#i started writing this and immediately started crying

[kxsagi]

i have a request (i never know know to begin one) so you know that one tiktok trend where you have two parents and their child. And one if the parents gets one cookie and the child two and the other parent non to see if she child can share imagine that with the blue lock character and their kids (you can write whoever you want) and its always so cute and funny one even started to cry for theirbparent, one took the cookie.of their dad and gave it to the mom and my fav the child straight up gave it to the parent without question

“𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞”

a/n: miss cath pls never stop slaying with your ideas ❤️

alternated between son, daughter, and unnamed kid

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

you and isagi set up the test all excited, hyping up your toddler like, “he’s gonna share, he’s the sweetest!” 

you hand out the cookies – two for baby, one for you, and nothing for isagi. 

your son blinks at the cookies, blinks at isagi, and then immediately places one of his cookies into isagi’s hand without a second thought. like zero hesitation. it’s instinct. 

isagi’s entire soul leaves his body. 

he’s tearing up. you’re tearing up. even the baby is grinning all proud. 

“yoichi, are you crying?” 

“n-no, i mean yes, look at our kid! he’s already a team player!!!” 

he talks about it for weeks. won’t stop showing everyone the video. 

itoshi rin

you had to beg rin to do the trend bc he doesn’t see the point. 

“she’s obviously gonna pick you. you’re her favorite.” (he says it so flatly too.) 

but he finally agrees. 

you hand out the cookies, rin sits there quietly with his empty plate. 

your kid... stares. she stares so hard at rin. 

lips quivering, eyes watering. 

and then she starts sobbing 😭 

full-blown meltdown. 

“no cookie for dada???” she sobs. 

rin freezes. doesn’t know what to do. ends up just picking the kid up and cradling her like, “it’s okay. i don’t need a cookie. don’t cry. please.” 

you’re dying laughing while filming it. 

rin’s just muttering to the baby like, “you’re too sensitive... you get that from your mom.” 

nagi seishiro

honestly, nagi didn’t even realize what was happening. 

you gave him an empty plate and he just sat there like “oh. guess i’m last.” 

meanwhile your kid is eyeing both cookies in front of her like it’s the biggest decision of her life. 

she picks up both cookies. 

and you’re thinking like awww is she gonna share? 

NOPE. 

she gives both cookies to you. 

nagi: 😐 

you: 😭 

baby: 🥰✨ 

nagi just shrugs and lays down with his head in your lap like, “that’s fine. you’re gonna share with me anyway, right?” 

(and you do. bc he looks too cute and pathetic.) 

mikage reo

reo is SO cocky before you even start. 

“our kid loves me too much to leave me with nothing. you’ll see.” 

you’re like okay big shot let’s find out. 

you hand out the cookies and reo instantly starts pouting dramatically. 

your kid is just chilling. happily munching his cookie. not even looking at reo. 

reo fake whines, “what about daddy? daddy’s hungry tooooo~” 

your toddler LAUNCHES a cookie at him like it’s a grenade. 

(he meant to share. he just has zero hand-eye coordination lol.) 

reo catches it mid-air and gasps like he just got proposed to. 

acts like he won an oscar. 

“i’d like to thank my beautiful child for believing in me...” 

you’re laughing so hard you’re snorting. 

chigiri hyoma

chigiri’s super chill about it, just giving you a soft smile when he sees you have a cookie and he doesn’t. 

your kid IMMEDIATELY notices tho. 

like she didn’t even take a bite yet – she sees dad’s empty plate and her little eyebrows furrow all concerned. 

then she hands over a cookie to chigiri with this very solemn, serious face. like it’s a ceremony. 

chigiri plays along, accepts it with both hands like she gave him sacred treasure. 

bows his head a little like he’s receiving a medal. 

you’re sitting there like why are they both so dramatic LMAO. 

cutest thing ever though. you post the video and it goes viral. 

karasu tabito

karasu would try to cheat at first. 

tries to sneak a sad face at the kid to guilt-trip them. 

your kid sees through it IMMEDIATELY. 

literally points at him and goes, “faker.” 😭 

karasu gasps so loud, clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. 

“baby girl, how could you betray me like this?” 

ends up stealing one of the cookies off your plate and running away like a gremlin. 

your toddler thinks it’s hilarious and chases after him. 

the video is just pure chaos. 

bachira meguru

oh this one’s instant. 

bachira pouts exaggeratedly, making big sad eyes. 

your kid just grins all mischievous and feeds him the cookie. 

like literally sticks it into his mouth with his chubby little hands. 

bachira starts laughing mid-bite, which makes your toddler giggle uncontrollably, which makes you laugh too. 

it’s just a big spiral of giggles and crumbs everywhere. 

the purest, happiest family vibes. 

kaiser michael

“what do you mean i don’t get a cookie? i’m the man of the family.” 

very offended before you even start. 

you roll your eyes and hand out the plates. 

your kid, chaotic little gremlin, takes all the cookies. 

and gives both to you. 

kaiser looks so betrayed. 

he’s like “how dare you choose her over me??? i thought we had something special???” 

meanwhile your kid is giggling like “mommy’s the best!” and clinging to your leg. 

kaiser acts all hurt and sulky for five minutes until you shove a cookie in his mouth and give him a kiss. 

then he’s fine again lol. 

shidou ryusei

shidou immediately makes a huge scene when he doesn’t get a cookie. 

“hey! what is this injustice?!” 

your kid’s like 😐 and just stares at him. 

shidou tries to work his charm, all “come on, buddy. daddy’s hungry tooooo~” 

he literally hands over both cookies at the same time and walks off like, “there, done.” 

shidou’s left standing there stunned. 

“wait... what? that’s it? no big speech, no big drama? nothing?” 

you’re dying, while your son just shrugs and starts playing with his toys, clearly satisfied with his cookie diplomacy. 

shidou still insists on making it dramatic though, waving his cookie around like a trophy and making “victory” noises. 

“i may have gotten no cookies, but i’m still the king of this house!” 

your kid rolls his eyes. 

itoshi sae

sae... is too smooth for this. he’s lowkey a little smug about the whole thing. 

“you’re really going to give me nothing? i’m offended, darling.” 

you hand out the cookies, and your kid looks at the cookies... then looks at you, then at sae, and just gives you one of her cookies without question. 

sae’s left there with no cookie. 

he’s watching it all happen, like in slow motion. 

you’re trying so hard not to laugh while sae just... blinks. 

“... i see. so this is how it is.” 

your kid grins proudly, as if she solved some big mystery. 

sae stares at you with a look like, i’m not even mad. i’m just disappointed. 

“well, at least i know who the real favorite is.” 

you’re like, babe, you’re still the most handsome, you know that right? 

he just grumbles, looking away. 

you’re dying and your kid is straight-up chilling in the background. 

ness alexis

ness is not okay with not getting a cookie. 

he pretends to be all chill, but you can see the twitch in his eye as he watches your kid get two cookies and you get one. 

the kid doesn’t even hesitate. 

she just looks at you, then hands both cookies over to you. 

ness looks like he’s been betrayed. 

“this… this is unacceptable.” 

he dramatically holds his hand out like please, just one. 

your kid just shrugs and plops back down to continue playing. 

“you’re not gonna share?” ness asks in the most dramatic voice possible. 

she looks at him, then looks at you, and just turns back to playing with her toys like she's already moved on. 

ness? absolutely dying on the inside. 

he keeps glancing at the cookies like he’s waiting for a miracle. 

finally, he sighs and snatches one of your cookies, slumping dramatically on the couch like, “fine, i’ll settle for this one.” 

your kid gives him the most unimpressed look. 

“that’s not a cookie for you. that’s a cookie for mom.” 

ness: 😭 “you’re not wrong...” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Half a brutal week of finals, your idea of short recovery is simple: horror games, dim lights, and your boyfriend Sol breathing in your ear through voice chat like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your focus. It was supposed to be just another cursed indie night — you, the monster, and a few well-aimed insults...

...until Sol’s reactions hijack the match entirely. One death screen, one whispered apology, and one desperate Discord call later, and suddenly you’re the one getting hunted — not by pixelated nightmares, but by your very real, very flushed, very wrecked boyfriend begging for your attention like his life depends on it. Turns out, surviving finals was the easy part.

…Surviving him? Yeah, good luck with that.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: soooo, on April 7th, while I was supposed to be studying for my psych and chem midterms, I stumbled across some [ art ] by @bonw0n — and yeah, I was this close to dropping everything to write this immediately. I behaved… mostly. Might’ve snuck a few "study breaks" to get some of it out. I’ve seen others write for this request too, so here’s my take — hope you love it, dearest.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x gn! reader, smut, masturbation, voyeurism, mutual pining, voice kink, begging, desperate sol, one-sided voice chat (at first), tension so thick you could choke on it, accidentally turning him on, slight corruption kink if you squint, dirty thoughts two idiots falling harder than they realize, and sol is down bad and it’s so funny.

April is hell for college students. fucking tell me about...

