you sit there, phone in hand, processing the cruel truth that’s just come to light. Elain and Cassian. How? Why? You never saw any sign in their interactions before. The bitterness of the revelation is a sharp, relentless edge in your chest — you need to do something, anything, to shake off this feeling.

You push yourself up from the bed with a determined resolve, your mind racing with anger and the need to reclaim some sense of control. First things first: you need to wash off the remnants of the last two weeks, the sweat and guilt that cling to you.

The hot water of the shower is a welcome relief against your skin, and you let the steam envelop you, trying to wash away the emotions churning inside. You lather up, scrubbing away the sweat and liquor and cigarette smoke, letting the water run over you until you feel clean, both physically and mentally. You stand under the spray, letting the water cascade down your body as if it could cleanse the memories away. When you’re done, you run a comb through your hair, detangling the wet strands with care before blow-drying and styling it, every strand perfectly in place and your arms sore by the time you’re done.

You reach for your phone, fingers hovering over the screen as you debate your next move. Finally, with a deep breath, you type out a message to Eris:

you still up for company?

It’s simple, to the point, and carries the weight of everything you’re feeling right now. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this, but you hit send before you can overthink it, nerves and anticipation bubbling in your chest. As you wait for his reply, you glance at yourself in the mirror, taking in the freshly styled hair, and the clean skin. You look entirely different than you did this morning. You’re someone in control, someone who knows what she wants. Your phone buzzes.

Absolutely. I’ll swing by and pick you up.

You weren’t expecting that, but you don’t hesitate before replying with the address. His response is swift.

See you in 15.

Your eyes linger on the screen, absorbing his words as you double-tap and leave a heart his message. Something is grounding about the certainty in his response. No hesitation, no questions, just action. You set your phone down and take one last look in the mirror, a quiet determination settling in your chest. He’ll be here soon, and you have just enough time to get dressed.

You see Eris pulling up through your window, the white Jaguar rolling to a stop, and you take a deep breath before heading toward the door. As you walk down the driveway towards him, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the car’s window. Jean shorts and a hand-cropped t-shirt—casual and understated.

Eris’s eyes meet yours as you approach the car, his expression softening with concern. There’s no sign of the smirk you usually see on his face. Just a steady gaze that feels sincere. He leans over the center console and opens the door for you, a simple gesture, but one that makes your heart feel lighter.

As you settle into the passenger seat, you set your tote bag down in the footwell. It holds a mostly full bottle of Captain Morgan, a pack of Newports, some gum, and a lighter you grabbed on your way out.

Eris’s eyes flick to the neck of the bottle sticking out of the bag before he asks, “Bringing the party with you?”

You shrug, offering a faint smile. “You did say I was allowed a plus one.”

He nods, his tone softening. “That I did... You okay?” he asks, pulling away from the curb.

You glance at him, a bit surprised at the shift from teasing to concern. “Not really,” you admit quietly.

Eris gives a small nod, his eyes still on the road. “Could’ve guessed the answer, huh?” he remarks, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

You offer a wry smile and a quiet “yeah.” You glance out the window as the sunlight reflects off passing buildings. “But I figured getting out of the house might not hurt. What were you thinking of doing?”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road. “I can swing by somewhere if you need to grab something or,” he pauses, a sly grin forming. “Or if you’re up for unwinding a bit…”

You raise an eyebrow, catching the playful glint in his eye. “What are you suggesting?”

He shrugs, one hand gripping the steering wheel casually. “We could stop by my plug’s place and pick something up, if you’re looking to take the edge off. He’s got some good shit.”

You lean back in your seat, considering his offer. The idea of numbing your mind with something other than liquor is very tempting. You glance at Eris, his casual demeanor giving nothing away, but you can sense that beneath the surface, he’s paying close attention to your reaction.

You nod, feeling a sense of resolve settling in. “Let’s do it. I could use a change of pace.”

Eris keeps his eyes on the road, but there’s a flicker of approval in them. “Alright, then,” he says with a grin, shifting lanes smoothly as he changes direction. His hands move with practiced ease, one gripping the steering wheel and the other shifting gears with effortless precision. You glance up from your phone just in time to see him reach into the center console. He pulls out a sleek pack of Dunhills, taps one out, and lights it with a quick flick of his lighter.

The cigarette sits casually between his lips, its ember glowing softly as its smoke curls lazily around him. “Want a cig?” he asks, his tone casual as he cracks his window.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, reaching out for the cigarette sticking out of the pack. Eris passes it to you with a small knowing smile, his eyes flicking briefly to meet yours before returning to the road and lowering your window for you. You take a drag, the smoke filling your lungs and momentarily dulling the edges of your lingering unease. It’s quite the difference from the menthol kick of your usual Newports. The flavor is richer, with a deep, earthy undertone that’s almost woody. It feels more refined, less about the immediate hit, and more about a lingering, sophisticated aftertaste. You exhale, the smoke curling in the air, and the taste leaves a warmth that’s oddly comforting.

“Helps, doesn’t it?” he glances at you, a touch of curiosity in his gaze.

You exhale slowly, watching the smoke get pulled out the window. “A little… Thanks,” you say, and you both know it isn’t just for the cigarette.

Eris nods, his grin widening slightly. “Anytime. We’ve got a bit of a drive, so just get comfortable. We’ll hit the place soon.”

You settle back as Eris merges onto the highway. The sun is high, casting a warm light over the passing scenery. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the classic rock on the radio make for a relaxing ride. You gaze out the window, watching the landscape shift as the car speeds along. After finishing your cigarette, you hold onto the butt, not willing to litter. Eris is focused on the road, so you just hold onto it, unsure what else to do.

A few minutes later, Eris chuckles and glances over, eyebrow raised. “Were you going to hold onto it the whole ride? Come on, you can’t be serious.”

You give a small laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I wasn’t going to throw it out the window.”

Eris smirks, his eyes flicking to the cigarette butt in your hand. “Just give it to me.”

He reaches over, fingers brushing against your wrist as he tries to take it from you. But you’re quicker, pulling your hand away with a playful glare. “No!” you protest, holding the butt out of his reach. “You’re gonna throw it out the window!”

His grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans closer, making another grab for it. “I won’t, I promise.” And for some reason, you believe him.

He takes the cigarette butt from your fingers and, with a practiced motion, opens the center console and undoes the locking mechanism on a glass jar. He drops it in, the jar already filled with likely a pack’s worth. The jar seals with a soft click, likely why you hadn’t noticed any lingering smell before. He shuts the jar and console, his attention never wavering from the road.

The smell-proof jar, not even considering littering, doing it all while keeping his eyes on the road—it’s the kind of thing that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

The drive stretches on with the radio playing softly in the background. You watch the scenery blur past as the car weaves effortlessly through traffic. With the windows still cracked, you catch a glimpse of Eris’s auburn hair tousled by the breeze. The sun casts long shadows across the highway, and you find a strange comfort in the steady rhythm of the drive. Eventually, Eris slows the car, steering off the main road and into a sleek, gated driveway. The place is an upscale, modern mansion with neatly trimmed hedges. Not what you expected. He parks near the entrance and turns to you with a casual smile.

“I’ll leave the car running,” he says. “Lock up, I’ll be quick.”

You nod, watching as he gets out and heads toward the front door. The gate closes behind him with a gentle click, leaving you alone in the plush interior of the car. After a few minutes, Eris reappears with a small, discreet bag in his pocket. He slips back into the driver’s seat, the bag placed neatly into the center console.

The car pulls out of the driveway, and Eris’s eyes flick toward you as he navigates the streets with practiced ease.

“Any special spots in mind, or are you up for anywhere?” he asks, the hint of a grin in his voice.

You shrug, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, yours is fine.”

He gives a teasing scoff, putting a hand on his chest as he speaks. “My place is special, (y/n), you wound me.”

His words pull a genuine laugh from you. It really wasn’t that funny, but hearing your name on his tongue so casually stirs a nervous flutter in your chest.

“What’s so special about it?”

“Besides the view, or the pool, or the game room?” he pauses for dramatic effect, lowering his voice to a murmur. “Yours, truly.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what makes you so special?”

Eris lets out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking to you before returning to the road. “Well, I’ve been told I’ve got a talent for making things unforgettable.”

“Someone’s got a massive ego.”

He grins, his eyes glinting with confidence. “Guilty as charged. You like it though.”

You roll your eyes at that, unable to keep the smile from creeping onto your face any longer. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Ah, you didn’t deny it. I’ll take it.”

“You’re impossible,” you laugh softly, shaking your head.

As the highway fades into the background, the road before you begins to wind through lush greenery. The towering trees start to crowd in, their canopies forming a dappled, sunlit tunnel. Fields of wildflowers stretch out on either side. The road curves gently, revealing glimpses of a large, elegant house nestled among the trees, its silhouette framed by the tranquil lake shimmering in the late afternoon light.

When you step inside, the first thing you notice is how effortlessly cool the place feels—like it’s been designed with a blend of sophistication and laid-back charm. The living room is spacious and airy, with large windows that let in plenty of natural light, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden floors. The furniture is a mix of sleek modern pieces and cozy, oversized cushions that invite you to sink in and relax.

Eris heads over to a low cabinet and retrieves a small grinder and some neatly rolled-up papers from a hidden drawer. He moves with casual confidence, clearly in his element. You couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d invited here for a smoke before you, having to remind yourself that this wasn’t that. You’re here as a friend who needs an attentive ear.

“So,” he says, flashing a grin as he begins grinding the weed, “what do you think of the place?”

You settle into the sofa, taking in the room’s ambiance. The walls are adorned with tasteful art, and the scent of cedarwood and something subtly herbal fills the air. It��s inviting.

“Not bad, huh?” Eris continues, leaning against the cabinet and looking down at the papers in his hand.

You chuckle, glancing around. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

His eyes dart up to meet yours, a playful, mock-surprised smile on his face. “Crazy…” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Oh come on, you know it’s a nice place. I'm not gonna shower you with more compliments than you need.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits on the couch, starting on the joint. The sound of the grinder and the rustle of the papers are the background to your conversation. “Fair enough. But before we get too cozy with this,” he nods toward his work, “let’s talk. I’d rather hear how you’re really doing.”

You hesitate, feeling a bit vulnerable all of a sudden. “I don’t know if I can get through it all sober.”

Eris looks at you with a soft, reassuring smile, his fingers pausing briefly as they work the paper. “Just try.”

For a moment, you’re silent, the sound of the grinder filling the space between you. You look around the room, at the art on the walls, the low light casting a warm glow over everything. It’s easier to focus on that than on the storm inside your head.

But then you find his gaze again, and the quiet concern in his eyes makes something inside you crack, just a little. "It’s just… everything’s been so overwhelming lately," you begin, your voice soft. "I keep making these choices that… I don't know how to explain it… I’m digging myself into a deep, deep hole. And I don’t know how to get out." You hesitate as you try to find the right words. “It’s just… I don’t even know why I let it happen. I mean, I love Cassian, he’s everything to me. But every time I’m with you,” the words catch in your throat, and you quickly clarify, “with all of you, I mean… I feel like I’m losing myself, like I’m just drifting through all of it without thinking. It’s like I’m not even in control anymore.”

Your voice trembles as the floodgates open, the words spilling out faster than you can stop them. “And the guilt… it’s eating me alive. Every time I’d see Cassian, it was like I was drowning in it. When we went to sleep at night, when he’d kiss me, when we cooked dinner, when he’d tell me he loves me and I said it back with a straight face, knowing what I’ve done… I keep asking myself why I did it, why I kept doing it, but I don’t have an answer. I don’t even know if I’m looking for one or if I’m just trying to justify something that can’t be justified.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of it all is too much. “I thought I could handle it, that I could keep everything separate, but it’s all tangled up now. I’m tangled up. And I don’t know how to fix it, or if I even can.” You pause, swallowing hard as you try to gather your thoughts. Focusing on how methodically he rolls the joint is the only way you can keep from crying. “The past couple of weeks have been a nightmare,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day feels like I’m just… going through the motions. I wake up, and for a split second, everything’s fine. But then it all comes crashing back, and I remember what I’ve done. It’s like this constant weight on my chest, and I can’t breathe.”

There’s a heavy silence as you finish, the room feeling almost too quiet. You glance at Eris, the exhaustion in your eyes reflecting your need for a break from the emotional turmoil. “I can’t keep talking about this right now,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. “I just need to… I don’t know.”

Eris nods, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah, I got you,” He stands up, moving with a relaxed confidence, and heads towards the kitchen. You watch him, feeling a small flicker of relief at the prospect of a distraction. He returns with two glasses of ice, setting them down on the coffee table before lighting the joint and pointing towards your bag for the rum. When you reach to pour the drinks, he gently takes the bottle from you, pouring them himself.

You take the glass when he offers it, the alcohol warming your insides and helping to dull the sharp edges of your thoughts. Eris hands you the joint, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. “Here’s to a temporary escape,” he says, his tone lighter now.

You take a slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs and the effects of the alcohol and weed start to mingle in your system. The combination is soothing, and you feel the tension begin to ease. As the minutes pass, you can feel the fog of intoxication settling in, and your thoughts become less jagged.

A while later, the room is darker now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the side table. The drinks are empty and the bottle of rum you brought stands proudly, and emptily, in the center of the table. The joint is long finished, and the conversation has shifted from heavy to light. You and Eris are more relaxed on the couch, and the air is filled with more classic rock, the remnants of laughter, and the gentle hum of your voices.

You lean back, feeling pleasantly buzzed, the haze of the alcohol and weed wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth. Eris is sitting right next to you, his leg pressed against yours, his hand resting casually on the cushion next to you. The shared warmth and comfortable silence between you feel natural.

“You know,” you say, your voice slightly slurred but lighthearted, “I didn’t think I’d find myself here tonight, like this. But... I’m glad I did.”

Eris glances over at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sometimes the unexpected turns out to be the best part of the night.”

You chuckle softly, the sound mingling with the music playing in the background. “Yeah, it’s funny how things work out. I definitely needed this more than I realized.”

He nods, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “It’s good to let go now and then. Just don’t forget there’s still shit to unpack when you’re ready.”

You let out a deep sigh, your gaze drifting around the dimly lit room. There’s a moment of hesitation as the weight of your earlier conversation looms on the edge of your thoughts. The alcohol and weed have softened the edges, but the heaviness is still there.

Eris shifts slightly, his hand moving a bit closer in the process. Whether it was intentional or not, you don’t know. “You know,” he says gently, “it’s not every day you find someone willing to listen without judgment. You should take advantage of that.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the pressure build behind your eyes. “Cassian… he’s been nothing but loving, nothing but kind to me. And it kills me, Eris. It kills me to look at him and know that I’ve betrayed him in the worst possible way. Multiple times.” You feel the lump in your throat as you continue, the warmth of the alcohol making it easier to let your words flow. “I keep trying to think of ways to fix it, to find some sort of answer or way to redeem myself. But...” Your eyes search the dim room as if trying to find some clarity in the shadows.

“I keep going over every moment, every decision, wondering where things went so fucking wrong. It’s like replaying a movie where I know the ending is tragic, but I can’t look away. I did this shit to myself…

“The hardest part is that he saw everything. He didn’t even need me to confess; he saw it with his own eyes. And everytime I replay that night, I think about how coldly he looked at me. He’s never looked at me like that before. Not that I don’t deserve it.” You glance at Eris, the weight of your emotions clear in your eyes. “I’m trapped in this cycle of guilt and regret, and it’s suffocating. I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore—whether it’s forgiveness, understanding, or just a way to get rid of all this guilt. The thought of facing Cass again… God, I can’t…”

Eris’s eyes narrow slightly as he takes it all in, draping an arm across the back of the couch. You aren’t quite close enough for it to wrap around you.

You mentally chastise yourself for wishing you were. Thinking like that is what got you into this mess.

His voice is low but steady when he speaks. “You’re human. You made choices. Bad ones, sure, but it doesn’t make you a monster.” He pauses, his gaze intense. “It’s easy to get lost in guilt. But you’re not doing anyone any favors by going MIA. Especially not Cassian.”

You scoff. “Cass doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How are you so sure?” he asks, his fingers drumming lightly against the couch, the rhythm steady and patient, unlike the chaos unleashed in your mind by the simple question.

The Facetime with Nesta shoves itself to the forefront of your mind as if your subconscious has been holding it back all this time. You’d heard Elain’s voice in the background, imagined her laughter mingling with Cassian’s, imagined him sharing her breath, his tongue deep in—

The thought hit you like a sucker punch, just as the air had been knocked out of your lungs the moment you’d put the pieces together.

“I’m pretty sure Cassian is fucking Elain,” you blurt out, your voice shaking with the weight of the confession.

Eris’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes sharpen. “Why do you think that?” he asks calmly, though there’s a new edge to his voice.

You swallow hard, the memory still raw. “When I was on a call with Nesta, I heard Elain in the background. She was trying to listen in on me ranting about this all to Nesta… She didn’t even say hi to me, didn’t let me know she was there. Why would she do that unless she was hiding something?”

Eris raises an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but curious. “You might be reading too much into this,” he says, but the sharpness of your gaze makes him backtrack quickly. “Alright, alright, I didn’t mean it like that. Just… how are you so sure they’re involved?”

You exhale sharply, frustration evident. “Cassian is incredibly vindictive in bed,” you say, thinking back to all the times he’d gone hard on you just for catching you making eyes at one of the guys. “I’ve been through his friends, I’d be more shocked if he didn’t try to go through mine.”

Eris’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Most of his friends.” He doesn’t elaborate but the implication is clear. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but it’s not always best to assume the worst.”

A fleeting thought crosses your mind. Eris is right. You and he never crossed that line, despite the heated moments over the years, despite the events the night of Ianthe’s party. If Cassian is dropping you off on your mom’s doorstep just to go after your friends, maybe it’s time for you to stop moping around and start embracing some fun yourself. Why should you sit at home and stew when he’s out there doing who knows what? Who knows who? For all you knew, Nesta had fucked him too. And, honestly, Eris doesn’t look half bad in that black, fitted t-shirt and tailored jeans, the thin silver chain around his neck glinting in the low light. There’s a roguish charm about him, just as there’s always been. It’s something that makes him undeniably tempting.

You look down at your lap with a sigh, a feigned sadness in your eyes, and a playful pout on your lips. “Well, if Cassian’s going to do whatever he wants, maybe I should too.” You look up, letting your gaze linger on him, lowering to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

Eris’s eyes flicker with surprise, but he maintains his cool as he raises a brow. “Is this where we’re headed now? I thought we were in the middle of something a bit more serious.”

You scoot closer to him, close enough for the hand on the back of the couch to rest on your shoulder if he wanted it to. “Maybe I’m tired of pitying myself. Or maybe I’m feeling adventurous.” A glint of mischief sparkles in your eyes before you slip back into your act.

Eris chuckles, a faint smile curling his lips. “A distraction, huh? You know that won’t fix anything.”

You shrug, maintaining your demeanor. “Who says it has to be about fixing anything? Sometimes a little distraction is just what you need,” you level. Tired of the theatrics, you scoot even closer and grab that god-forsaken hand, placing it gently on the back of your neck.

Eris’s fingers linger there, his expression shifting from playful to intrigued before he traces soft patterns on your skin. “Is that right? And here I thought you were just looking for a friendly ear.”

You lean closer, your voice dropping to a softer, more flirtatious tone. “You mean to tell me you didn’t have any other intentions? Not a single fleeting thought?”

Eris’s gaze drops to your lips, his eyes narrowing with intrigue. “So, what are you suggesting? Are we breaking some rules tonight?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, something like that. A night of enjoyment. No strings attached, just...”

Your words trail off as you close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a slow, heated kiss. His hand grips the back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens. It starts slow, almost exploratory, but quickly deepens as you both lose yourselves in the moment. The taste of liquor lingers on his tongue, a heady mix of rum and something uniquely Eris. You savor it, letting the alcohol-infused warmth of the kiss sweep over you. Your lips move against his with increasing urgency, and you gently tug at his lower lip, pulling him closer.

Eris’s hand tightens around the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair as he angles his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue meets yours with a bold, almost possessive stroke, and you pull back just slightly, your breath mingling with his. Your eyes lock, the heat still palpable between you. “I like the taste of you,” you murmur, a playful glint in your eyes.

He exhales, a low, throaty sound that’s part groan, part sigh, as if you’re unraveling him with every word, every touch. It’s the kind of sound that sends a shiver through you, making you feel like you’ve got him right where you want him. His eyes darken with desire and amusement before he leans back in to capture your lips again. This time, the kiss is more intense, a dance of passion and need. His hands roam to your waist, pulling you even closer. The world outside seems to fade away as you both lose yourselves in each other.

Eris’s lips trail down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You arch into him, the sensation of his touch making you shiver. You let out a soft moan as he kisses a sensitive spot just below your ear, making your pulse race. You’re left feeling lightheaded from the drinks and the smoke, and every touch, every caress feels electrifying. His hands slide up to your back, pulling you tighter against him, if possible.

His lips return to yours, and this time, the kiss is unrestrained, filled with a raw, urgent need. You can feel the strength in his arms, the way he holds you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment slip away. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. There’s a breathless pause, the intensity of the moment hanging between you. “You said you were feeling adventurous,” he says, and you shrug. “How adventurous?” His voice is low and his words are laced with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound almost breathless from the heated kiss. “You’re not planning on taking me out back and murdering me, are you?” you joke, looking out the large windows at the sea of tree silhouettes around you.

Eris’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it, but now that you mention it…”

You nudge him playfully, your smile widening.

Eris’s expression turns serious again, though the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I promise, nothing like that. But I do have something in mind that might be a bit… beyond what you’re used to.”

You look into his eyes, feeling a mix of anticipation and excitement. “I sincerely doubt that,” you say, your voice steady. You’ve had more than your fair share of sexual escapades, indulging in all kinds of experiences in past relationships. And with Cassian, the bedroom was never without a spark—rarely did things stay simple.

Eris’s eyes brighten with satisfaction. “Good to hear.”

He stands and grabs another joint he’d rolled earlier, offering you a hand to help you up. You take it with a playful smile and follow him.

The music fades as you follow Eris down a short flight of steps. The hallway is lined with eclectic art and framed photos. One with Eris surrounded by a bunch of dogs, a grin on his face that’s more genuine than you’ve ever seen. Another with the Vipers, his arm slung casually around Azriel, all of their faces flushed with victory. You have to talk yourself out of paying too much attention to Cassian in that one. There’s even one of him with who you assume is his family, standing in front of a cabin, all smiles and warmth. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and it makes you see him in a different light—one that’s more personal, more real.

At the end of the hall, a large bookshelf stands against the wall. Eris pauses, throwing you a sly glance before reaching for one of the books. He pulls it, then pushes the bookshelf open, revealing a short set of steps leading down into a hidden space below. How cliché.

“After you,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to step inside.

You look at him with creased eyebrows, to which he only gestures his arm in again. You find a lounge, set slightly lower than the rest of the house, with five or so steps leading down into it. The room is richly decorated, with dark wood paneling, plush seating, and warm, ambient lighting that adds to the intimate, secluded atmosphere.

Eris follows you inside, closing the bookshelf door behind him. The room is completely private, a hidden sanctuary within his home. He steps closer, holding the joint he rolled earlier between his fingers. “What do you think?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of quiet pride.

You take a moment to absorb the space, your eyes drifting over the rich details—the king-size bed on the far wall, the soft glow of the lighting, the floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall, the smooth texture of the dark wood, the way the room seems to envelop you in warmth. It's intimate without being suffocating, luxurious without feeling ostentatious. You notice cabinets discreetly integrated into the walls, their contents hidden behind polished doors. A smirk tugs at your lips as you turn to face him. “I can honestly say I wouldn’t have expected this from you, Eris. A sex dungeon? Really?”

Eris arches a brow, looking mildly offended. “Dungeon? That’s what you’d call it?”

You raise an eyebrow in response, your teasing tone unwavering as you gesture around the room. “Isn’t that what it is? Hidden room, dark wood, all the ambiance… seems like a dungeon to me.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Dungeons are cold and grimey. This is a private lounge, a sanctuary, carefully curated for… specific tastes.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing softly in the room. “A curated sanctuary, huh? You really do have a way with words.”

Eris’s lips curve into a smirk as he reaches for your hand. “Words, among other things.”

He lets the words hang in the air, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. You arch an eyebrow, leaning in slightly as if challenging him. “Among other things?” you echo, your tone playful. “Care to elaborate?

He steps closer, his gaze steady and full of intent. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. “But first, I need to know how far you’re willing to go.”

Your heart skips a beat, not out of fear but from the thrill of the unknown. You’re no stranger to pushing boundaries, and something about Eris’s confident, almost predatory demeanor only heightens your anticipation.

Instead of answering directly, you take a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. “You really think this kind of thing is—What was it you said? ‘Beyond what I’m used to’, was it?” you tease, your lips curving into a smirk.

Eris’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Alright, alright,” he murmurs before he pulls you in by the small of your back for another heated kiss, and he speaks against your lips. “You have full say in how this goes, I don’t want to go any further than you’re okay with.”

You pull him off by the hair on the nape of his neck, and the muted hiss that escapes him shoots straight to your core. “Oh, well if I’ve got full say,” you say, sarcasm lacing your words. “Give me whatever you think I can take, and then some.” You give him a dazzling smile, but he can only look at you in wonder.

His hands find your waist, giving the flesh there a tight, possessive squeeze. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your ear. “C’mon, pretty girl, strip for me.” His voice is low, almost coaxing, with a soft yet commanding tone that makes your skin tingle.

Though you’re surprised at his suddenness, you don’t hesitate. As you begin to strip away your clothes, Eris steps away, moving toward a large set of deep drawers. He looks back at you as he goes, drinking in your every movement as you peel off each item of clothing. First you shed your shirt, then the shorts, followed by your socks, underwear, and even the scrunchie on your wrist. The air thickens with anticipation as you wait, rather impatiently, to see what he’s looking for.