Anyone who says otherwise has either dropped out, is lying, or majors in something unserious like something dumb—underwater basket weaving.

It’s exam season—a month-long bloodbath where coffee becomes a food group, sleep is theoretical, and your notes look like they were written by a madman mid-breakdown. You’ve been living in libraries, buried in color-coded flashcards and PDF textbooks you don’t even remember downloading. Your backpack weighs more than your will to live, and your playlist? Just sad lo-fi beats and the occasional mental breakdown.

But you did it.

You clawed your way through a few of your finals already, each one more cursed than the last. You turned in essays with hands that felt like claws, circled scantron bubbles like your life depended on it. And when the last “Submit” button was pressed today—you didn’t cry.

You almost did. But instead, you stared at your ceiling for twenty minutes contemplating existence… then decided to not kill yourself with another night of studying.

Tonight? You earned a break. And your poison of choice?

Well, overall, after exams, most people do one of three things:

Talk about the exam like it was a shared war trauma.

Vanish the second time’s up—those lucky bastards just evaporate into thin air.

Crash into bed, possibly start crying because of overthinking. Bonus points if you start crashing out.

Then there’s the rest—out at some crusty frat party, doing keg stands like their brain cells aren’t already on life support. Or sparking up until they’re spiritually ascending, eyes redder than the F they just got in psych stats. But not you.

Oh no, you? You’ve got taste. Elegance.

Horror Video Games.

And not the cute, fluffy kind either. You’re not out here playing some "build your dream town" simulator, collecting adorable animals with quirky little personalities who talk about their feelings. Nope, not you. You're not clicking through endless dialogue trees in a visual novel where every decision leads to either a hug or a heartbroken confession—though, let's be real, you’ve totally dipped your toes in those a couple of times. It's fine. No one's judging.

But nope, you're deep in the muck of horror.  The darker, the better. 

The more twisted, morally questionable, and "I probably shouldn't be playing this at 2 AM" the story is? That's the kind of game you're downloading like it’s got a bill overdue. You don’t need to sip on some overpriced vodka. You don’t need to hit the vape and pretend you’re too cool for life.

What you need is pure, unfiltered psychological trauma in 1080p.

Forget a chill evening—you want to feel like your mind might short-circuit at any second. You need the cozy glow of your LED lights bleeding across a desk littered with energy drinks and half-functioning headphones. You need your haunted little playlist of indie nightmares and "this game is banned in 12 countries" storylines.

This is your version of therapy. Replacing exam stress with the emotional damage of a pixelated ghost child whispering from behind a locked door.

There’s just something magical about sinking into your chair like a sentient blanket burrito, headset on, game booted up, and letting the real world dissolve into static.

Just you, the dark, and whatever fresh hell is waiting around the next virtual corner to emotionally ruin you. Again.

That was all you could think about during your god-awful fifty-minute-long lectures—well, that and how your professor’s voice sounded like someone chewing chalk while reading a textbook aloud. Especially on your longer days, where it felt like your brain was actively trying to escape through your ears or your eyes get heavy—despite sitting right up front of the class you deadass fall asleep in the middle of lecture…

Still, you powered through. Took notes. Faked interest. Dodged a group project like it owed you money. You even hit the library for a hot minute, pretended to be productive, and then finally dragged yourself back to your dorm like a half-dead NPC on a quest for salvation.

First stop? Food. 

You threw something questionable-but-edible into the microwave leftover take out you ordered yesterday and stared at it like it held all the answers to your suffering. Greasy, hot, probably taking a year off your life, but comforting in a ‘screw it, I survived today’ kind of way.

Then came homework. Ugh. 

You sat down, cracked open your laptop, and forced yourself to speed-run your assignments like you were defusing a bomb. Brain on autopilot. Tabs everywhere. Safari sounded like it was about to take off with your laptop. But you got it done—somehow. Whether your answers make sense? Always, make sure to check everything before you turn in, timestamp and all.

Then finally—finally—you hit the shower.

The hot water came down like it had a personal vendetta, absolutely obliterating your stress, your regrets, and possibly your skin barrier. You just stood there, letting it scald you like a rotisserie chicken, steam turning your bathroom into a sad little sauna with zero luxury but maximum existential crisis.

You hummed. You danced. You nearly slipped. You played that one song—the one you’ve been listening to on loop for days like it’s the soundtrack to your life’s fake documentary. You know, the one that starts off giving you chills and ends up giving you a migraine once your brain decides it’s time to ruin it. Classic move.

Then you stood there longer than you needed to, contemplating your next victim in the horror game queue. Real priorities.

Afterward showering, you did your usual post shower routine then you pulled on your favorite set—something soft and chill but definitely showing more skin than necessary. But who were you trying to impress? No one. You just liked how your blanket felt better that way. Priorities.

Besides, the whole point was to feel the warmth of your blanket better. You wrapped yourself in it, a cozy cocoon, and sank into your gamer chair, legs tucked beneath you, heart already settling into that familiar rhythm.

Your desk was a beautiful kind of chaos—lived-in, deliberate, curated for comfort and carnage. At the center of it all stood your mid-sized monitor, propped on a stack of mismatched textbooks like some sacred relic. It bathed the room in soft, moody colors, its screen already alive with the eerie flicker of the horror game’s menu.

Game boxes were stacked like grim little trophies on your shelves, each one a memory of a night spent half-screaming and half-laughing, usually with Sol on the other end. 

Twisted monster figurines stared blankly from their perches, arranged meticulously from “mildly unsettling” to “this one gave me a complex.” And the posters? Cult-classic psychological thrillers and cursed films—tattered at the edges, warped slightly by years of devotion. They stared back at you from the walls, their looming silhouettes shifting every time the screen flashed with static or movement.

Your gamer chair was a throne, worn-in just right—soft, broken in by years of sleepless nights and stress-fueled gaming binges. Draped across it was your oversized blanket, the one that swallowed you whole and made you feel like a cryptid rising from a cocoon. There was something sacred about that chair. It knew things. It had been with you through exam week breakdowns, existential dread marathons, and now, it was your command post.

Your controller was resting on the desk beside you, waiting.

The game was already launched, the lobby open, and your headset nestled comfortably over your ears. The built-in proximity voice chat was activated—just you and Sol in your own little bubble. The room was quiet but not silent. The faint buzz of the monitor, the gentle hum of your fan, the occasional creak of your chair when you shifted—it all became part of the ambiance.

And right on cue… Sol was already online.

His username—pumpkinlover00—pulsed softly in the game lobby like a heartbeat. Waiting. Always waiting. Same time, every night. Like a ritual. Like a promise.

There was no need for a message. No awkward small talk. No fumbling attempts at icebreakers. You two had long since passed that stage. This was muscle memory now—deadass unspoken rhythm built on laggy screams, ill-timed reloading, and the electric hum of shared adrenaline.

You reached for the controller, the soft click of your grip syncing perfectly with the moment his voice crackled through the in-game chat.

“Yo,” Sol murmured, his tone rough and low like he hadn’t spoken all day—maybe he hadn’t.

You grinned, stretching out in your throne of a chair and tugging the blanket tighter around you. “Yo yourself,” you said, thumbing through the loadout menu lazily. “By the way… when were you gonna tell me your gamertag was pumpkinlover00?”

There was a few seconds of silence.

Then, a sigh. The kind that screamed regret.

“It was a dare,” Sol said, as if that explained anything.

You snorted, already grinning as you adjusted in your seat, “Yeah, okay. But pumpkinlover00, though? Be honest. Did you also bake it a pie and whisper sweet nothings to your jack-o-lantern?”

“You keep talking and I will leave you mid-extraction,” he warned, dry as dust.

“Do it. I’ll tell everyone in the dorm that you made a shrine out of pumpkin guts and played Linkin Park while crying.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t just tell them,” you said, spinning your controller in hand with flair. “I’d make PowerPoint slides. Full color. Transitions. Soundtrack.”

He groaned, however you heard the little snort of laughter he tried to bury. Then his eyes landed on your own in-game tag floating proudly above your character’s head: DumpsterSnacc_.

“…You named yourself after trash food,” he muttered.

“Excuse me? I named myself after a rare and powerful snack born in the fires of poor life decisions and gas station cuisine. I am the forbidden flavor.”

“Sounds like you were found in the dumpster.”

“Bold talk from a guy whose username sounds like a seasonal candle from fucking grocery store.”

He laughed at that—low, sudden, genuine. “Alright, alright. Let’s see which one of us gets ghost-murdered first.”

The game flickered to life with its usual guttural startup scream, the kind that sounded like it had regrets and 3 unpaid debts. Your mission scrolled across the screen in grim text, paired with a deep voiceover that could narrate your funeral.

You selected your loadout: flashlight, flares and, of course, your unshakable sense of superiority.

“Alright, Pumpkin Spice,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Ready to yank some haunted toaster ovens outta Satan’s basement?”

Sol chuckled. “Lead the way, Snaccrifice.”