“Y’know, most guys wouldn’t have their back turned to the beautiful, naked woman in their basement,” you muse, examining your nails as you stand perfectly tall.

“First, it’s not a basement.” He turns to you, black rope in hand, his smirk tinged with an emotion you can’t quite place. “But you’re right, baby. I’m sorry. How about I make it up to you?”

You have to suppress a shiver at his words, or maybe it’s because of the cool air on your bare skin. He takes you in like it’s his first time seeing you, like he didn’t have you practically grinding against the heel of his hand two weeks ago. You’re not sure if it’s the substances in your system or the prospect of doing whatever he can imagine to you, but he feels different today than he had then.

Eris reaches into one of the drawers and pulls out a small, sleek controller. With a quick press of a button, a rig begins to descend from the ceiling, the soft hum of the motor filling the room. He keeps his eyes on you, holding the controller loosely in one hand as the rig stops at around eye level.

His tone is almost casual as he walks back towards you with the rope, the controller goes into his pocket. “Ever use one of these before?” You can only shake your head in response as you walk around the metal hook, thinking for the first time that you may be in over your head. “Good. Go ahead and kneel there for me.”

Eris moves behind you as you kneel, working the rope through the rig and instructing you to place your hands behind your back. The rope isn’t as rough against your skin as you anticipated. His hands work with practiced ease, securing your wrists together. He steps back, watching you with a satisfied expression. Then, with deliberate slowness, he begins to raise the rig, the rope tugging your wrists upward. The position forces you to stand as it continues to rise, his eyes narrowing as you do.

Once you’re in position, bent forward with your arms forced behind you, Eris steps closer again, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. “You look so good like this,” he murmurs against your ear. His fingers skim up your arm, lingering at the nape of your neck. His touch is almost tender, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. “Is it okay if I–”

“Do whatever you want,” you interrupt, your voice steady even as your heart races. “If I don’t like it, I’ll let you know. Just do something, please…” You needed a distraction from your thoughts, and the newness of this all was sobering you up.

A slow, approving smile spreads across his lips as he nods. Without another word, he goes to a cabinet, selecting a few items with deliberate care. When he returns, the scent of him envelops you as he carefully ties a blindfold around your head, plunging you into darkness.

You hear the soft rustle of fabric and the click of something plastic. Before you can dwell on it, the world goes silent as something is placed over your ears. The shift is sudden, disorienting. The subtle hum of the room, even the sound of your own breathing, everything fades away, leaving you in an almost eerie stillness.

The rope tugs uncomfortably, but not painfully, at your wrists, the tension in your arms pulling you taut. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your chest, reminding you of the vulnerability you’re allowing yourself. Then you feel it—a gentle tap on your jaw, followed by his thumb brushing against your lower lip, pulling it down slightly. You take the hint, opening your mouth for him. The next thing you feel is cool metal pressing against your lip as he slides a ring gag into place.

“If you need to stop,” he says after raising an ear of the sound-canceling headphones, “shake your head and I’ll check on you. Nod if you understand.”

Just as you do, the pad is back over your ear.

You feel the air shift as he moves around you. Deprived of your sight and sound, your body becomes hypersensitive to every touch, every brush of fabric, every subtle shift in temperature. The tension in the air is palpable, your anticipation growing with each passing second.

A light touch trails down your spine, causing you to shiver involuntarily. The sensation is followed by the warmth of his hand as it settles on your hip, steadying you. You can barely hear your own breath, the sound muffled and distant, heightening the sense of isolation. Then, a gentle tap against your inner thigh. You instinctively spread your legs, the vulnerability of the action sending a rush of heat through your body as his touch lingers, waiting.

Then, without warning, a sharp sting lands across your ass. Your body jerks in response, the sting quickly dissolving into a low, throbbing heat. The unexpected strike pulls a soft whimper from your gagged mouth, but before you can even process it, another comes, and then another, each one precise and measured.

The blows alternate with the soft caress of his hand, the contrast between pleasure and pain pushing you deeper into the headspace he’s crafting for you. The strikes aren’t overwhelming, but each one is enough to remind you of the power he holds in this moment, the control you’ve willingly surrendered.

You lose track of time, each sharp strike followed by soothing touches, the rhythm lulling you into a dazed, almost meditative state. The gag keeps your mouth open, forcing you to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing, each inhale and exhale carrying a mix of adrenaline and endorphins. The warmth of saliva trickles from the corners of your mouth. The rhythmic stinging across your ass slowly transforms into a heated, throbbing warmth that radiates through your body. Each strike, followed by the soft caress of his hand, leaves you in a heightened state of arousal and anticipation, melding into pain and pleasure that lull you deeper into the experience.

Suddenly, the warmth of his touch disappears, and you’re left in disorienting solitude. The absence of his presence makes you acutely aware of the emptiness left behind, amplifying your anticipation. Without warning, you feel something cool against your inner thigh, followed by the unmistakable sensation of a vibrator pressed against your dripping cunt. It’s startling, and though you can’t hear it, you moan, loud and needy.

His hand is on your hip, steadying you as the vibrations increase in intensity. The buzzing becomes loud and clear as he gently pulls the headphones off, and you hear them thud as they fall somewhere. The sudden reintroduction to sound is jarring as the room’s noises flood back in—the loud hum of the vibrator, the sounds you hadn’t realized you were making, the now husky tone in his voice. Each sound is more vivid than before.

Eris’s voice breaks through this new sensory flood, warm and approving. “You’re doing so well for me, baby,” he murmurs, his tone a soothing balm. After being spanked, then paddled for God knows how long, between his calm, reassuring voice and the relentless vibrations against your cunt, you aren’t sure how long you’ll last.

His fingers replace the vibrator, brushing lightly against your clit. He teases your folds, just enough to drive you wild with need. You squirm against the rope, desperate for more contact, for release.

“You want more, don’t you?” Eris’s voice is low, almost a purr as he leans closer. His breath is warm against your ear. “Tell me what you need.”

He rubs slow circles against you, his fingers like fire against your skin. You try to articulate what you need, but the gag muffles your words into incoherent sounds. The frustration of being so close and unable to finish draws an exasperated groan from you, and he responds with a deep, dark chuckle. Eris’s touch withdraws entirely, leaving you in aching anticipation. The sudden absence of his touch is maddening, your body craving the completion he’s denying you. You can’t see him, but you can feel the warmth of his presence lingering near.

Minutes pass, or maybe just seconds—time has lost all meaning in this swirling haze of sensations. Without warning, you feel the sharp sting of a flogger grazing your inner thighs, just enough to remind you of his control. The flogger’s strikes alternate between gentle taps and more forceful hits, never quite enough to satisfy your growing desperation, but enough to keep you on edge. Each touch pulls you further into the comforting fog he’s woven, and your whimpers morph into sharp yelps of pain, each one more urgent than the last.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Does it hurt, baby?” His tone is tender, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it that promises much more pain.

You groan, the sound a mix of frustration and need, but Eris’s expression hardens. The flogger lands on your skin again, a sharp crack that reverberates through your body. He grips the hair at the nape of your neck tightly, yanking you closer until your breath mingles with his. You can feel the heat of him, the solid presence that’s both terrifying and intoxicating. His lips hover near your ear, his breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

“Do you have something to say?” he asks, his tone noticeably darker and more dangerous. There’s a tense, almost impatient edge to it, a sign that stepping out of line is not an option. “A complaint? Are you ungrateful for what I’m giving you?”

The flogger’s strikes become more deliberate, more vicious. Each one lands with a stinging, biting pain that blossoms across your skin, the sensations mingling with the ache of your muscles straining to hold the position he’s put you in. He’s toying with you, savoring your helplessness, the way your body trembles and arches under his control, the way your breath hitches in anticipation of each new strike.

“Who’s in charge?” he whispers in a slow, deep voice, every word dripping with malice. You try to answer, but the gag in your mouth turns your response into a pathetic, muffled sound. Your eyes squeeze shut in frustration, tears of helplessness welling up and quickly absorbed by the blindfold. You can’t form the words, can’t tell him what he wants to hear, and that only makes it worse.

He clicks his tongue, a sound of feigned disappointment, and tugs your hair again, forcing your head back. “Ah, couldn’t quite catch that,” he sneers, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

You whimper, the sound a pitiful mix of plea and frustration, and he chuckles, a dark, cruel sound that sends a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. He’s enjoying this — enjoying how easily you bend to his will, how every strike of the flogger makes you jerk forward with a cry. He wants to see it all, the way you crumble under his touch, the way you surrender every last shred of control and hand your worries away to him.

“I control how this goes,” he growls. “You said you’d be good for me, baby. Did you lie? Do I need to stop treating you like a good girl? Because I can do that if that’s what you want.” The flogger strikes down in the middle of your back with a crack that feels like it splits you open, and you cry out, the sound desperate. Your body lurches forward, but Eris’s hand is still in your hair, holding you in place, forcing you to stay still, to take every single lash he’s giving you.

“Look at you,” he hisses, his voice dripping with condescension. “So fucking needy. You love this, don’t you? Being my little toy, something I can break however I feel like.”

The words cut deep, the filth of them sending shockwaves through you. You hate how true they feel, how much you crave the pain, the degradation he’s giving you. The flogger strikes again, harder this time, and your knees almost buckle from the force of it. But you don’t fall. He won’t let you.

“Oh, you like when I treat you like this. You like this a lot better than before, I can tell. You’re just a fucking hole, aren’t you?” he continues. “A pretty little slut who’ll do anything to please me. Do you even have any shame left, or do you need me to fuck some sense into you?” The flogger descends again, and again, each strike punctuating his filthy words. “I’m going to break you, baby. Turn you into the perfect little slut who’ll take everything I give and then beg for more. And you’ll love it, won’t you? You’ll love being nothing but my whore, thinking about nothing except wanting my cock.”

Each word, each degrading, filthy word, sinks into your mind, pushing you further into the haze of submission. The pain of the flogger, the sting of his words, they’re all you can think about. Your world narrows to just him — his voice, his hands, the way he’s tearing you apart and building you back up, molding you into what he wants, what you need.

He pauses, the flogger still resting against your skin, the rough leather a reminder of what’s coming next. He drags it slowly down your back, letting it scrape over the welts he’s already raised. The sensation is entirely new, a subtle pleasure and pain that leaves you trembling.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmurs, his tone a bit gentler now, but still laced with that underlying cruelty. The change gives you whiplash. “I can see it. You want to be good for me, don’t you? You want to show me just how perfect you can be.”

The flogger strikes again, and you gasp, the sound a desperate cry. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He strikes again, and again, the rhythm relentless. Each lash pulls you further from the chaos of your thoughts, dragging you into a dark, twisted place where nothing exists but him. The pain and pleasure blend together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

“You’re going to remember this, baby,” he promises. “You’re going to remember how it feels to be mine, to be owned. And you’re going to beg me for it again, aren’t you? You’re going to come crawling back desperate for me to use you, to turn that pretty little mind off and break you all over again.”

He’s right. You can feel it, deep in your bones, in the way your body responds to him, in the way your mind clings to every word he says.

Eris’s eyes never leave your face, his gaze predatory as he watches you fall apart for him, unraveling under the weight of his dominance. You’re exactly where he wants you — lost in the moment, completely detached from anything and everything happening outside these walls. As the flogger comes down one last time, sending a final, searing wave of pain through your body, you know that this is exactly where you need to be tonight.

Finally, when you’re trembling, he lowers the flogger and returns to your clit, the light, teasing touch of his fingers reigniting the fire within you. “You feel that, baby?” he whispers, his tone teasing. “Feel how wet you are for me? You like when I hit you, don’t you?” He drags two fingers up your center, gathering your slickness on them before bringing them up to your open mouth. “How badly do you want to come?”

You nod, desperate to show him how much you need this, but he’s not finished with you yet. “Tongue out,” he purrs, his voice a low, silky command that sends a shiver through your already trembling body. Without a moment’s hesitation, you obey, sticking your tongue through the cold metal of the ring gag. A string of saliva spills out at the motion, glistening in the low light, and you hear a soft, satisfied exhale from him.

Eris drags his fingers down your tongue, cleans them off inside your mouth, pressing them against your tongue. “Can you taste how badly you want it?” His voice is a dark, teasing caress, each word wrapping around your mind, sinking deeper into that place where only his voice and touch matter.

You can’t respond, not even attempt to, but the question is rhetorical anyway. He doesn’t need an answer; he knows. He withdraws his fingers, leaving your mouth empty, yearning for more. The loss makes you whimper, as does the ache in your jaw — a pitiful sound that he savors as he continues, his tone a mix of mockery and care.

“You can taste how good I’m making you feel, how much you love it when I hurt you. You want to taste something better, baby?”

Before you can process what he means, you hear the familiar flick of a lighter, the soft his as the flame catches. Your heart thumps in anticipation. A moment later, the smell of weed fills the air, earthy and heady.

Eris takes a slow, deep drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before he leans in close. His lips brush against the edge of the gag as he exhales, blowing the smoke directly into your mouth. It’s so unexpected, so sudden, that you choke, your body convulsing slightly as you try to inhale and cough at the same time.

The thick, pungent smoke fills your lungs, burning them and reigniting your high. You can feel him watching you intently, relishing the way your body reacts.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively gentle. “I want to see how much you can take.”

Your chest heaves as you fight to draw in air through the second cloud of smoke he blows your way. He chuckles, and with an almost casual motion, he reaches up and unfastens the gag, pulling it away from your mouth. The relief is immediate, but it’s laced with the residue of his control, the taste of smoke lingering on your tongue.

“There we go,” he coos, running his thumb over your wet, trembling lips. “Such a good fucking girl, taking what I give you. But we’re not done yet, are we? No, you’re going to give me more, right?”

His thumb presses against your lower lip, parting your mouth slightly, and you instinctively suck on it, the action almost automatic. Your body responds to him without thought, driven purely by the need to please, to submit, to give him everything.

When he finally, finally begins to untie you, his hands are gentle but firm, his touch careful as he releases the ropes one by one. The sensation of freedom is almost overwhelming after being bound for so long. But before you can fully process it, his hands are on you — supporting you and guiding your arms back down slowly and carefully. He pulls the blindfold from your eyes, and you try to readjust to the lighting.

He’s taking another pull, holding the joint between his lips as he takes you in. But that isn’t what stops you in your tracks. At some point during your immobility, he’d rid himself of his shirt, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from taking him in. His hair is tied back into a bun, strands having fallen loose around his face, and his chest is covered in a glistening layer of sweat. Images of Eris spanking you, walking around you and assessing where to land the next blow, of the muscles in his arms flexing as he strikes. The hungry look in his eyes and the tightness of his jeans as he watches you writhe under his touch.

“How do you feel, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. “Did I get you there? That nice little headspace where it’s just you and me?”

His voice is soft, but there’s an edge of satisfaction in it as if he already knows the answer. “Did it help?” he continues, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Did I get you out of that busy little head of yours?”

You nod, still dazed by the intensity of the experience. You’d felt blissful before, sure, but this was entirely different. This was unadulterated endorphins and adrenaline. He grins, the expression both proud and wicked. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the lingering sensations.

But he doesn’t stop there. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Now, let’s see how long I can keep you floating, yeah? You’re not done yet.” Eris tosses the flogger in the general direction of the shelf it goes on, and guides you with a commanding yet gentle touch to a mat on the other side of the room, placed in front of full-length mirrors. The surface underfoot is soft and inviting, and he helps you kneel in the center, the plush cushioning molding to your knees. He moves behind you, his hands brushing along your arms until they rest on your shoulders, a comforting weight as he leans in close. He hands you the joint, inviting you to take a few hits before handing it back. The smoke in your mouth, in your lungs, it only boosts the floating feeling you have from the experience of this all.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety whisper that wraps around you like a warm embrace. “So beautiful, so ready. But I need you to understand something, sweetheart.” His hands slide down your arms until they reach your wrists, guiding them up to the back of your head. “I need you to be ready to trust me completely. How far I push you now is all about helping you relax, so you can completely lose yourself.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in, his breath warm against your ear. “This isn’t about making things difficult, not for either of us. It’s about you letting me guide you through this. I want you to be my good girl, to follow my lead and take everything I give you.”

His hands rest on your shoulders again, squeezing you lightly. “You’re going to do everything I ask, aren’t you? You’ll be obedient, you’ll let me push you, because you know I’m going to take care of you, don’t you?” His voice is soothing, like honey, and you can’t help but melt into it. “You’re going to give me all of you, every last bit, and in return, I’ll give you everything you need. Remember how you begged for this last time we were together? I want you to be that good girl for me again.”

As his words echo in your mind, you recall the last time you were with him, at Ianthe’s party. The memory is all too vivid — your desperate need, your willingness to surrender completely. You had been so open, so eager, voicing all your desires and pleas. The way you had let go of all inhibitions, the intensity of your submission, and the way your words had spilled out in a fervent, almost frenzied confession. The memory is as intoxicating now as it was then, all things considered.

His words are a gentle invitation, luring you in with a calm confidence that makes it impossible to say anything but yes. You feel hesitant as you consider the depth of your commitment. The tension in your chest tightens for a moment, but then you nod slowly, your voice soft. “Yes,” you murmur, the word barely a whisper but laden with an unspoken promise to embrace whatever he asks of you.

Eris’s fingers brush lightly over your hands, guiding you to interlace your fingers. He steps back to observe you, his eyes raking over your form, taking in every detail. The floor beneath you is hard, unforgiving, but his presence—his authority—keeps you grounded. The anticipation builds as he circles you slowly, like a predator assessing his prey.

“Knees wider," he orders, his voice still soft but with a firm undertone that brooks no disobedience. You adjust, spreading them further apart, feeling the strain as your muscles stretch. You watch him through the mirror, watch how he gives a satisfied smirk as you obey. You finally see how blissed out you look. A dewy sheen of sweat covers your body, your chest rises and falls deliciously with each breath, and your skin is red where you remember him flogging you. You couldn’t imagine what your ass and thighs looked like; red as fire, you imagined, if the lingering, stinging pain was anything to go by.

“Arch your back for me.” His hand is at the small of your back, applying gentle pressure until you curve just the way he wants. The uncomfortable position has you on edge, completely exposed, and yet there’s a strange comfort in the way he controls you, in how thoroughly he’s taking over your body and mind.

Eris takes his time, relishing the sight. “Look at you, already so perfect for me,” he purrs, his hand trailing down your spine in a slow caress that sends shivers through you. “You’re going to stay just like this, sweet girl, you hear me?”

You nod as he runs a hand over your head in a soft caress, trails that hand down your spine. Then, without warning, his touch sharpens—a sudden, firm grip on your hips, followed by the sting of his hand against your ass. The first slap is light, almost playful, but it quickly escalates. The next one lands harder, and he pauses to run his hand over the reddened skin, soothing it briefly before delivering another, even harder.

"Does it hurt, baby?" he teases, his voice a low murmur in your ear. "Or does it just make you want more?" He doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he continues, alternating between sharp spanks and gentle caresses, pushing you to embrace the pain, to find pleasure in the way he’s handling you.

"You’re so good for me," he continues, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Taking everything I give you. I bet you love it, don’t you? The way I’m making you feel?" He chuckles a bit at your lack of response. “You can speak now, sweetheart, I took the gag off for a reason.”

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath. “Hurts…” you manage to whimper, your muscles shaking. “Hurts really good. I want more.” He spanks you again. Hard.

“Is that how good girls get what they want?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed and you recover from the sting of pain.

“No, I’m sorry,” you rush out, wincing from the pain of the spank, the soreness in your legs and arms. It’s too much. “Please, will you give me more?”

He takes one last, long drag from the joint, finishing it off and throwing the roach towards a bin. He drags his fingers down your back again, only to grip your hips and pull you further back, adjusting your position until you’re even more exposed, your knees straining to hold you up. The discomfort is intense, but the way he’s pushing you has you on the brink of something deeper, something more primal.

Finally, he moves in front of you, his eyes dark with intent. He cups your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. "If you want more you’ll have to work for it, baby.” You nod eagerly and he smiles endearingly. “You’re going to show me just how badly you want me," he says, his voice a mix of tender command and raw desire. "And you’re going to do it the way I like."

He steps closer, guiding your face until your lips hover just in front of the zipper of his jeans. "Open that mouth wide for me," he coaxes, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before pressing it down. "That’s it. Nice and wide."

You obey without hesitation, the need to please him overwhelming everything else. He pulls you into him, his hand resting over your interlaced ones, rubbing your face and mouth into the denim. You feel pride at the way his cock grows stiffer without having taken him into your mouth. You can only imagine how good it must feel to get fucked by that cock, to have it slam into you from below when you ride him, to take it so deep down your throat you can’t even taste his release. A low ‘Now, look at that’ pulls you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t even have to ask you to keep going,” he says, his voice laced with arrogance. Your ears turn red with embarrassment when you realize you’ve been practically nuzzling your face against his cock, but oddly, there’s a twisted sense of contentment mingled with it.

He takes his time undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, mere centimeters from your still-open mouth. No one can make taking jeans off hot. No one except Eris, apparently. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, but not too much—just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him. His cock is hard and throbbing, a rich, warm shade of pink with a slight flush at the tip. The girth is impressive, making your mouth water with anticipation. It stands proudly, the pre-cum at the tip glistening slightly under the dim light. You lean in, ready to take him into your mouth. The heat and tension in the air are palpable, and you’re just about to close your lips around him when he gently but firmly grips your hair.

"Not yet,” he murmurs, a playful edge in his voice. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you? I haven’t given you permission yet.”

You pause, your lips hovering inches away from him. Your eyes flick up to meet his, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in your gaze. “You’re cruel, you know that?” You drop your arms, the strain of holding them there finally too much. He notices the shift, but to your relief, he doesn’t say anything, letting it slide.

Eris smirks. “Cruel? I prefer to think of it as… thorough. You wouldn’t want me to rush, would you? A little patience never hurt anyone.”

Your eyes narrow playfully. “Patience, huh? I expect a good reward afterward.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grip on your hair loosening slightly. “Is that so? And what kind of reward are you hoping for, baby?”

“Something a little more satisfying than just this,” you say with a teasing smirk, your wit finally returning after being silenced for so long. “I’m thinking you could make all this worth my while.”

Eris chuckles softly, looking down and relishing the view of his cock hovering over your face. “I will, without a doubt. But you need to be patient,” he repeats. His eyes linger on you as he shifts, rubbing his cock slowly against your cheeks and lips. The touch of his skin is warm and firm, and each movement is calculated, gliding with a teasing pressure. The pre-cum at the tip leaves a subtle, slick trail that only adds to your arousal.

You feel the ridges and veins of his cock brushing against your skin. His touch is firm but purposeful, making sure you feel every bit of his arousal. He takes pleasure in the way your lips part involuntarily, the way your breath hitches with each stroke. Eris’s breathing grows a bit heavier, his gaze intense as he watches your reactions, savoring the build-up and the control he exerts.

As he continues, he lightly traces his cock along your jawline and over your closed eyelids, creating a delicious blend of sensations. The warmth of him mingles with the coolness of the room, heightening the contrast between the two. He pauses occasionally, teasingly pressing his cock against your lips or rubbing it against your forehead, only to shift and start again.

Your need intensifies with each passing moment, the teasing just shy of maddening. You try to keep your composure, but the craving to have him in your mouth is overwhelming. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you whisper, “Please… let me.”

Eris’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with your plea. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly in your hair as he guides you closer. “Go on, baby.”

With a soft breath, you lean in, finally closing the small distance between you and him. The moment your lips wrap around the head of his cock, a soft groan escapes him, and it sends a thrill through your body.

Slowly, you take him deeper, your tongue gliding along his length, savoring the warmth and the weight of him. The slickness of his pre-cum makes it easier to slide him into your mouth, and you hollow your cheeks as you move. His fingers thread through your hair, guiding your rhythm, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely contained control he holds over himself.

You focus on the sounds he makes—the low, husky breaths, the occasional hitch in his voice when you find a particularly sensitive spot. Each reaction spurs you on, encouraging you to take him deeper, to push the limits of your own control. Eris’s voice, rougher now with desire, breaks through the haze of your focus. “That’s it, just like that,” he praises, his grip on your hair loosening slightly to let you set the pace.

His hips start to move in time with your motions, a slow, steady thrust that matches the rhythm you’ve established. You relax your throat, taking him in further, feeling the head of his cock brush against the back of your throat. The sensation is overwhelming, yet you revel in it, the sheer intimacy of this act, the way you’re entirely at his mercy, yet completely in control of the pleasure you’re giving him.

Eris’s breathing grows more ragged, the tension coiling tighter within him. He watches you, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust, his usual composure slipping just enough for you to see how much he’s holding back. The knowledge that you’re the one drawing out these reactions from him makes you bolder, urging you to take him deeper, to drive him closer to the edge.

But just as you think he’s about to let go, he pulls back slightly, halting your movements. “Not yet,” he breathes, voice strained but firm. “I’m not done with you.” His words are a promise, and though you’re aching to continue, you obey, releasing him with a mix of anticipation and frustration.

Eris's hand slides from your hair to your cheek, his touch gentle now. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a brief, almost tender kiss before he straightens up. Without a word, he helps you to your feet, his hands steady and reassuring as they guide you toward the bed.

He lowers you onto the soft sheets with care. The roughness from before has melted away, replaced by something softer, almost reverent. As you settle onto the bed, Eris kneels at the edge, his hands gliding over your thighs, spreading them slowly.

He looks up at you, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart stutter. But just as quickly as it appeared, it fades away. He’s silent as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment before he continues, trailing soft, slow kisses up your leg. Each touch is feather light, as if he’s savoring every inch of you.