The screen cut to black. And the horror began. Eveything loaded in with an unholy screech—part static, part radio distortion, part something that sounded like it came from a throat that shouldn’t exist.

You and Sol had just booted up the latest co-op indie horror hit: R.E.P.O. session. A physics-heavy, proximity-voice nightmare where you and a friend sneak into abandoned, rotting buildings to repossess cursed artifacts... all while being stalked by something that learns how you play.

Smart. Fast. Shapeshifting. The kind of monster that knew your patterns better than your therapist. Naturally, you both took it dead seriously. It was so serious, in fact, that your characters were dressed like absolute clowns. Literally.

You had picked grey skin with the bright neon outfit, oversized heart sunglasses, and an inflatable donut ring as a belt. Sol, not to be outdone, went full chaos: Green skin, a banana suit, and ski goggles, paired with bright orange gloves. His character model moved like a confused mall Santa.

“I swear to god,” he muttered through the proximity voice chat, distorted by digital reverb, “if we die looking like this, I’m logging off forever.”

“No you’re not. You're emotionally attached now,” you replied, confidently stomping your ridiculous pink boots toward the first hallway.

You’d already picked your roles.

You were the lead retriever—the brave idiot who runs in, grabs the cursed junk, and throws it back like it’s Black Friday at a pawn shop.

Sol? He was the cart dude—your ever-loyal partner who stayed behind just far enough to avoid immediate death, but close enough to catch whatever hell you flung his way.

He pushed the in-game collection cart behind you with janky, glitchy physics, the wheels squeaking like it was haunted by a grocery store demon. You turned around dramatically, forcing your character model to do a sudden 180.

Because the game used proximity-based voice chat, this also forced your character and Sol’s to make deep, intense eye contact. Eye contact that was only made worse by the exaggerated googly eyes stuck to your sunglasses. “Alright,” you said in your Serious Voice™, stepping forward with authority.  “Game plan.”

Sol’s character nodded, “Hit me.”

“We’re hitting the west wing first. Storage room. There's an artifact in there worth at least $1800 in-game bucks. Probably cursed. Probably breathing. I’ll go in, grab it, scream if I die. You stand back, push the cart, and if something runs at you, throw it my way and run.”

There was a pause.

“That’s… that’s your plan?” he asked.

“It’s a working plan.”

“It’s a dumbass plan.”

“It’s our dumbass plan.”

You both stared in silence again, your avatars breathing heavily, noses almost touching on screen. Sol finally sighed. “I hate that I trust you.”

“I hate that I’m the brains of this operation.” You smirked, turned on your flashlight, and marched forward.

The darkness swallowed you both whole. 

Behind you, the sound of a cart creaking along… and the soft jingle of a banana suit bouncing into the unknown.

You were just finishing loading a creepy little porcelain baby head into the cart—its painted eyes were scratched out and it laughed when you dropped it, so that was great—when the game's staticy radio pinged.

Incoming call.

Username: Hyugo_WasHere

You froze. So did Sol.

“No,” Sol said immediately, full volume, the word sharp enough to slice the tension. “Do not answer that.” Too late. You were already clicking accept.

The call connected with a loud, cheerful “Yooo! Pumpkin Boy! You in that haunted IKEA game?”

You grinned. “Hyugo, you tryna R.E.P.O some haunted junk with us?”

“Am I?” he said. “Am I ever. I’ve been watching Sol’s stream on Discord on mute for like ten minutes. Sol’s scream when the mannequin fell was a chef’s kiss.”

“It fell from the ceiling,” Sol hissed. “And it grabbed my shoulder. You would’ve screamed too.”

“I would’ve shot it,” Hyugo replied flatly.

Sol groaned, already defeated. “I swear to god, if he logs in—”

“He’s already at the party,” you said casually, watching the character list update.

A second later, a new player spawned in the safe zone, cyan color. And dressed like a goddamn menace. Hyugo’s avatar was in tight metallic leggings, a sparkly vest, and a jester hat with bells that jingled with every movement. His character moved with the swagger of someone who wanted to be shot first.

“Why are you like this?” Sol muttered.

“Stealth is a suggestion,” Hyugo declared, spinning in place.

“You’re going to get us murdered,” Sol added.

But you? You were already laughing. “Let’s go, Yessss, let’s go team. The ghost’s not ready.”

As the mission progressed, the building changed. Literally.

The layout shifted the deeper you went, doors that led to supply closets now opening into winding hallways, entire wings that didn’t exist in the beginning of the match suddenly sprouting up like tumors. The wallpaper pulsed. The ceilings dripped. Somewhere in the distance, something screamed like it had teeth where lungs should be.

You, Sol, and Hyugo pushed on. Slowly, methodically.

You led the charge, grabbing cursed relics and slapping them into the cart with casual violence. Sol stuck close, flashlight flickering, cart wheels creaking, muttering price estimates like a haunted appraiser.

Hyugo, despite all odds, actually helped. He wandered ahead with a scanner, pinging valuable loot and joking in proximity chat about how your footsteps sounded like wet noodles. “$1200 mirror up here,” Hyugo called once, voice crackling. “Probably possessed. Can I make it kiss itself?”

“No,” you and Sol said at the same time.

Still, you were doing fine. 

The cart was getting full. The radio said Extraction Ready in 3 Items. You were winning. So, you split up briefly—Sol stayed behind with the cart while you moved into a shadowy side room to grab what looked like a golden antique camera. It was twitching in your hand as you placed it in the cart with a clang.

That’s when Sol ran in. Not walked. Not jogged.

He sprinted in like something was directly behind him, eyes wide, headset audio crackling with his panicked breath. “Gun.”

You looked up. “What?”

“Gun!” he barked again.

“Dude, what—?”

“GUN!!” He was just repeating it now, flailing his arms like his in-game model was having a seizure. “BIG—GUN—HE HAS A GUN—”

“Who has a gun?!”

“THE BLIND GUY!!” Sol whisper-shouted. “HE ALMOST SHOT ME!”

You blinked, slowly crouching. “You mean the monster has a gun? Like an actual gun?”

“Yes! A fucking shotgun. Like He’s blind, but he’s got aimbot—he hears you, and just—” Sol mimed a gun recoil. “Pop. Dead. No warning. No build-up. Just excellent ass hearing and bullets.”

You snorted. “So what I’m hearing is: don’t make noise.”

Because the Blind Huntsman was coming.

The cart was half full, sitting between the overturned desks and office rubble. You had all scrambled to hide, moving fast as the soft, dragging footsteps of the Huntsman echoed from the hallway—his boots heavy, and his breath sharp, unfiltered, like someone breathing through shredded cloth.

You dove under a busted-ass metal table in the middle of the room, the thing barely standing on three legs and draped with old-ass hanging wires and paper folders that probably hadn’t been touched since the building caught its first haunting. The light was dim, pulsing like a dying heartbeat from some emergency light in the hall. Dust settled thick on the floor, the smell of old rot and burning metal clinging to the air.

Across from you, Hyugo’s stupid cyan avatar ducked under another table, practically hugging the wall like some horror-movie goblin. He looked so ridiculous in that clown-ass outfit y’all let him pick, and the way he moved just made it worse—jerky, crouched, twitchy, like someone who was definitely going to get caught first.

And then there was Sol. Goddamn Sol. Man had one job—hide. But instead of tucking under a desk like a normal person, he panicked and wedged himself behind the door. Behind. The. Door. Like the Huntsman wasn't gonna swing it open and yeet him into next week.

Earlier, before shit hit the fan, he had said all calm like, “I’m gonna scope the hallway next. The cart’s almost full. Let me just—wait, hold on—” His mic clicked. That dreaded click.

You knew something was wrong. So did Hyugo. 

Both of your avatars shifted ever so slightly—tense, alert.

Then Sol said it. “I’m getting a call.”

You silently screamed. Huygo’s shoulders went up like “no way this idiot’s serious.”

You hissed, “Sol, no—”

But he said it. Out loud. “Hello?”

The door didn’t creak open. It detonated—BOOM.

The sound rattled your headset so hard your mic peaked. Splinters flew, chunks of drywall exploded like confetti, and dust swallowed the whole room. The screen shook like a natural disaster, and you actually jumped IRL, heart hammering. Sol’s body got flung back like a ragdoll—slammed straight into a metal filing cabinet, bounced, and crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. It was the worst-looking hit you’d ever seen in-game. Just flopped there, half-folded behind some drawers.

And yet… somehow… the bastard lived.

He slowly sat up, stunned as hell. Twitchy, like he had just experienced every lifetime trauma at once. His mic crackled in all staticky, and he muttered: “…what the fuck.”

You were dying. Not in-game. In reality. Trying so hard not to lose it. Your whole body was trembling from how bad you wanted to laugh. You slapped both hands over your mouth and held them there like a makeshift muzzle, eyes wide, shoulders shaking.

You peeked out at Sol’s avatar.

He was looking dead at you.

And you felt it. The shame. The betrayal. The comedy. Whoever coded that eye tracking in this cursed game deserved an Oscar. Sol just sat there, traumatized, and stared at you like “you saw that, didn’t you?” And yeah. Yeah, you did. And it was the funniest shit you’d seen all week. Then Hyugo’s dumbass peeked out too.

Hyugo peeked out from his hiding spot—real slow, real cautious—and locked eyes with Sol first. Sol’s avatar, still slumped against the cabinet like a traumatized Victorian ghost, stared back. No words. Just… the kind of look that said "Don't you dare."

Then Hyugo turned and looked at you. Your own avatar, tucked safely under the rust-ridden desk, met his gaze with the same energy. A silent pact. Do not make a sound. Not a breath. Not a giggle. Not even a pixel twitch. 

And Hyugo? He was trying, man. He really was.

You could see it—his character model shook slightly, his shoulders giving that telltale twitch. Like he was holding in a sneeze. You knew the warning signs. The snort was coming. And then—“Pfft.”

CRACK.

The Blind Huntsman didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t pause. That cursed bastard snapped around the second he heard the slip. One single shot. Pinpoint. Surgical. Hyugo’s head went supernova. Cyan body parts everywhere. His avatar’s body slammed into the edge of the metal table with this sickening clunk, arms flailing once before collapsing in a stiff, horrifying ragdoll motion. His limbs twitched for half a second… then silence.

Just the head left. Rolling. 

Like the Huntsman said, “shut the hell up” with extreme prejudice.

Dead. Instant. No revive. No second chances.

The man got deleted like he owed the server money.

You were fully biting down on the sleeve of your hoodie now, hands over your face, trying not to scream with laughter. Shoulders shaking, breath hiccupping through your nose like a possessed hamster. Your eyes were stinging from how hard you were crying—silent tears of pure, uncut chaos.

Sol’s mic crackled again, dry as hell. No emotion. Just raw judgment. “…I hope you get haunted, bro. I really do.”

You couldn’t even answer. You were beyond words. The cart you were supposed to be pushing? Yeah. You just stared at it. Like maybe if you focused hard enough, you could will the mission to complete itself.

And the Huntsman? Still there.

Pacing slow. Heavy boots echoing through the static haze. He hadn’t forgotten. Not about Sol. Not about you. He was still walking. Still waiting for someone to slip up. And you could feel it—He was pissed.

You and Sol managed to slip out while the Huntsman circled the wreckage, still checking corners like a paranoid ex. You bolted left, Sol darted right—no words, just instinct and pure panic-fueled coordination. Both of you were half limping, half sliding into the hallway, ducking behind the rusted lockers and broken shelving until the Huntsman's heavy steps grew distant.

There was a long, quiet beat once you were safe.

Then—“…Did we just leave Hyugo’s decapitated ass in there?”

You stared at Sol. He stared back. Then you both turned to look at the cart you’d spent ten minutes loading, still sitting abandoned in the middle of the room next to Hyugo’s... head. 

“Motherf—”

The next ten minutes were pure stealth-game agony. Crawling back, avoiding cameras, sensors, trying not to alert any monster. You had to watch the Huntsman loop its route three times before Sol gave you the go-ahead. He moved to the body. You got the cart.

Teamwork, right?

Eventually, you loaded the final files, got the cart into the hallway, and hit the extraction point with barely a second to spare. The screen faded to black.

Round complete.

The next scene dumped the three of you back into the familiar starting truck. Same cramped space. Same dim, flickering fluorescent light humming overhead like an anxious fly. The air in the truck felt heavier than before, like it still remembered the chaos from the last round.

Sol stood in the corner, arms crossed, glaring at absolutely nothing with the weight of every bad decision Hyugo had ever made. You were perched on one of the benches, legs pulled up, hoodie sleeve still a bit damp from when you nearly choked on your own laughter earlier.

And then there was Hyugo.

His avatar spawned in silently, just standing there for a long second like he was processing his own digital funeral.

Then he exhaled like someone twice his age. “…damn, I got clapped.” 

That was all it took.

You started laughing again, that quiet, breathless kind that rocked your shoulders and made your stomach hurt. Hyugo cracked up beside you, doubling over, no shame at all.

“Who the hell answers a phone call in the middle of a mission, bro?” you snorted, elbowing his character like it could knock some sense into him.

Sol didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just slowly raised his arm and pointed at Hyugo like he was pressing a mental “report player” button.

“That's what your ass get,” he said flatly. “Prank-calling me mid-hide with your creepy-ass burner number? You deserved that karma in 4K, dumbass.”

Moving on, the next map flickered into existence as the truck doors groaned open. Bright, sterile white lights cut through the foggy interior, revealing a massive abandoned science lab, all clean metal, reinforced glass, and flickering emergency signs that suggested terrible things had happened here. The air was thick with strange green mist hissing from the vents, swirling in ghostly patterns around overturned desks and shattered containment pods.

Hyugo was still sprawled on the floor from his latest brush with death, groaning dramatically. You and Sol stepped over him like he was part of the scenery.

"Science lab, huh?" you muttered, adjusting your gear.

"Great," Sol sighed. "Haunted test tubes. Love that."

Hyugo finally pushed himself up, grinning like he hadn’t just been yeeted toward acid twice in the last five minutes. “Oh, y’all are gonna love this.”

He opened his inventory with a smug flourish, the soft chime echoing like a game show reveal. And there it was:

The Hourglass.

Not just rare—stupid rare. Glowing in vibrant shades of purple and pink, pulsing slightly like it had its heartbeat. The mist around your group even seemed to freeze for a second, as if reality itself was like, wait, what.

You and Sol both just stared. At it. At Hyugo. Then, back at the Hourglass, like you were waiting for a hidden camera reveal.

“You found that?” you asked, taking a cautious step forward.

“Yup,” Hyugo said proudly, hands on his hips. “Just vibing in the vents. Found it near a corpse. Thought it was lore or something.”

Sol blinked like a tired professor dealing with the world’s most dramatic intern. “Hyugo.”

“Yeah?”

Then it happened.

Hyugo’s model jerked slightly, like a status effect triggered, and when his mic crackled back to life, he was no longer speaking like Hyugo. No. Now, he was channeling something deeper. Something ancient. Something theatrical.

He straightened up with cartoonish grandeur and spoke in the slow, wise tone of a final boss monologue. “Sunny,” he began—Sol’s cursed nickname—“I have acquired… the capsule.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“The capsules. Of time. The very essence of fate distilled into radiant fragments. This—” he gestured dramatically to the Hourglass, “—is our salvation. Our burden. Our destiny.”

Sol deadpanned. “…You’ve been holding it for three seconds.”

Hyugo ignored him. Spun on his heel with dramatic flair. “We are going to win this game. For the realm. For the vent corpses that came before us.”

You crossed your arms. “Hyugo—”

“If it means I have to sacrifice my life…” Hyugo continued, raising one hand to the digital ceiling like a knight accepting a divine quest, “so be it. Let my KD be shattered. My dignity obliterated. My outfit scuffed—”

Sol raised his weapon slightly. “Don’t tempt me.”

Hyugo gasped. “You would turn on me now, Sunny? After all we’ve been through? After I carried you through that cursed stairwell map with the glitchy ass doors? Have you no heart?”

You tried not to laugh. Failed.

“Onward, you two!” Hyugo declared suddenly, pointing dramatically at the truck doors as they creaked open to reveal the misty lab ahead. “We must go! For glory! For loot! For Sunny’s tragic lack of skills!”

Sol muttered, “I have skills—”

“SILENCE! The prophecy unfolds!”

And with that, Hyugo bolted forward, cape fluttering—he didn’t have one, but you felt like he did—into the ominous green mist, yelling something incoherent about “ether trails” and “data packets of destiny.”

You glanced at Sol. Sol glanced at you.

“I’m not reviving him when he gets face-checked by a mimic chest,” Sol said, voice flat as asphalt.

You tilted your head, smirking. “You know we’re following him anyway.”

“…Yeah. I hate that,” he muttered, already moving.

Without a second of hesitation, Sol opened his inventory with the resigned grace of someone prepping for a ritual he swore he wouldn’t take part in. One swift flick later, he pulled out the gun—the gun. Sleek, matte black, gold trim. The kind of in-game weapon that costs 7,000 currency, your soul, and your firstborn. Came with a single magazine and a kill count higher than most player stats.

Your eyes widened. “Sol—”

Before you could even finish your sentence—BANG. 

Hyugo collapsed like a folding chair. A single headshot. Dead. Instant. No fanfare. His body rag-dolled across the floor and slammed into the lab wall with a sad little clunk, the Hourglass clattering beside him like a dropped Fabergé egg. “…WHAT THE HELL?!” Hyugo’s mic exploded back to life as his model twitched on the floor.

You exhaled. “What the helly?”

Hyugo groaned. “What the helly??”

“What the helleante?” “What the helleon musk?” “What the helleberry pie?”

“What the Hellebron James?” “What the Helly Rae Jepsen?” 