When he reaches your core, he pauses, his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive spot. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, and you feel a shiver of desire run through you. But instead of diving in, Eris takes his time, pressing a soft kiss just above your clit, then another, slightly lower. His lips are gentle, tender.

Finally, his mouth closes around you, and he begins to work with a slow, deliberate pace, his tongue moving in languid strokes that send waves of pleasure through you. There’s no rush, no urgency—just a steady, sweet rhythm that makes you feel cherished in a way that takes your breath away.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting them slightly as he brings you closer to his mouth, his tongue swirling in a way that’s both gentle and utterly consuming. Each movement is tender, every touch filled with a quiet, unspoken affection. He takes his time, coaxing soft moans from your lips with each delicate flick of his tongue, each gentle suckle.

The pleasure builds slowly, like a tide rising within you, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge, not from overwhelming intensity, but from the sheer tenderness of it all. Eris’s name escapes your lips in a soft, breathy moan, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a fresh wave of sensation coursing through you.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t rush you to the peak, but lets you linger in the sweet, tender pleasure for as long as possible. It’s only when your body begins to tremble, when you’re right on the brink, that he finally picks up the pace, his tongue moving with a little more pressure, a little more focus, guiding you gently toward the release you’ve been craving.

And when you do fall, it’s into the softest, most blissful release, the kind that leaves you feeling weightless and utterly at peace. Eris stays with you through it all, his mouth never leaving you until the last tremor of pleasure has faded, and then he pulls back, pressing one final, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. When he does pull away, it’s with a soft, almost reluctant sigh. He moves up your body with the same tender care, his hands trailing lightly over your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. When his eyes meet yours, there’s a softness there.

Eris doesn’t rush. He leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours in a way that’s more about comfort than urgency, more about reassurance than demand. His mouth moves slowly, languidly, tasting you as if he has all the time in the world.

Your hands find their way to his back, sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body arches instinctively toward his. There’s a quiet, almost reverent intensity in the way he touches you, his hands moving to cradle your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours.

He shifts slightly, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist as he settles between your thighs. You can feel the hard, insistent press of him against you, the heat of his skin melding with yours, and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft.

You nod, breathless, your eyes meeting his with a trust that’s unspoken but absolute.

Eris presses a soft kiss to your forehead before lining himself up with your entrance, and with one slow, deliberate thrust, he fills you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and comfort, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he begins to move.

He sets a gentle pace, his hips rolling in slow, deep strokes that leave you gasping. There’s no rush, no frantic rhythm — just a steady, measured movement that builds a different kind of tension. Eris’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks as he watches you, his gaze never leaving yours. Each thrust is accompanied by a whispered word of encouragement, a soft murmur of praise that only heightens the intimacy between you.

Your bodies move together in perfect harmony, each roll of his hips sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the softness of the sheets beneath you, the warmth of his body above you, and the gentle rhythm of your bodies coming together.

Eris leans down, his forehead pressing gently against yours, his breath warm and ragged as he moves inside you. “You feel so good,” he whispers, his voice husky, laced with a deep sense of awe. “So perfect.” His words send a shiver down your spine, the intensity of the moment wrapping around you both.

He shifts his angle slightly, his hips pressing deeper, and you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The new angle has him hitting just the right spot, each thrust making your toes curl with pleasure. “Eris…” you moan, the sound of his name on your lips seeming to spur him on.

“Right there?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand trails down to grip your hip, holding you in place as he drives into you with slow, deliberate thrusts. “I want to hear you, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s so good,” you gasp, your voice trembling with the intensity of it all. “You’re perfect, Eris, just like that.”

His pace increases slightly, still measured but with a growing urgency that matches the heat building between you. Each thrust is powerful, and precise, and sends waves of pleasure rippling through your entire body. You can feel the sweat starting to slick your skin, your breaths coming out in short, desperate gasps as he brings you closer to the edge with every movement.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, his voice gentle yet firm, and when you do, you find his gaze locked on yours, his amber eyes dark with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart stutter. “I want to see you when you come,” he adds, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek as his other hand slides between your bodies to find your clit.

The moment his fingers touch you, you’re lost. He circles your clit with slow, deliberate strokes that match the rhythm of his thrusts, his gaze never leaving yours, his lips curling into a knowing smile as he watches your reaction.

“Please…” The word slips from your lips before you can stop it, desperate for more, for everything he’s willing to give. Your hips lift to meet his thrusts, your body arching into his touch as the pressure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel like you’re about to snap.

“Please, what?” Eris’s voice is teasing, but there’s an edge of intensity there, a deep desire to hear you say it, to have you begging for him. “Tell me what you want, baby. I’ll give you anything.”

“Please, I want to come,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “I need it, Eris, please.”

His eyes darken with satisfaction, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, teasing kiss as he picks up the pace, his fingers moving faster against your clit. “Then come for me,” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

That’s all it takes. The combination of his words, his touch, and the deep, steady thrusts of his cock send you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body clenches around him, your back arching off the bed as you cry out his name, the pleasure so intense it’s almost too much to bear.

Eris doesn’t let up, driving you through the waves of your orgasm with steady, unrelenting thrusts, his fingers never leaving your clit until you’re trembling beneath him, completely spent. He watches you the entire time, his gaze heated and possessive, a soft groan escaping his lips as he feels you come undone around him.

As your orgasm begins to subside, he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, his hips still moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. “So fucking perfect.”

You’re barely able to respond, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you manage to whisper his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continues to move inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more urgent.

Eris doesn’t hesitate, sensing the way your body melts beneath him, still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. With a smooth, practiced motion, he flips the two of you over, his hands guiding you to straddle his waist. Your limbs feel like jelly, weak and trembling, but he shushes you softly, his hands firm on your hips.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm as he brushes your hair away from your face. “Just lay on me. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

He pulls you down gently, your chest pressed against his as your head rests on his shoulder. His hands slide up and down your back, grounding you, before they settle on your hips again, holding you steady. You barely have time to catch your breath before he starts moving, his hips thrusting upward with powerful, controlled strokes.

The sensation is overwhelming as he fills you completely, the force of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. You can feel every inch of him, the heat of his skin against yours, the strength of his body beneath you, and the way his cock drives up into you with unrelenting intensity.

“Eris…” you moan, your voice muffled against his neck as your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he takes control.

“Shh, just feel me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements as he continues to thrust up into you, each stroke hitting deeper, harder. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your body responds instinctively, your hips moving in time with his as he drives into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and his low groans, the intensity of it all threatening to unravel you once again.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his pace relentless as he chases your pleasure. His hands roam your body, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, pressing your face against his neck, while the other grips your waist, pulling you down onto him with every thrust.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough with need. “So tight, so perfect. You’re gonna make me come, baby. Just like that.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body clenching around him as you feel yourself spiraling toward another climax. The intensity of his thrusts, the way he holds you so close, the deep, reverent way he whispers your name — it’s all too much.

“Eris, I’m…” you start, but the words dissolve into a moan as he slams up into you with a particularly hard thrust, your vision going white as another orgasm crashes over you, more intense than the last.

“Oh, you giving me another one, sweetheart?” he growls as he feels you tighten around him. “Let me feel you.”

Your body convulses in his arms as you shatter, the pleasure ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. Eris’s grip on you tightens, his own release just seconds behind yours as he thrusts up into you one last time, pulling out as he comes with a low, guttural groan, his cum spilling over your ass in hot, erratic bursts.

He holds you there, both of you trembling, your bodies entwined as you come down from the high together. His hands are gentle now, soothing as they trace patterns on your skin, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

After the intensity of your release subsides, Eris’s touch becomes gentle and soothing. He cradles you in his arms, his fingers brushing tenderly over your back and sides as he presses soft kisses to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and filled with concern. “You did so well, you know that?”

You nod, your body still shivering slightly from the aftershocks, but a soft smile plays on your lips. “I’m okay,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

Eris gives you a reassuring smile, his hands moving soothingly up and down your back. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone tender. “I’m here. Just relax, let me take care of you.”

He carefully disentangles himself from you, his movements slow to avoid startling you. As he rises from the bed, he gently helps you shift so that you’re on your stomach, your hips slightly elevated. “Just a second,” he says softly.

Eris heads to a nearby cupboard, opening it to reveal a small, built-in towel warmer. He retrieves a warm, damp towel from inside, the comforting heat emanating from it as he brings it back to you.

He returns to the bed and carefully unfolds the towel, its warmth a welcome sensation. “I’m going to clean you up now, okay?” he asks gently but doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins to dab at your skin. The warmth of the towel is soothing, easing any lingering tension.

His hands are gentle as he tends to you. “You’re doing great,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “Just wanted to make sure you’re all clean and comfortable.”

Once he’s finished, he places the damp towel aside and returns to your side, pulling the comforter over you both. He settles next to you, pulling you close and pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. You snuggle into his embrace, feeling the warmth and safety of his presence. His arms are steady and reassuring around you, and his murmurs of affection make you feel cherished and adored.

You finally find your voice, looking up at him with a tired but content smile. “That was incredible. I didn’t expect to feel so…” So good? So much? So intimate?

Eris grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

You snuggle closer, your head resting against his chest. “I feel like I’m floating. In a good way.” You mentally kick yourself — of course, it was in a good way. Who says floating in a bad way?

Eris wraps his arms around you a little tighter. “You deserve to feel this good. Just know I’m always here for you, not just for things like this, for whatever. Whatever you need, (y/n).”

You sink deeper into Eris’s embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. The comforting weight of his arms and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of serene contentment. The intensity of the earlier moments fades into a gentle afterglow.

As you relax, your thoughts begin to wander, drifting back to the complexities of your life outside this moment. Cassian's name surfaces in your mind, but it's quickly followed by the image of him with Elain. The idea of them together interrupts your peace. It should sting, but somehow, it doesn’t.

Instead, the memory of Cassian and Elain feels distant, almost abstract, overshadowed. You'll deal with it another time.

You shift slightly, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. The world outside, with its complications and unresolved emotions, feels like it’s receding. In this moment, the only thing that matters is the warmth between you, the sense of being cared for, and the gentle hum of satisfaction that lingers from your shared intimacy.

Eris’s soft breathing and the comforting pressure of his touch anchor you, and you let yourself drift in the quiet aftermath, content that you’ve found a moment of peace and connection that you can hold onto.

[trexiejan]

I have a theory that Tom Taylor copied/took a lot of inspirations from Dickkory.

I may or may not be wrong but I just can't help but notice the timing and the similarities. A lot of things in dickbabs relationship are not very original at all. Most of the time they just steal concept from other couples.

Now going back to Tom, I suspect he was in a lot of social media apps (twitter, reddit, instagram etc) and secretly lurked in nightwing fandom groups and have read their posts and conversations etc. including about dickkory.

1. The concept of visiting his parents' grave

This panel of Kory and Dick showing up in his parents graveyard was shared in the Nightwing subreddit 1 month ago. How come 1 month later Tom wrote a similar thing for Dick and Babs?

Also notice Dick told Kory "You shouldn't be here" but Tom wrote Dick telling Babs "Thanks for coming here" it seems to me Tom really saw the kory comic and wanted to make the dialougue different for dickbabs to make them look better.

2. The concept of wearing each other's superhero costumes.

This fanart of dick and kory exchanging costumes was created by Laurarts on March 4, 2024, it went viral on twitter and it was also shared on the nightwing subreddit.

How come 1 month later Tom Taylor wrote that Dick and Babs wear each other's costumes too in Nightwing #113 that was published in April 17, 2024. 💀.

3. The concept of being freaky

Now my suspicions of Tom stalking and copying Dickkory content was solidified when he literally posted this gif of Dickkory from the DCAMU, notice how Dick and Babs started acting horny and freaky in his run after he tweeted this and Babs started teasing Dick and making sexual jokes to him like Kory does to Dick in the dcamu. 💀💀💀

4. The concept of A crowd of heroes watching them.

I remember a year ago I posted this screenshot of an article discussing the original plan for dickkory in reply to a thread where Tom Taylor got tagged by the person i was talking to. The person was a dickbabs shipper who insisted NTT dickkory was bound to fail, I told OP it's not true, i showed her this screenshot of the article that discussed the original wedding plan for dick and kory and where it also says a crowd of heroes would watch Dick and Kory. How come a few months later Tom Taylor wrote this dickbabs wedding scene in his run and made a crowd of heroes watch dickbabs too??? 💀

5. Wally being a shipper

This panel of Wally in Teen Titans Academy #9 being a Dickkory shipper was published in December 14, 2021, how come a few months later, Tom Taylor wrote Wally being a dickbabs shipper in Nightwing #91 (April 19, 2022). Wally felt ooc because he never once talked about dickbabs before tom wrote him in his book💀

6. The concept of a woman teaching Dick to be more than just a hero

Seriously, Kory already taught him this 😭 She was literally the reason why he didn't become a Batman 2.0, He already learned the whole "you can be more than just a hero and be in a happy relationship" lesson from Kory.

But Tom Taylor just had to bring him back to square 1 so he can make Barbara say this to him too, making her act like Kory 💀 it's funny cuz Barbara never acted like this before, don't forget she was the one who keep rejecting him and making him feel bad for trying to be happy before 💀💀💀

So yeah sorry if i'm being annoying about this, I might be wrong but even if i'm wrong it still doesn't make dickbabs original since dickkory writers and fanartist did these concepts first.

and tom taylor is known to be an obsessed dickbabs shipper who tried to have beef with dickkory shippers on twitter so copying dickkory content as a form of secret revenge sounds like something he would do 😬

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Patchwork

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky used to be so in love and so… ignorant of the roles you had to play, which lead to you breaking up. But that didn’t seem to keep you away from each other since you now act as Bucky’s nurse whenever he gets hurt. Based off my mini fic here.

Stitched Together | Pull the Thread | In Stitches | Frayed Edges | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

It had been weeks since that night where you dad almost caught Bucky at your place. Since then, Bucky deterred his people (and himself) from going to you if they needed medical aid. Not only were your dad's people still casing around your neighborhood, but that night really solidified that things definitely weren't meant to be for you and Bucky.

You were living a content and normal life and he was ruining it for you...again. He didn't want to bring you into his shit, but dammit did he miss you. His heart being pulled in your direction whenever you were near.

He pulled away from you before. He could do it again no problem and you can go back to living your life again. You wouldn't have to sneak around behind your dad's back and he wouldn't have to worry about anyone using you against him.

It'll be fine.

Sacrifices needed to be made if he wanted to continue living this life.

________________________

You're pissed off. Bucky has left you on read for weeks. After your dad left that night, you checked on Bucky. Only he wasn't in your room anymore. He snuck out the window only leaving you a note and wad of cash.

You texted him asking if he got home safe and all he did was give you a thumbs up. When you asked if he could come by so you can check on his stitches, he just read the text and didn't respond.

The first few days you were worried that he might've died. But then you randomly ran into Sam at a restaurant and asked if Bucky was okay.

"He's fine. That's all I can say."

"Seriously? That's all you can say?"

He shrugged at you, "Sorry, Y/N, but I have some business to attend to," he gestured to the man across from him, who stared at you with pleading eyes.

"Right. Sorry," you apologized and went back to your table to continue your meal.

You texted Bucky: So did you tell your people they can't talk to me now?

Read

You grumbled and tossed your phone back into your bag, stuffing your face with food to feel better.

Now several weeks have gone by and you've just been pissed to no end. You do your best to not let what happened with Bucky affect your job, but your fellow nurses can see something is wrong.

They did their best to try to get any info out but all you said was that you were essentially ghosted by a friend. That's as much as you could tell them because there was no way you were going to tell that your ex-boyfriend now mob boss of Brooklyn came back into your life and you were providing medical aid to him and his group on the down-low and then he suddenly disappeared on you, only leaving you on Read and it's pissing you off.

Pretty sure if you told them that, word would reach your dad and you were not going to deal with that.

So you just went with being ghosted by a friend and left it at that.

If only you knew Bucky wasn't doing any better.

To everyone in his organization, they could see how on edge he was.

Every time he looked at his phone, there was a gleam of hope in his eyes and then his gaze hardened. His jaw would clench and he would pocket his phone immediately.

They were all confused on why they suddenly weren't allowed to go to you for medical aid. All Bucky had told them was that they "just can't anymore and that's final."

Sam was the most confused. Usually, being Bucky's right hand, he knows everything behind Bucky's reasoning for things. But for this, Bucky didn't tell him anything. Jack shit.

He wanted to help Bucky whatever was going on and not just because Bucky was Sam's boss but also because they're friends. But all Sam got when he asked what down between you and Bucky was "shit happened is all" not giving any hint of what said "shit" was.

All Sam could tell was that there was a dullness in Bucky that he'd never seen before.

_________________

America and Cassie suggested the three of you go out. It was a Friday night and you weren't working the next morning. So you three dressed your best and went to a club that just opened.

It took about forty-five minutes to finally enter the club but it definitely wasn't a disappointment. There were three levels, each filled with people sitting and drinking, the dance floor crowded as music was booming all around.

America led you to the bar, a round of shots to start the night. You clinked the shot glasses with a exclamation of "Cheers!" before downing the clear liquid.

You were then lead to the edge of the dancefloor, the three of you moving your bodies to the music. You felt yourself loosening up as the alcohol made its way through your system and you got into the rhythm of the music.

The night continued on like that. More shots, more dancing, the occasional potty break that took an hour long each time because the line for the women's bathroom was always long. You didn't even know how many shots you'd taken, but you were definitely feeling a little loosey goosey now.

The three of you eventually found yourselves on the third floor of the club. It was restricted to VIPs but America started chatting with a very gorgeous woman and she ended up inviting all three of you to her table she was sharing with some friends. When you reached said table, your eyes widen when you see one of her friends happens to be Bucky, with a beautiful woman sitting on his lap.

In your inebriated state, you went off on him.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN , HUH?! AND WHY THE FUCK HAVEN'T YOU BEEN ANSWERING MY TEXTS?! I WAS WORRIED AS SHIT AND HERE YOU ARE COZYING IT UP AT A NIGHTCLUB?!"

The entire group look between you and Bucky. America asks, "You know him?!"

Bucky shoots up from his seat, apologizing to the woman who was previously on his lap, "Sweetheart, not here."

"OH FUCK YOU! YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO ESPECIALLY AFTER ALL THE TIMES I-MFF" Bucky cups his hand over your mouth and gives you a stern look.

"You're making a scene!" He then yelps when you bite him, "The fuck, Y/N!"

"YOU DESERVE MORE THAN THAT YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

The beautiful woman who was on his lap asks, "Are you guys together or something?"

"No!" you both respond in unison.

You glare at Bucky and he sighs, "Fine. Let's talk. We'll go to my office."

"Your off-you own this club?!"

Bucky smirks, "Co-own with my friend, Steve. Now come on before you make a bigger scene." He grabs your hand and you slap at his hand.

"Don't touch me! I can follow you just fine!" You turn back to America and Cassie, "I'll be back."

"You want us to come with you?" Cassie asks.

You shake your head, "It's fine. I'm safe with him...I hope," and you continue to follow Bucky before they ask anymore questions.

____________________

In Bucky's office, you sit on a plush couch, frowning, arms crossed over your chest.

Bucky closes the door and gets a proper look at you, making it very clear he's checking you out. Which pisses you off even more.

"Stop looking and get to explaining, Barnes! I thought something bad happened to you and then I see Sam and all he says to me is that you're fine. Literally, what the fuck, Bucky. If I did something wrong, then at least tell me and not leave me on fucking Read!"

He sighs and runs a hand over his face, "You didn't do anything wrong, sweetheart."

You shoulders sag and you look at him sadly, "Then why won't you talk to me?"

Fuck. Bucky's resolve is weakening as you look at him with sad eyes but you also look so gorgeous at the same time.

"It's-I-" he groans, "Fuck, sweetheart, I shouldn't have come back into your life."

"Why?"

"Because it's not gonna go how I want it to. We can't be in each other's lives again. It's not meant to be. I'm a criminal and you're the daughter of the chief of police! Everything I've worked hard for, your dad wants to take down. Not to mention, I'm putting your life in danger just from you knowing me."

"I'm a grown ass woman, Bucky, I can do whatever I want!"

"Would you tell your dad that we're friends again?" He asks with a serious expression on his face.

You gulp, staring at him as you think of what to say. He nods, "Exactly. That night when you helped me and your dad came over, it hit me that it'd always be like that. Sneaking behind your dad's back, not wanting to upset him and me not wanting you to get hurt because of the life I lead. We're doomed, sweetheart. You gotta accept that."

"I don't want to," you murmur sadly, "I like having you in my life again."

"Me too, sweetheart, but these are the cards we're dealt with," he helps you stand to your feet, "Want me to help you find your friends?"

You shake your head sadly, "No."

"Okay. Stay safe out there, sweetheart."

You lean in and peck Bucky on the cheek, "You too, Buck," and you see yourself out of his office, allowing tears to run down your cheeks when you close the door behind you.

[faeiseavv]

Day One — k. nanami

unspoken feelings linger between you and Nanami Kento. your bestfriend and your constant. when you remember the time capsule both of you buried years ago, you cling to the possibility that it would help you bind the threads that had already been sewn.

childhoodbestfriend!Nanami x reader. friends to lovers au. fluff. crack. highschool / teen nanami.

Nanami Kento should have noticed that you were up to something when you called— begging him to come visit the old playground around your neighbourhood to hang out with you.

That same playground from your childhood days. The one that witnessed both of you grow up as it slowly faded and chipped away. Withered by time as kids no longer went out to play.

But he didn't. And it shows.

It was late in the afternoon. You sat waiting underneath the swing—the seats too small and the chains already worn with rust. The sun was perched behind a massive cloud. God, how thankful you were for the absence of heat. Leaves swayed sofly, the gentle breeze lulling you to sleep. Almost.

Now here he comes. The blonde boy you had known for nearly your whole life. His hair was neatly brushed to the side, a few strands framing the corner of his face.

He approached silently in a distance. His head hung low, too absorbed with whatever he was watching on his phone. It was cute honestly. Oh, and he bought snacks too.

Thoughtful.

Like he always did and had always been.

“Keep walking like that and you'll end up kissing the ground.” you warned, his attention shifting towards you.

Nanami couldn't believe his eyes. He didn't know if his brain had left him—feeling his mind shutdown at the sight ahead.

There you sat. A tin box cradled in your arms and a shovel right beside you, the cold metal scraping the edge of your shoe, plastering the biggest grin he had ever seen.

“Remember this Kento?” you asked. Your signature sing-song voice laced with excitement.

Surprised? Confused? Nanami wasn't sure of what he felt. Maybe it was both. But he sure as heck remembered what that box was. He didn't mirror your excitement though. In fact, the longer he stared at the box, the more his insides churned nervously.

It was the time capsule you guys made many summers ago. The once vivid cookie box that both of you shared looked like a piece of scrap that archaeologists would proudly dig up.

“So....” you stared at the blonde, inviting him to come sit next to you. He sighed, plopping down on the grass, looking at you rather seriously. “How on earth did you get your hands on this?”

He didn't have to ask. It was obvious from the shovel itself and from your current state. Patches of dirt stained the hem of your skirt, your hair glistening with sweat from all the digging. By now, he had already noticed the fresh hole next to oak tree nearby. Your old treasure trove.

“I dug it up myself. I figured we should at least take one last look at our very own time capsule before we went to college.” you shrugged, giving the box a little shake.

Nanami couldn't help but smile. Until now, you were still the sweet girl who would uphold every promise no matter what. The girl that he rather grew fond of after years of being inseparable together.

The next few minutes were spent rummaging through the contents of the box. It was a miracle that everything was still intact. There were a bunch of items inside. The first of your finds being pokemon cards, charms, candy wrappers,  and photos of younger Nanami and you.

And finally the letters.

The little white envelopes containing your wishes and expectations for your future.

Nanami knew what he wrote inside. Of course he does, or else he wouldn't be such a nervous wreck as you urged him to open his, claiming that it should be fair to see his before he reads yours.

His fingers gently unfolded the smaller parchment containing his wish. His heart's desire. His dreams. Then he paused, looking at you, lips parted as he begins to speak.

“I haven't changed that much Y/N. I may look different now but I'm still that kid who would get excited over bread.” you furrowed your brow, confused at his sudden confession. “And that goes the same for my feelings too.”

He reached for your hand, handing you the letter. His quiet nod a signal for you to open it.

The text was messy and bold. The multicolored crayon marks evident in his little wiggly strokes. “I want to mary Y/N when I grow up” was what he wrote.

Heat rushed across the apples of your cheeks, painting it a visible red. Suddenly the whole world around you felt so small. You could feel Nanami's gaze on you. It was suffocating.

“Ken, you like me?” You turned, eyes meeting his. You wore a shocked expression, mouth agape, a look that Nanami sincerely thought was adorable.

“I do.”

Then you smiled. Cheerful. Warm. Contagious. Like a beam of sunlight enough to send him over the moon.

“If you read my letter first, you'd know that I like you too.”

[officialstrawhat]

The Waterfall

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Fem!Reader

Summary:

As You and Ace explore a new Island you come across a waterfall...

Note: So this is my first time writing smut. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY! Not Edited!

“Hey, wait up!” Ace called out behind you as he navigated the rocky terrain, trying to keep up.

“Ace, can you believe it?” you said, breathless as you reached the peak. The sight before you stole your words—a majestic waterfall cascading into a crystal-clear lake, bathed in sunlight and filtered through the mist, forming a delicate rainbow.

Ace caught up, his gaze following yours to the breathtaking scene. “So beautiful,” you whispered, transfixed on the rushing water.

“Yeah,” he murmured, but his eyes remained on you, admiration softening his features.

With a playful grin, you shimmied out of your faded shorts, revealing your favorite bikini bottoms that perfectly matched the top you wore. The misty spray from the waterfall touched your skin, sending a shiver through you. Ace’s eyes widened, and his knees buckled a bit. It must have been the mist of the seawater. Yes, that's it.