“Guys.” Sol’s voice cut in, calm but worn, like a man hanging by a single thread of patience. “Shut the fuck up.”

He walked over, still holding that overkill gun in one hand like it weighed nothing, then, without missing a beat, used the grab function to hoist Hyugo’s limp avatar off the ground. His digital arms dangled, legs flopping like a sack of potatoes in skinny jeans. “Bro—BRO,” Hyugo shrieked, squirming. “Put me down! What are you doing?! SOL—Sol stop—STOP—”

You trailed after them, watching like an exhausted parent witnessing their two chaotic ass sons take very different approaches to conflict resolution. 

“Sol. Come on.”

Sol’s avatar stopped just at the edge of the glowing, toxic pit bubbling in the middle of the containment zone. The green light cast eerie shadows across the lab walls. He slowly turned his character model, head cocked toward you.

One word. “Justice.”

“BRO I’LL BUY YOU A SKIN,” Hyugo screamed. “A WHOLE PACK! LIMITED EDITION! I’LL PAY FOR IT WITH MY OWN CURRENCY—”

Sol took a step closer to the pit. Paused.

Hyugo whimpered. “Please don’t Wario-yeet me into acid, I’m useful…”

Another step. The acid hissed below, eager. Hungry.

You raised a hand like a referee about to blow the whistle. “Sol. We do need him to activate the switch in the next room. You remember the puzzle door.”

Sol sighed, heavy and reluctant. “I hate teamwork.”

Hyugo, still dangling: “I LOVE teamwork.”

After a long moment, Sol dropped him. Hyugo screamed like a dying fax machine as his avatar plummeted toward the acid below—arms flailing, mic peaking—until you lunged. Frame-perfect grab. Caught him by the hoodie just before he splashed into the bubbling green abyss. His scream cut off immediately. For a second, the whole game seemed to lag, his body glitching mid-air as you held him up like some divine intervention.

Silence. Then: “—Y-you saved me,” Hyugo breathed.

You dropped him. He hit the floor with a loud thunk.

"Don't thank me," you muttered, brushing off your sleeves. "I just didn't wanna hear that scream again."

Hyugo groaned, rolling onto his side. "You two are bullies."

Sol casually reloaded his gun. “You’re welcome for the content.”

Hyugo sat up, rubbing his digital head like he could still feel the gunshot. “I’m getting a new squad.”

"You say that every round," you smirked, already scanning the lab. Beyond the glowing acid pit, the corridors stretched into eerie, sterile hallways, the green mist rolling between shattered glass panels. 

Oh, yeah—and the rest of the game? Oh, it completely fell apart. What started as a semi-coordinated dungeon crawl quickly devolved into Hyugo’s personal chaos playground.

You were trying to play with some semblance of focus. Sol was attempting to maintain professionalism, a beacon of composure in the chaos. And then there was Hyugo, who effortlessly turned the entire game from a tense "sci-fi horror dungeon crawl" to a wild, unhinged improv comedy show—complete with light war crimes.

He was a menace. No—he was the menace. A digital gremlin incarnate. One moment, you’re creeping down a shadowy lab corridor, the eerie hum of the ambient music seeping into your headphones, the air thick with tension. You’re on edge, weapons ready, your mind focused on the mission at hand… and then—BOOM.

Big Sean’s “I Don’t F*ck With You” intro explodes through team chat, its intro blaring like a furious soundboard god had just unleashed chaos upon you. You whip around the corner just in time to see Hyugo, arms flailing, sprinting full speed through a doorway, the music pounding in the background. Behind him? A grotesque, duck-shaped miniboss, honking like a malfunctioning bike horn and spewing acid everywhere.

You couldn’t help it. 

You were dying from laughter, struggling to even aim properly, your screen a blur from tears of hilarity.

Sol, on the other hand?

“TURN IT OFF,” he growled, weapon drawn, hands visibly shaking with frustration. His usual calm demeanor? Gone.

Hyugo didn’t even flinch. “I WOULD RATHER DIE!”Instead, he leapt. A full-on swan dive off a second-story catwalk, arms spread wide in dramatic, angelic fashion, while the music still blared through the speakers. His avatar ragdoling gracefully down to the depths below, and that ridiculous duck miniboss followed right after.

You? Hysterical. Barely holding it together.

Sol? “I hope it eats him.”

The only thing more ridiculous than Hyugo's antics was the fact that you all still couldn't stop.

The next round? It was a complete disaster.

You were trying to maintain some semblance of control, moving stealthily through a high-alert containment zone. Alarms blared in your ears, the shrill sound slicing through your focus. Enemies were everywhere, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Sol was on point, carefully lining up a perfect shot on a sniper perched high in the rafters. It was the kind of moment that made you feel like you were finally in control.

And then, suddenly—LOUD BABY CRYING.

The mic exploded with static, the shrieks vibrating through your headset. You froze, your camera whipping around to see what the hell was going on. There, crouched behind Sol, was Hyugo.

And he wasn’t even doing anything. He was just vibing. No weapons, no tactics. Just existing, silently in the corner. 

The worst part?

Every time you looked directly at him, he shot off like a rogue NPC with a death wish. His character zigzagged around the hallway, darting every which way, a trail of baby wails following him like an ominous echo through the halls. It felt like you were being haunted by the ghost of daycare past, each screeching cry more absurd than the last.

Sol's jaw was clenched so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding together. He spun on you, his frustration practically palpable. “I’m this close to uninstalling.”

You shrugged, not even bothering to hide your grin. “Let him live. He’s the only one distracting the minibosses.”

Sol’s glare could’ve burned a hole through steel. “He’s distracting me.”

Of course, things didn’t get better.

You were one artifact away from completing the mission. 

Going back for the legendary Hourglass. 

A cursed, time-warping relic that everyone knew was crucial to the final steps. You had made it this far, fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, to push forward. The whole mission had come down to this one piece.

Sol exhaled slowly, trying to keep it together. “Alright. Where’s the Hourglass?”

Before you could even answer, Hyugo shot up from the corner where he’d been hiding, far too excited. “Ooh! I’ll get it!”

You and Sol both said it in unison. “NO.”

You pointed at him, voice firm. “I’ll get it.” 

You sprinted off, cursing under your breath as you dashed through the corridor, praying to every god in existence that Hyugo wouldn't somehow decide to follow you and make the situation even worse. The last thing you needed was him trailing behind you like a damn toddler in a toy store, causing chaos at every corner.

When you finally returned, panting, gripping the eerie-looking relic in your hands, you were met with a sight that made your blood boil: Hyugo, standing atop a console, looking absolutely delightful in that damn ugly seasonal cosmetic hat.

He spun around like he was auditioning for a low-budget action movie, and before you could even blink, he started blasting the most obnoxious clapping sound effect. His character mimicked a ridiculously exaggerated movement, like he was giving backshots to Sol's and yours.

That was it. You were done.

No more laughter. No more tolerance for his nonsense. The mission was right there, within reach, and yet here he was, ruining everything with his antics.

You slammed your hand down on your mic key. “Hyugo, what the hell is wrong with you?” you growled, voice dripping with annoyance. “You can’t be serious. Every time we get anywhere, you turn this game into a circus. We’re not here to play dress-up and throw sound effects around. This isn’t a comedy show!”

You glared at him through the screen, fury bubbling up. “I’ve been trying to finish this mission for hours, and all you’ve done is run around like a damn gremlin, causing chaos and wasting everyone’s time! I swear to god, if you don’t knock it off—”

Hyugo, of course, just stood there, you knew for a fact that he’s grinning like an idiot behind his fuck ass character. The last shred of your patience snapped. You looked at Sol’s character on the screen, knowing he was feeling the exact same way. Sol’s normally calm demeanor was clearly strained, but he wasn’t saying a word.

“Hyugo,” you seethed, “I’m done. Just—get out. If you can’t take this seriously, then don’t waste our time. You’re a walking distraction and a complete menace. Maybe if you stopped playing clown, you’d actually be useful for once.”

Without waiting for any kind of response, you spun around in your seat, fingers slamming against the buttons in a blur of frustration. The shot rang out, and with a satisfying pop, Hyugo's avatar’s head crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

There was a long, tense silence. You were still fuming, but you didn’t care anymore. Hyugo was out of your hair. The relic was in your hands. The mission was finally going to be over.

Or so you thought.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice crackled through the mic, calm and far too chipper. "Alright, I’m logging off for the night," Hyugo announced, as if he hadn't just spent the last hour turning the game into a goddamn circus. "I’m gonna play something else. This is... yeah, this is too much for me."

You blinked, taken aback. He was serious? After everything? You were half-expecting him to jump back in and say, "Just kidding!" or somehow start another round of chaotic shenanigans. But no. This time, he wasn’t even bothering to tease Sol. No baby were crying sound effects, no loud meme noises blaring through the speakers, no swan dives off catwalks. 

You let out a long sigh as the weight of the chaos slowly lifted from your shoulders, but just when you thought you could finally call it a night, Sol shot you a look that could only be described as a challenge.