“Seriously?” he teased, smirking.

“I’m not wasting this opportunity!” You laugh. Taking a step back you launch yourself off the rocks, diving into the water below in a graceful arc.

“Are you crazy?!” he shouted, worry threading through his voice as you disappeared beneath the surface. Relief only came when he saw you pop back up, grinning and waving. He worked his way down to the water’s edge, landing where the grass met the rocky bank.

“You could have hit the rocks! Then who would have saved you?” he asked, his voice softening as you swam up to the bank where he now knelt. "You okay?"

In response, you squirted water from your mouth onto his face before giving him a mischievous grin. He blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter with you, the sound echoing through the clearing.

You lay back in the water, floating leisurely with your arms stretched out, eyes closed, looking utterly content. Ace caught himself smiling, captivated by the ease and happiness you radiated, and for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to join you. But you both knew if he were to dive it he would drown. It was the price he paid for eating a Devil Fruit.

As if you read his thoughts you swam up to him, splashing lightly near his feet. “I wish you could join me,” you said with a playful pout.

He chuckled and winked, “I’ll be here to warm you up when you get out.” Did he just say that? Was Portgas D. Ace Flirting with you?

“Oh, rea—” before you could finish, something tugged at you from beneath the surface. Your whole body was abruptly pulled under, leaving only a trail of bubbles where you had been.

“Y/N!” Ace’s heart lurched as he saw you disappear. You didn’t resurface.

Panic shot through him, and without a second thought, he dove into the water, sinking immediately. Still, his eyes searched for you through the murky depths, straining to see in the greenish gloom.

From the dim light of the sun shining through the murky water, he spotted you a few feet below. You struggled against a baby sea creature that had wrapped its tentacles around your legs. Your eyes were wide with fear, as you kicked wildly against it. 

Ace attempted to swim to you, his lungs burning when he watched you reach for the creature, grabbing one of its slimy tentacles and yanking with all of your strength. You stabbed at its eyes with your nails and the beast let out a gurgling shriek, loosening its hold on you just enough for you to kick free.

Your eyes met his. Immediately you kicked over to him, grabbed hold of his arm and propelled yourselves up, breaking through the water’s surface and gasping for air.

“You okay?” Ace coughed, breathing heavily as you pulled him closer to the bank.

You dragged him to the shore. “I should ask you that!” you said breathlessly. “Why would you dive in? You could’ve—”

“I couldn’t just watch.” he cut in, voice hoarse, as you struggled to pull his massive frame out of the water and onto the grassy ground.

You lay beside each other, drenched and exhausted. Raw adrenaline ebbed into laughter. It felt intimate.  Before you could second-guess it, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. He stilled, then responded, deepening the kiss, uncertainty giving way to need. When he pulled back, his gaze searched yours for hesitation. Finding none, he kissed you again, fiercer, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Y/N” he breathed out, rolling on top of you. He looked at your exposed stomach. “Fuck you're so sexy…” he placed his tongue near your navel running it up the length of your stomach up the valley of the mounds sitting on your chest.

His warm fingertips brush against where his tongue just was and he looks mesmerized. You slowly reach for the straps of your top and pull them down, fabric following. Ace's breath hitches as he stares at the sight of your hardened nipples. 

“I always knew they would look better than I imagined,” he said moving his fingers to the underside of your tits, grabbing hold of them firmly. Making your center tingle in arousal. 

His mouth hovers over your right nipple, taking it in between his teeth. He suckles on you enjoying the breathy sounds you let out. He lets your nipple go with a pop smiling mischievously as his fingers move to your bottoms, pulling them down and off your legs to reveal your sensitive core. Gently he penetrates you with his long fingers, “Oh baby you are soaked.” 

“Yes,” You moan at the friction, “Don't stop…” 

Ace smirks, “Don't stop what? This?” he picks up the pace, adding another finger.

“Please…”

“What about this?” He bends his head down closing the gap between him and your core. 

“Ace…” You moaned. “Fuck!”

With his tongue licking at your clit sucking and teasing it was all too much. That's when you feel the most amazing sensation of your life. Tingles spread through your body as your womanhood clenched and spasmed around his fingers. 

“Looks like I found another waterfall.” He laughed as you gushed around his digits. It was only when you stilled that Ace pulled his fingers out, you watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth tasting you. Your cunt ached again just from watching him sitting in the grass licking the remnants of your cum.

You smile and manage to sit up and crawl to him seductively his eyes glued to the way your tits bounce at your movement.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” you say, though you don't wait for instructions or permission; you're already unbuckling his belt.

“Well there is one thing…” he trailed off as he watched you reveal his erection. 

You place your hands on his bulky shoulders, “And what would that be?” you ask moving onto him, your pussy hovering over his dick. 

He took a moment to stare lovingly into your eyes. His expression seemed quite serious in juxtaposition to your sex-craved one. “Just don’t go diving off cliffs without me, okay?” 

His request stirs you, making you place a hand lovingly on his cheek. You lean in close brushing your nose against his.

Your smile turns sly, and your mouth moves to his ear, “No promises,” you tell him before nipping his lobe.

“You fucking tease.” and with that, he grabbed your waist helping you sink on the length of his dick. You bounce on him as he kisses the soft skin of your neck. 

“You feel so fucking good.” You hear him murmur between kisses.

You already feel the pressure building again. you let your head tilt back, “Faster. Please- Ace!” 

“Tell me,” he growls, “Tell me you won't, and I will.”

“I won't! Not without you! I need you!” you comply and soon you feel his dick hitting your g-spot at lightning speed, “I never want to be without you!”

“Fuck! I'm going to-” he grunts and you kiss him as he spills into you just in time for you to clench rhythmically around him.

He pulls out of you and you roll off him into the grass. Once again you are both on your backs and out of breath. 

“That was-” he rasps.

You smile understanding the sentiment, “Yeah.” 

“Do you think we could do that again sometime?” he places his hand on yours 

You interlace your fingers with his, “Definitely.”

You two lay there for a while smiling like lovestruck fools before having to go back to the ship.

[trianglesimpfordpines]

the thing is. i'm not really interested in arguing over whether or not "billford is canon," because we know the story of bill & ford and interpreting it as romantic or not romantic doesn't change much at this point. whatever they had, whether or not you personally view it as romantic, was very intense, had a profound effect on both of them, and was horribly abusive on bill's part.

deep friendships can be abusive and cause lifelong trauma, just as much as romantic relationships. so i'm not gonna be out here being like "um, billford is canon, cry about it" because it's not my business how any given individual fan goes about interpreting the semantics of their relationship.

that said, though, it's become very clear that romantic feelings between bill and ford are a valid and canonically plausible interpretation. no, that's not the same as "100% explicitly canon," and no, it doesn't mean you have to ship it. but it does mean that continuing to behave as though people who do interpret it as romantic are doing something morally and/or intellectually wrong by having this interpretaion is unreasonable.

since bill was abusive to ford either way, why is it that interpreting ford's feelings for him pre-betrayal as having been romantic in nature is viewed by some people as being Uniquely Problematic? like being interested in the dynamic of their still extremely toxic friendship is normal, but the second you read anything besides friendship into it suddenly you're crossing some sort of line into Trivializing Abuse?

because...like. romantic relationships get ugly in real life. frequently, in fact. it's a very well-known, extensively-documented phenomenon. and, while "the use of romance-coded language to describe bill and ford's relationship in tbob is just a joke" is also a valid and plausible interpretation, why is that Less Uncomfortable than the idea that ford could have been in love with bill? if the goal is to avoid acknowledging the unfortunate idea that a person can hold positive and affectionate feelings for their abuser, then shouldn't viewing them as ex-close-friends be just as bad as viewing them as ex-lovers? after all, platonic or queerplatonic feelings are not "a step down" from romantic feelings. friendship isn't a "lower" tier of love, just a different type.

and most of all, why is agreeing with the romantic interpretation still treated as if it means you can't possibly be taking the story (or ford's abuse) seriously? because this is a common thread i see in a lot of fandoms, not just gravity falls. the idea that applying a romantic or formerly-romantic lens to the relationship between two characters, especially two male characters, can ONLY be done out of a "zomg hawt yaoi 😍" mentality. again, i am not saying you have to ship them or view this interpretation as "canon," but i kinda wish people would spend a bit of time thinking of why, whenever somebody else does ship it, their immediate conclusion is that that somebody else must be a "brainrotted fujoshi" who can't possibly understand how serious abuse is.

like, why is it that so many people think "shipping" is some kind of uniquely frivolous thing that is fundamentally incompatible with (a) actually understanding the story, (b) engaging with any serious and/or uncomfortable themes in a mature or respectful manner, and (c) knowing when a ship is not realistically healthy?

why is it that saying "ford held very deep feelings of platonic affection and admiration for bill, and viewed him as his closest or only friend" all fine and dandy, even though this interpretation does not change the fact that ford once felt very positively about his abuser, but saying "ford was in love with bill" nosedives straight into Gross Icky Weird Freak behavior?

finally, a lot of billford shippers are people who've had personal experiences with abuse. as are a lot of people who are triggered by billford content and don't want to see it. this isn't because the shippers are problematic abuse-fetishizing fujoshis, nor is it because the non-shippers are coping and seething and refusing to acknowledge canon. it is, in fact, because different people, even different people with similar experiences and similar traumas, are going to have different reactions to seeing things that hit close to home in a fictional story. neither party is necessarily "wrong," nor are they necessarily invalidating the other.

and again. just to be absolutely clear. i view all three interpretations (romantic billford, qpr billford, & platonic billford) as valid. the one i personally go with is that ford was in love with bill romantically, but i do not think this is the One True Canon Interpretation. this post is not arguing about the canonicity of billford as a ship.

[in-a-bucket]

now that i'm finally home from my track meet and i actually have some free time i want ramble about some of my thoughts on [Call to the Void] that I have been rotating around in my head for the past few days

I was not expecting to get an episode like this in Pink. I figured maybe we would get hints of people figuring stuff out in Blue and then some more clear things in White but wow Ken has already figured it out. I'm so curious as to how he discovered that WE are watching though. I get finding the bugs and realizing that whoever is running this whole thing is listening in but I wonder what tipped him off to us, the fans listening in. Did he find something in the archive room? or the library or somewhere else? Did he just have some insane revelation while he was high lmao????????? It's just so interesting cause all the heads do not know we are watching, only Monomoko does. And from what I've read in the staff threads, Moko does NOT want the other doctors to find out about us. I assume the glitch at the end of the video was Moko cutting the audio so the doctors don't listen to it (also I think it's pretty likely that's all that happened, I think Ken's fine, he wasn't breaking any rules or anything so I don't think Moko teleported him away or anything). I wonder what Ken will do with this info. Will he keep it to himself or will he tell the rest of the students. It isn't info that's going to help them escape or anything so I could see him keeping it to himself. Is Moko going to have a word with him? Do something similar to what she did with Wada in [Lily]? I'm just so curious as to if this is going to have any affect on the rest of pink (or even the rest of tetro as a whole) or if it's just a one time thing to keep the audience thinking.

Now as for the actual content of the episode. It honestly just made me so unbelievably sad the way he was speaking. Like he wasn't screaming or crying, he didn't even sound all that angry. It started off with him asking why we are here and like I said he didn't sound super angry or upset, he just wants to know. And then he starts to quietly plead with us, asking for a sign that we hear him. Even though he is repulsed by us watching and doesn't understand what we get out of this, he is still pleading for our help, to give a sign that we are there and just ughhhhhhh it hurts man. We are here because none of this is real, but hearing Ken basically beg for us to help just makes it feel so real and I just feel awful for not being able to do anything. I just really enjoy these episodes that just make you feel so frustrated on behalf of the characters cause even though you know it's not real and it's just a fictional piece of media, you still feel awful for not doing anything to help.

I know I am horribly biased and there's not much of Pink left but I am so excited to see where Ken goes from here and what he does with this information and if he'll find any more.

Also I noticed this episode took place in the laundry room and I'm not sure if this was intentional or not but I remember all the way back in chapter 1 when everyone was investigating the school, Sasaki wanted to seriously investigate the laundry room since it was the room everyone woke up in and she thought that there might be some secret code or something to help them escape hidden in there and I just think it's neat that's where Ken goes to acknowledge us.

[periofthesea]

𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝒽𝒸𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓃𝒶𝓀𝑒𝒹𝓉𝑜𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇

I wanted to write something so I tried something a little different than what I usually do. this is not at all a very serious list I am just thirsty for content and the fandom is somewhat dead so, sometimes you must be the change you want to see in the world

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toasty is absolutely head over heels for you, but that goes without saying. Being with them is being understood without needing to say much, the silent looks you give each other in social situations is everything to me, going to make a quip on something but they’re already leaning over and beating you to the punch. Trying to hide the fact that you’re giggling but you’re just completely in your bubble and everyone knows it

PAMPERED PRINCE. 100% he is SPOILED and honestly you would not have it any other way. Every time you’re sat on the couch together his head is in your lap and your fingers are threading through his hair. The occasional little whine they let out when you brush a sensitive spot or stop has me clawing at the walls 

This also isn’t to say that Toasty is necessarily a needy partner. They aren’t, they value their independence and respect yours. A lot of the time you two are sitting in the same room, doing different things but just enjoying being in each others company 

It’s extremely easy to fluster this man, they’re weak to every single one of your charms because it’s you, and well, they love you. All it takes is a flirty remark and a brush of fingertips and their face is flushed- and how pretty he is with that cute stammer and wavering blue eyes. He won’t draw away from your touch though, in fact he leans into it. 

He can surprise you at times though, and hit you with either something really heartfelt and genuine, or equally as teasing. Despite his sarcastic somewhat cold exterior, he is genuinely so caring. And he wants you to know that they appreciate you 

You two def have a room in your house dedicated to gaming. Two monitors set up one for you that’s probably a different aesthetic and one for them. Sometimes you play together (final fantasy ofc..) but majority of the time you play separately and occasionally update the other on what’s going on in your games

If you’re a yapper then you have met your MATCH because Toasty will gladly listen to anything you have to talk about. They love listening to you, especially when you’re passionate or excited about something. You can call him in the middle of the day to be like “you are never going to believe what happened just now at work” and he’ll stop whatever he’s doing to listen to you. 

He doesn’t really do pet names, ‘honey’ or ‘dearest’ are their usual go-tos. 

The server loves teasing you two about your relationship. There’s this one post I read about toasty calling mc a pet name in the chat and it lives rent free in my mind. This is absolutely a thing that happens. 

He has a playlist of songs that remind him of you, it’s gotten pretty lengthy because everything reminds them of you now. If you were to ever catch him listening to this playlist he might die of embarrassment (little does he know you also have one that reminds you of him)

SITTING IN HIS LAP WHILE HE GAMES. The first time you do this he is stiff as a board, seriously you’re worried he’s not even breathing. But slowly, over time they get used to it but even after years of being together they’ll still blush when you settle on their lap. You either just watch him game or do something on your phone. Occasionally he’ll kiss the top of your head and occasionally you’ll distract them with kisses along their jawline…. 

All in all. This man is down bad for you and loves you so much

~~~~~~~ -Peri

[sylus-shivanika]

ANOTHER RANT!!

TW: Mentions of SA and Incest in fiction.

I just want to take a moment to appreciate Tumblr and the people here. It’s honestly the only non-toxic place for the LADS community. Thanks for making Tumblr the safest place for the LADS community. I genuinely feel so good to be here. This space brings comfort after everything I’ve seen elsewhere.🤍

Just a few weeks ago, I made an account on X (formerly Twitter) to read some lore and theories in threads, since I found that some fellow Sylus girlies post great insights and information about him there. But I swear, every time I open X, there is always some kind of toxicity going on.

Recently, I saw a girl saying that Sylus and MC’s evol linkage is BDSM. Like, what the hell? Are we even playing the same game? I tried to explain my perspective, but people like that always end up blocking me.

And the worst thing I came across was someone writing a fic where Sylus is a dad and the reader is his daughter, and he grapes her.

I swear to Allah, I’m so disgusted by people like this. They actually call themselves Sylus mains and still have the audacity to write such vile, disrespectful content about his character. This is incest & grape, & there is nothing creative or acceptable about it.

We all know Sylus’s character is based on consent, autonomy, and emotional respect. How dare they twist that and label it fiction for the sake of shock or “creative freedom”? As a hardcore Sylus main, I always try to protect and defend his character from this kind of nastiness. But seriously, when will this stop? I’m so tired of this disgusting behavior coming from these fake Sylus mains.

And when I try to call it out, they either say something disgusting or block me. It is so ridiculous.

If anyone is reading this, please do not make the mistake of going on X for LADS-related content. It is the worst place ever, especially if you are a genuine Sylus main. 🤍

Just had to get this out.

[novaneet]

This is a rant that you can ignore.

I always find it a little funny when people say, "Why don't people take Zero Day seriously?" Like, trust me—I get the sentiment. Some of the takes I’ve seen out there? Sheesh.

But here’s the thing: every fandom has people who don’t really respect the source material. It’s frustrating, yeah, but kind of inevitable. I just steer clear for my own peace of mind—especially since I’ve watched this movie 37 times and am totally normal about it...

Also, do people genuinely expect everyone to constantly be posting think pieces about the things they're into? Don’t get me wrong—I will devour every ZD analysis I come across. Please post more! I want those conversations to happen, and I plan to contribute myself!! I completely get the frustration when it feels like no one’s engaging deeply with a film that deserves it.

That said, I don’t think we should assume someone doesn’t understand the movie just because they post a “How Caldre would cuddle” headcanon. To me, that’s picking up on the subtext the film intentionally gave us and choosing to engage with it in a lighter way. Even if I think the headcanon sucks (/j), I can still appreciate that it’s coming from a place of interest.

Like, look at Yellowjackets—that show’s got cannibalism and (attempted?) gang rape, but people are still out here shipping everyone like it’s a CW drama. Why aren't we discussing the psychological breakdown and power dynamics that comes with the pressure of hierarchy among teenage girls. Five more Lottienat fanfics stat.

So yeah, I can read an analysis titled “How Cal enables Andre’s downward spiral” and then scroll down to “Cal absentmindedly counts Andre’s moles while he naps” and still feel 100% confident in my understanding of the film’s disturbing, visceral themes. The two can coexist.

And honestly, I get that it can feel annoying to see mostly headcanons or fluff posts instead of deeper discussions. But at some point, if you want that kind of content and community, you have to help build it yourself. That doesn’t mean doing it all alone, but if there’s a gap in the discussion, be the one to fill it. Make the post. Start the thread. Share the analysis. People might be craving the same thing and just waiting for someone else to go first.

I do think it’s annoying when people reduce Cal to some manic pixie dream girl and Andre to this one-dimensional explosive bomb. Both of their characters are inherently, deeply mentally unwell—and that complexity is what makes them so compelling. So yeah, I feel that familiar flare of annoyance and roll my eyes when they’re flattened into tropes. But at the end of the day, all you can really do is try to seek and promote content you agree with/enjoy.

[bullet-prooflove]

"I dream of this life, with you" ❤️

It’s on a lazy Sunday morning in bed that Omar realises he wants to take the next step in your relationship. You’re cuddled up into his side, your thumb lightly tracing circles across his abdomen. His lips brush over your forehead and you make that sweet little noise, the one he knows means you’re happy, content.

“Do you ever think you’d wanna make this permanent?” He says softly, his fingertips tracing languid patterns across your shoulders. “Getting a bigger place together somewhere in Queens or Brooklyn.”

“Queens is closer to your mom.” You murmur, your lips brushing over the hollow of his throat.

“That’s why I was thinking Brooklyn.” He says half seriously.

He hasn’t spoken to her since the last time the two of you went over there, you’d tried to broker the peace, it’s your way but he still can’t forgive her for what she’d done, what she’d tried to do.

He’d gone to the bathroom to wash his hands and come back to find you excusing yourself due to a ‘work emergency’. He had known you weren’t on call that night, and if that wasn’t a sign that his mother had done something, the watery eyes and your tense shoulders would have been a giveaway. He’d offered to give you a ride, but you already had an Uber pulling up outside.

It hadn’t taken long to get the story out of his mother. She wasn’t ashamed of what she did, in her eyes she’s simply looking out for her son.

“I told her the truth.” She says as she sets the table. “If she can’t bare your children she needs to let you go. She’s a lovely girl Habibi, but she’s not for you, she’s not someone you can build a future with.”

He’d walked out then because what his mother had done, it was beyond cruel. He had told her your history in confidence as a way to circumvent the inevitable grandchildren conversation and she had thrown it in your face.

It was the next day you had tried to end things with him.

“She’s right.” You say quietly as you play with the sleeves of your white sweater. “You deserve someone who can give you a family and I… I can’t do that.”

“Hanna, I don’t need that.” He had told you, his hands reaching out across the table for yours. “If it’s something we decide we want in the future we can explore our options, fostering, adoption, surrogacy, a family doesn’t have to look the way my mother thinks it should.”

“Omar…” You begin but the look in his eyes makes you trail off because there’s such earnestness in them. He means what he says, starting a family doesn’t have to mean getting pregnant, so long as he’s with you he doesn’t care how it happens.

“You are enough for me.” He tells you, his thumb chasing over your ring finger. “What we have right now, that’s enough for me.”

Your voice draws him out of the memory, you’ve propped your head up on the pillow so that you can read the expression on his face.

“How about I go make us some coffee?” You suggest, your lips brushing over his bare shoulder. “And you can start looking up listings on your laptop.”

His entire face lights up as it dawns on him that you’ve just answered his question.

“Are you saying that you want to move in together?” He murmurs, his hands threading through your hair as he draws you close.

“Were you serious?” You ask him as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “About what the future looks like for us?”

“You know I am.” He tells you, his thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek. “Any future I have, I want it to be with you.”

Love OA? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

@trublu2u @greenies-green @rosaliedepp @whateversomethingbruh @anime-weeb-4-life @daydreaming-belle @burningpeachpuppy @upsteadlogic @malindacath @skyesthebomb @redpool @district447 @yousigned-upforthis @stelacole @abby-splace

[silly-calm]

I finished Outer Wilds a little while ago. Had tears in my eyes... I still have Echoes of the Eye to play, at least, but I'm going to miss this game. Seriously one of the most brilliant works of art I've ever experienced, and not really what I expected either.

I went into this knowing it was a story focused indie game, and I sorta expected the gameplay to take a backseat like it does in a lot of narrative games. I thought the challenges were gonna be kinda... I dunno, "symbolic," just there to let you interact a little bit as you move through the plot in a mostly passive way. But I was so wrong about that. There are some difficult sections in this game! It does NOT hold your hand, and you'll probably die a LOT. But it never feels unfair, and the game hooks you in a way that makes it very difficult not to try again immediately.

I already love spaceflight sims, but it's true that a lot of them get very repetitive after a while, and this just doesn't. Every single planet feels hand crafted, and the way the interconnected web of narrative threads comes together, the way the game gently guides you in a way that never leaves you feeling overwhelmed, but also never limits where you can go or what you can do, is truly a groundbreaking achievement for open world design. No floating markers pointing towards "objectives," it never comes even remotely close to feeling like a modern open-world "checklist" game. And yet, no matter where you go, you'll find something interesting. Not just little pockets of "content," there to amuse you for a bit before you go onto the next thing, but pieces of a giant puzzle. Parts of a whole. Everything is related to everything. Everything you do is carefully designed to leave you curious about something else, or sometimes several things.

In fact, curiosity and satisfaction are the central drive of the game. You don't get new items, or level up, or anything like that. You're rewarded for your expeditions with new knowledge about the world of the game, and that's it -- yet there's this tremendous sense of progress you get as you visit each location, tackle each puzzle or platforming challenge or tricky flight maneuver, and come to understand a little bit more about the mysteries of the universe. It's like a book that you can start on any page, and, as long as you read it all eventually, then no matter what order you read it in, the plot feels perfectly paced, and unfolds in a way that feels "right." You get hints about what you'll find on which pages, and you can go to those pages if you think they might contain something you want to learn about next. Or you can flip to a random page and see what's written there. And no matter what, it all works.

Every inch of this game is overflowing with narrative significance, but the story and the gameplay are woven together so masterfully, they become the same thing. I don't think I've ever seen another game do that before.

And the emotions I felt by the end. The ending! I highly suggest you avoid spoilers if you can. Read as little as possible about it. Go in blind for the best experience.

Anyway, you need to play this game if you haven't.

[vonbabbitt]

I think the server is honestly overreacting to the terminal person leaving and I don’t understand why everyone is making such a big deal out of a random person leaving the server who I didn’t even know existed before today.

jason ON GOD do not send me this shit. first of all, my ask box is not your personal venting grounds and this is not a confession blog. stop dragging me into server drama.

secondly, regardless of whether you read staffside or not, that person was a very prominent and important member of the community. you can credit them fully for the discovery of EVERY SINGLE SECRET TERMINAL EVER FOUND. all the student terminals, all the staff terminals, the wada.exe game, they literally found every single one.

i have actively watched people in the server treat that person like shit and send them anon hate and shit on their theories and shit on their disability for reasons i still cannot comprehend. that person consistently went out of their way to make staffside content more accessible for everyone and help others get involved in staffside. saying they were gatekeeping it in any way is fking seriously stupid.

think whatever you want, its none of my business, but don’t come into MY ask box and start saying rude shit about a person who i respect who has done nothing but contribute to the tetro fandom in every way they could.

if you have a problem with the staffside readers in general, maybe reflect on why that needs to be made THEIR problem. are you feeling bad that you’re left out? then read it. they’ve compiled it all in an easy-to-read format and would love to help you get involved. you don’t like the way they separate themselves? stop having giant chaotic arguments that force members to branch out into other threads and channels to have real conversations. something else?? TALK TO THEM.

im not answering any more anons of this variety because this is literally fking ridiculous. do you always reach out to the creator of the show when you don’t like someone in a fandom?????