“Don’t tell me you're actually done,” he said, a smirk creeping into his voice. “Come on, it’s late, but we’re so close. You’ve gotta finish the level with me. I dare you.”

You raised an eyebrow. You were exhausted, physically and mentally. 

The idea of continuing felt like a cruel joke, but you knew one thing: Sol wasn’t backing down, and he had a way of wearing you down with that competitive streak of his. "Fine," you muttered, giving in. "But if I regret this in the morning, I’m blaming you."

Sol gave you a look through the camera—equal parts smug and tired triumph—as you queued up a new level, eyes bleary but still gleaming with challenge.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, stretching like a smug cat. “This one’s deep in the DLC vault. Real freakshow hours.”

You smirked, fingers already flying across the controller. “Bring it on, coward.”

What loaded next was an obscure, borderline-broken DLC map—one of those buggy, cursed messes made by a dev who clearly needed therapy and a hug. Everything about it was off: the lighting was dim and sickly, the corridors were way too narrow, and worst of all, voice proximity was cranked up to hell. It didn’t just pick up speech. It picked up breathing.

Neither of you noticed it right away—until Sol whispered a dumb joke and the monster twitched on the screen.

“Oh hell no,” he muttered, sitting up straighter. “This thing reacts to voice pitch?”

You hummed, too tired to even laugh properly. “Mmhm. Screeches at loud noises, tracks whispers like a bloodhound.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “So basically, I die if I sneeze.”

You forged ahead anyway, navigating through the maze of twisted hallways and creaky floorboards. The monster’s guttural growls kept brushing up against your nerves, but your exhaustion forced you into a kind of laser-focused calm. Your voice dropped lower, slower, softer—soothing, unintentional, intimate.

“Go left,” you murmured. “No—wait... not yet... okay, now. Stay close to the wall.”

There was silence on Sol’s end. Long, uncomfortable silence.

“Why are you... whispering like that?” he asked, voice a little thinner now.

You didn’t even look up. “Monster hears pitch. Screams attract it. I’m trying to not to get us murdered.”

“Sure,” he said, and then quieter, “It’s just... wow. Okay.”

Another corridor, another wave of tension. You were crouched behind a rusted shelf, heart thumping, flashlight flickering like it had stage fright, as the game’s monster—this twitchy, multi-limbed freak that sprinted at sound—skulked somewhere nearby. 

You leaned into your mic, voice steady, low, breath soft. “Hold your position… grab the crowbar… don’t move… until I say so.” Smooth. Silky. Calculated.

And then—“Sol?” Nothing.

“Sol?” Still nothing.

You peeked down the hallway just in time to see Sol’s in-game avatar standing completely still like some tragic mannequin left in a post-apocalyptic mall. Just… chilling. No movement, no reaction—man really just decided to embrace the void mid-mission. Then, out of the shadows, the monster shrieked like a dying lawnmower and launched itself at him.

“SOL—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

You screamed his name like he’d walked into oncoming traffic. His character didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, stoic as hell, right until the monster decapitated him with enough force to send his character’s head flying halfway across the screen like it owed him money. 

“Oh my god—SOL, YOU DIED, YOUR HEAD—YOUR FUCKING HEAD WENT INTO THE SKY.”

Still no response. 

Just the sound of the monster doing a victory screech and your own mic picking up your frantic panting as you became the hunted next. Now it was your turn to run. You booked it, chart in hand, tripping over half-looted shelves and whispering panicked commands to no one. You were not about to leave those high-priced relic items behind. No way. That shit was worth more than your character’s life, and you were committed.

You could feel the vibration through your controller ramping up—like it was trying to match your pulse. The sound of claws scraping concrete got closer. Louder. 

Then—“Nnnh…” A noise. Quiet. Way too quiet. But there.

You froze mid-run. “Sol?” No answer.

“…Are you—are you for real jacking off right now?!”

A pause. Then, barely audible through your headset, a low mumble:

“Keep talking… please,”

“I AM IN A GAME, YOU SICK LITTLE FREAK! THERE IS A DEMON CENTIPEDE THING TWO FEET BEHIND ME—I AM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE—AND YOU’RE TRYNA BUST?!” 

The controller was still buzzing in your hands like it had a personal vendetta. Maybe it was the in-game monster. Maybe it was your own nerves. Or maybe—just maybe—it was Sol, breathing way too hard in your headset and dragging your sanity down with him.

And the worst part? It was funny. Because you'd forgotten—actually forgotten—you were even dating him. You were so used to Sol being somewhat mean, clingy, pouty, and generally up in your business that his little habits no longer register. Until now. Until this very cursed match. Because this? 

This was a whole other level.

Just when you rounded the next corner—BAM. The monster dropped from the ceiling vents like it had a grudge, tackled your character, and splattered your health bar in one hit. Your screen flashed a dramatic, unforgiving red:

YOU DIED.

You blinked at the screen. Jaw slack. Controller limp in your hands.

“…Are you kidding me?” you said, voice cracking. “I just got jump-scared to death because you decided to moan in my ear like we’re in some low-budget audio drama.”

Nothing. Just silence. Then, his mic crackled.

There was rustling, a shift, the soft sound of movement, and then Sol exhaled. Shaky. Like he’d just run a marathon—or committed a sin.

“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered, breathless and too soft for comfort. “I couldn’t help it. Your voice… it was driving me crazy.”

Your face went hot. Neck, ears, everything. You curled your toes on instinct. That stupid familiar twist of heat hit your stomach before you could even think to shut him up.

“Sol,” you hissed, but it came out more like a whimper.

“I—can we switch to Discord?” he asked suddenly, almost desperate. “Please, please, Pumpkin. Just for a sec. I need you to see what you’re doing to me.” He begged, using said nickname.

Your heart stuttered. 

You weren’t proud of it, but the way he begged—soft, needy, breath catching like he was barely holding it together—yeah.

You were a little turned on.

Fine. Maybe more than a little.

You stared at the screen, still frozen on your defeat, the red YOU DIED taunting you like it knew exactly why. The headset felt suddenly too hot on your ears, like it was echoing back his voice over and over again. Your fingers flexed around the controller like it owed you an explanation.

“Sol, we’re in the middle of a game,” you muttered, but the protest was flimsy, half-hearted at best. Because let’s be real, your fingers were already flying to open Discord with the kind of speed that betrayed just how curious you really were. How desperate, aww.

“Then quit it.” His voice was a rough whisper, thick like honey poured over gravel, dark and syrupy-sweet. “Quit the game. I don’t give a damn if it’s ranked, or cursed, or if the final boss was personally designed by the devil anymore. I just need—”

A low, broken groan tore from his throat, vibrating through the call and sending an electric shiver straight down your spine.

“—need you to look at me.”

And when the video call connected?

God. You looked. And you immediately regretted it.

The screen flickered to life, and there he was—Sol, wrecked and breathless, like he’d been fighting for control and lost. His black and neon-green hair was a disheveled mess, sweat-damp strands clinging to his forehead. His shirt was rucked up past his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his abdomen, the tantalizing dip of his V-line—like he’d gotten impatient, like he’d been touching himself just thinking about you—well, of course, all he thinks about is you after all.

Bruises littered his skin, dark and possessive, marking him up in a way that only made him look wilder, more feral. His red-orange eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the color, glassy with desperation. His hands trembled where they braced against his desk, mic discarded like even that was too much to hold onto.

“You did this,” he accused, voice raw, wrecked. A confession. A prayer.

Your throat went dry. Heat flooded your veins, crawling up your neck, your cheeks, your ears—everywhere. You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting, just to keep yourself from whimpering.

“You’re insane,” you breathed.

Sol nodded, feverish, eager. “For you? Every damn second.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky, breathless. “We were just gaming—”

“No.” His voice dropped, sharp and dangerous. “You were gaming. I was trying not to lose my goddamn mind listening to you—your threats, your fucking voice, whispering curses like you were trying to ruin me.”

“I was not!” you protested, weak, already squirming. 

“‘I’m gonna shove this bat so far up your undead ass, you’ll respawn with it sticking out your mouth,’” he quoted, verbatim, voice dripping with accusation. His gaze burned into you, unwavering. “Tell me that wasn’t filthy. Tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”

You swallowed hard. “Okay,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe that one was a little hot.”

His grin was wicked, triumphant, as he leaned closer to the screen, like he could taste your surrender. “So,” he murmured, voice dipping into something dark, hungry, “still think we’re finishing that match?”

Your cursor hovered over “Rejoin Game.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate click, you closed the tab.

“…I hope that monster knows it died for a very good cause.”

Your breath hitched as Sol leaned back, his fingers hooking under the hem of his shirt with a slow, deliberate smirk. "You wanna see more?" he taunted, voice dripping with sinful amusement. "Then say it."

Your lips parted, heat coiling low in your stomach as you narrowed your eyes. "Take it off. Now."

A sharp, breathy laugh escaped him as he obeyed, dragging the fabric up and over his head in one smooth motion. His chest was perfectly—toned, flushed, his pierced nipples glinting under the dim light of his room.

You hadn’t noticed before, but each one was adorned with a small silver med-sized bars, the metal catching the light as his breathing quickened. "Fuck," you muttered, biting your lip. “Aww, you’ve been hiding these from me?"

Sol’s grin was all teeth. "Not hiding. Just waiting for you to ask."

Your gaze raked over him, lingering on the way his stomach tensed as he shifted, his fingers toying with the waistband of his pants. "And what else are you hiding, huh?" you challenged, voice dropping into something darker. 

"You gonna show me everything, or do I have to make you?"

A shudder ran through him at the command, his pupils blown wide. "Fuck—" His fingers trembled as he undid the button, the zipper sliding down with a hiss that sent a jolt straight to your core.

And then—"Holy shit."

Your eyes locked onto the glint of metal there, nestled along the length of his cock, a delicate Frenum piercing tracing from the tip down to the flushed, aching pink of him. He was big, thick, and heavy in his hand as he gave himself a slow stroke, the silver bead catching the light obscenely.

"You—" Your voice cracked. "You’ve had this the whole time?"

Sol’s breath came in ragged bursts, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk. "Yeah," he admitted, voice wrecked. "Thought you’d—ah—like it."

You did. God, you did.

“Play with yourself,” you ordered, rather quickly—voice dripping with dark command, leaving no room for hesitation. “Let me see how pathetic you look when you’re desperate for me.”

A sharp, wounded whine tore from Sol’s throat, but his hand obeyed instantly, sliding down his stomach to wrap around his cock—already hard, already dripping, the metal of his Frenum piercing glinting under the dim light. His fingers moved in slow, torturous drags, his breath hitching as he squeezed just the way he knew you liked to watch.

“Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerked, chasing his own touch, his thighs trembling. “Tell me—” he gasped, voice wrecked, “tell me how I look.”

You leaned closer to the screen, lips curling into a cruel smirk as you drank in the sight of him—his black and green hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead, his pierced nipples pebbled tight under your gaze, his abs flexing with every ragged breath.

“Like a whore,” you purred, low and filthy. “All these piercings, all these pretty little decorations—just for me to look at, huh? You like showing off? Like knowing I’m staring at your cock and thinking about how mine it is?”

Sol moaned, high and broken, his free hand flying up to pinch and twist at his nipple, the metal barbell catching the light. His back arched off the bed, his whole body shuddering. “Yours,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Always—fuck—always yours.”

You watched, transfixed, as his fingers moved faster, his strokes turning messy, needy. His other hand kept playing with his nipple, tugging at the piercing just to hear himself whimper, just to feel something sharper.

And God, you were losing it too.

Your thighs pressed together, trying to relieve the ache building between them, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Not when you could see the way his cock twitched in his grip, the way his stomach muscles clenched as he got closer. Not when you could hear every broken gasp, every bitten-off moan.

Your mind raced with want—with the desperate, clawing need to have him here, in your room, on your bed, begging for you to climb into his lap and ride him until neither of you could think. 

You imagined his rough, massive hands dragging down your body, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he whined into your ear. You could almost feel the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his muscles would tense as you traced every scar, every bruise, every inch of him.

And his piercings—fuck. 

You wanted to lick them, to bite down just hard enough to make him gasp, to suck his nipples until they were red and swollen. You wanted to taste every part of him, to sink onto his cock and feel that Frenum piercing drag inside you, hitting every perfect spot until you were both sobbing.

But most of all?

You wanted to see those eyes—those obsessive, red-orange eyes—locked onto yours as he came undone beneath you, whispering your name like a prayer.

"Be careful with yourself, pretty boy," you murmured into the mic, voice dripping with false sweetness—but the tremor in your breath gave you away. Your fingers slid between your thighs, slow, teasing, just enough to make your hips twitch. "Wouldn’t want you to break before I’m done with you."

"Sol," you breathed, voice dripping with sin as your fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your own skin—just watching the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched when you bit your lip. "You have no idea how badly I want to touch you right now."

His throat bobbed, his grip tightening around his cock like he was barely holding on. "Fuck—tell me," he begged, voice already wrecked.

You tilted your head, letting him see the hunger in your eyes—the way you ached for him. "I’d start with your face," you murmured, dragging your fingertips down your neck, mimicking the path you’d take on him. "Kissing you so deep you forget how to breathe. Then your neck—" 

Your teeth grazed your lower lip, just imagining the way he’d shudder. "Biting you just how you like it. Gentle? Or hard enough to make you whimper?"

Sol’s hips jerked, a broken sound escaping. "Hard—fuck, please—"

You smirked, dragging your nails down your chest, watching his gaze follow every movement. "Then I’d take my time with these," you purred, rubbing your own nipple just to watch him lose it. "Your piercings—god, I’ve thought about them so much. The way they’d feel against my lips, cold metal and hot skin. I’d tease you until you were begging me to move lower."

His breath came in ragged pants, his hand moving faster, desperate. "Lower—where—?"

You let out a slow, sinful laugh. "Guess." 

Your fingers trailed down your stomach, lower, lower, until his eyes burned with recognition. "Oh, Sol," you sighed, voice thick with want. "You liar, such a bad boy. All this time, you never told me about this." 

You licked your lips, imagining the weight of him, the way that frenum piercing would feel pressing against your tongue. "I’d take my time tasting you, savoring every inch—until you were shaking, until you couldn’t stand it."

Sol’s back arched, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk like he was about to snap. "You—you knew—?"

‘No," you admitted, your own fingers slipping between your thighs, moaning softly at the contact. "But I dreamed about it. About how it’d feel when you fucked my throat, when that little metal bar hit the back of my tongue. You’d try so hard to be good, wouldn’t you? But I’d make you lose control. Make you push deeper, until I was choking on you—until you came so hard you screamed."

He let out a strangled groan, his thighs trembling. "Or—fuck—or you could ride me," he gasped, his voice raw with need. "Take what you want, use me—‘

You cut him off, “Fuck—fuck—fuck—“ 

Your breath hitched as you rocked against your own fingers, Sol’s blown-out, filthy gaze locked onto you through the screen. He was watching—watching every twitch of your thighs, every shuddering gasp, every slick, desperate stroke of your fingers. And God, the way his lips parted, his chest heaving, his cock twitching against his stomach—like he was made for this. For you.

"That’s it, pumpkin," Sol groaned, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into his own thighs as he fought not to touch himself yet. "Look at you—fuck—look at you, taking yourself apart just ‘cause I’m watching."

You whimpered, arching off your gamer chair, your free hand fisting the blanket. "S-Sol—"

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough, needy. "Tell me what you’ve been thinking about. What you dream about when you’re pretending to focus on your goddamn finals."

Your hips stuttered. Fuck.

"Y-You—" you gasped, your mind spinning with him—Sol, yours, always yours, forever yours—jumping on him, riding him, your mouth around your cock as you ordered him to take it and be still until he was sobbing your name. Or maybe him pounding into you—vice versa if you have to be honest, his thick cock splitting you open, filling you up so good, so perfect, slow and deep one second, then brutal the next, fucking you senseless until neither of you could think—

"Fuck, Sol—!" You bit your lip hard, your thighs trembling. "I—I want you—inside—want you to fucking ruin me—"

A sharp, punched-out moan tore from Sol’s throat, his hand finally—finally—wrapping around his cock, stroking hard, fast, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. "Yeah? Where?" he growled, his hips jerking up into his fist. 

"Tell me exactly where you want me, pumpkin—"

"E-Everywhere—" you whined, your fingers working faster, your body burning. "My mouth—my hole—fuck, just—fill me up, Sol, please—"

"Fuck—" His head tipped back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

“J-just you—fuck, you cumming so deep inside me—gonna make me drip with it—" You moaned, loud and shameless, your climax crashing into you like a fucking tsunami—and just as you came, shaking, screwing your eyes shut, you heard Sol break.

Sol’s breath hitched, his rhythm faltering. "I’m—I’m close—"

You locked eyes with him, your own pleasure coiling tight, unbearable. "Then come," you demanded, your voice a dark, delicious command. 

"Come for me, Sol. Let me hear how much you need this."

And when he did—when his whole body shook, when his voice broke into a desperate, pleading cry—"Ngh—pumpkin.”

His back arched off his chair, his cum flying—literally hitting his camera with a wet splat, his cock pulsing in his hand as he kept stroking, milking himself through it, his moans filthy, pathetic, perfect.

"Shit—look what you did—" he panted, his voice wrecked, his cum streaked across the screen like some kind of obscene trophy. "Fuckin’—everywhere—"

You laughed, breathless, your body still buzzing. "Mmm… should’ve been inside me instead."

Sol’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Next time," he promised, his voice low, dangerous, "I’ll make sure none of it goes to waste."

Then, with a smirk that sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core, he leaned closer to the camera—and licked a stripe right through his own mess.

"Fuck," you breathed.

Sol just grinned, his lips glistening. "Better than video games?"

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. "Shut up."

He laughed—warm, bright, yours—and you couldn’t help but smile.

The screen between you flickered with the remnants of what just happened—Sol’s chest still heaving, his lips parted, his skin flushed down to his collarbones. You both just breathed for a second, the air thick with satisfaction, the kind of exhaustion that curled warm in your stomach.

“Fuck,” Sol muttered, voice rough, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re gonna have to clean this shit up.”

You snorted, stretching lazily, your muscles loose and tingling. “Your camera’s never gonna recover.”

He glanced at the mess streaked across his lens and groaned, but there was a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Worth it.”

You both took a second to recover—him wiping his screen with the hem of his shirt, you grabbing tissues to clean yourself up—moving in comfortable silence, the kind that only came when words weren’t necessary. When the heat between you spoke louder than anything else.

Then, softer: “Exams fucking suck,” you sighed, flopping back onto your chair, legs still trembling slightly.

Sol huffed a laugh, rough and warm. “Tell me about it. I think my brain’s just soup at this point.”

“Same.” You grinned at the ceiling, still feeling the ghost of his gaze on you. “But at least we’ve got this.”

“This?”

“Yeah. This.” You gestured vaguely between you, as he shifted in his seat, giving you another glimpse of his toned stomach, the way his sweatpants rode low on his hips. “The games. The dumbass voice chats. The… other stuff.”

There was a pause.

Then, so quiet you almost missed it—

“This is the only part of the day I actually look forward to.” Sol admitted.

Your breath caught. “…Yeah,” you murmured after a beat, voice softening. “Same.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was loaded—warm and electric, like the air right before a thunderstorm. Then Sol broke it, his voice dipping into something teasing but dangerously sincere.

“Your voice is dangerous, you know.”

You laughed. “Why? ‘Cause it almost got you killed in-game?”

“No.” His tone shifted, low and deliberate. 

“Because I think I’m kind of into it.”

“Oh my god—” You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across your room, your face burning.

Sol laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and you could picture him—sprawled back in his chair, smug as hell, that lazy grin playing on his lips.

You both laughed it off—mostly—but when the moment settled, neither of you moved to leave the call. The screen stayed open, Sol’s heavy-lidded gaze still fixed on you, lingering like he was memorizing every detail.

Fuck. The night couldn’t end like this.

You glanced at your clock. “…I don’t have another final until Friday.”

Sol’s eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, then slowly—deliberately—spread your legs, letting him see the mess you’d made, still glistening between your thighs. “So… you could come over. Bring snacks.”

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched against his desk, like he was fighting the urge to reach through the screen.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You smirked, then—just as his eyes darkened with hunger—you poked at the screen, sticking your tongue out before abruptly ending the call.

Leaving him with nothing but the image of you.

And another hard bulge in his sweatpants.

“Fuck,” Sol groaned to the empty room, already scrambling for his keys. He grabbed his jacket, his pulse racing. 

Yeah. This was so much fucking better than video games.

The call between you and Sol was already too much—voices tangled in panting breaths, the slick, filthy sound of skin on skin, the way Sol whined your name like a prayer. It was overwhelming. Distracting. So much so that you didn’t even notice the other set of ragged breathing.

A third participant in the call.

Hidden in the shadows of the voice channel—camera off, letting go rugged breaths —Hyugo sat frozen at his desk, bathed in the dim blue glow of his monitor. All he’d meant to do was pop in, apologize for trolling you both earlier, maybe convince you to queue up another round. But then he’d heard your voice. Sol’s voice. And then—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His fingers, which had been idly scratching at his thigh, froze. His breath hitched, sharp and sudden—like he’d just taken a hit straight to the chest.

This wasn’t just a call.

This was filth. A live, unfiltered, obscene performance—and he was the unseen, uninvited spectator.

And that alone made him hard, fast.

It wasn’t long before Hyugo’s baby-blue hair, usually tied back in a neat half-pony, now hung loose—sweat-damp strands clinging to his flushed cheeks. His lips—god, his lips—were bitten raw, his teeth sinking into the fabric of his own shirt to stifle the pathetic little noises threatening to spill out.

He hadn’t meant to stay.

He definitely hadn’t meant to touch himself.

But the way you talked to Sol—low, commanding, dripping with filthy promises—it wrecked him. The way Sol begged for you, voice cracking on your name, the way he whimpered when you teased him—

Hyugo’s hand was already slipping past the waistband of his sweats before he could stop himself.

“Fuck,” he breathed, silent, trembling.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t supposed to be listening.

But god, the way you talked about ruining Sol—

His cock twitched in his palm, already leaking, already aching as he quickly fisted himself, trying to be quiet. He could’ve put himself on mute, but—

The risk of getting caught turned him on more.

So he tested himself, gagged by his own shirt, watching his cock pulse in his grip, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep his hips from jerking forward.

He should leave. He should close the call.

But instead, his fingers tightened, stroking slow, so fucking slow, just to drag it out, just to hear more.

By the time Sol left the call, Hyugo was ruined.

His thighs shook. His free hand clutched at his own shirt, dragging it up to his mouth to bite down as his hips jerked forward—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

He barely had the presence of mind to grab a few napkin from his desk, cupping it over the tip just as his orgasm ripped through him—a silent, shuddering cry muffled into fabric as he spilled into his palm, his cock throbbing with every pulse.

“F-fuck—!”

He slumped back in his chair, chest heaving, skin burning, his cock still twitching as he dabbed himself clean, careful not to let a single drop ruin his precious gaming setup.

Disgusting. Pathetic. And so fucking good.

He still couldn’t believe you two—blissfully unaware, oblivious to the fact that he’d just come to the sound of you and Sol falling apart.

Hyugo’s lips curled into a shaky, guilty smirk.

"Maybe I should still be annoying in y’all’s games more often," he thought, breathless, wicked. 

This wasn’t better than video games, but—Fuck.

He didn’t mind shit like this now. He’d take it every damn time.

…y’all… should I write a threesome? jkjk…

Also... not gonna lie, writing this made me like Sol. Just a tiny bit.

[sylusxyou]

Hey God, it's me again /ref

Sylus with a reader that has family related trauma. More specifically trauma stemming from an abusive father and due to this they have a lot of trauma responses. Flinching at sudden movements, cowering and hiding when breaking something, frantically apologizing for every little mistake, crying very easily, the whole nine yards. And like these responses come way before Sylus even knows the story behind them

oh my lord... i'm so sorry this has taken me a while. i had no inspiration to write this week, but it finally hit me today. i'm realizing i struggle with requests a bit because once my brain gets started in a direction it's nearly impossible for me to veer it anywhere else... with that said, it may not be exactly what you were looking for but i hope it's close and that you enjoy! content warning: mentions of physical abuse (slapping/hitting), angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, non-mc!reader word count: 2.8k divider credit: @uzmacchiato

Memories of shattered glass, shouting that rumbled through your body, and stinging redness across your cheek flooded your mind. You looked down at pieces of a vase that you assumed was worth more than you’d make in the next 5 years combined. Maybe longer.

As a kid you had learned to reign in your clumsiness. You were always aware of your surroundings and you honed your reflexes to catch or swerve when the inevitable happened. Surely as an adult you should be able to avoid situations like this altogether. You had let your guard down though. You were careless. 

Sylus had invited you over for dinner. When you arrived, he was wrapping up a meeting in his office. Kieran and Luke had instructed you to wait for him in the living room. Luckily, you brought a book with you everywhere you went. Legs a little restless from the drive over, you decided to take a few laps around the living room while you dove into the next chapter. 

You weren’t paying attention and now you were frozen in place, eyes unable to move away from the damage you had done. How were you going to explain this to Sylus? ‘I’m sorry, I was walking around with my nose in a book an ran into the side table.’ What a pathetic excuse. You momentarily considered running off, driving back home, before you had to face him. That was out of the question though. He knew where you lived and surely wouldn’t let you off that easily. You’d have to face the music eventually. 

In the distance you heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Footsteps moved your way and you immediately recognized them. Sylus was coming. Anticipatory tears began to form in your eyes. You stayed in place, refusing to face him as you felt him enter the living room behind you. 

“Is everything okay, kitten? I thought I heard a crash.” His tone of concern only made your tears well up more. He thought you were hurt. The minute he saw what you did, that concern would be replaced with anger, maybe even rage. You were certain of it. 

Your voice was barely a whisper as you replied, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” Sylus began walking towards you. “What are you sorry for?” 

He came to stand behind you, his chest not quite touching your back, but close enough that you could feel the heat of his body. Over your shoulder he peered down to the ground, the destruction glaring back at him. 

There was silence between you as Sylus grabbed your shoulders and began to turn you towards him. You wanted to resist, close your eyes shut, hang your head, whatever it took to avoid looking him in the eyes. To delay what you believed was inevitable. It was no use though. You knew it would be better to just accept whatever punishment was about to be bestowed upon you. 

That’s not right. When your eyes fell on his face there was a soft smile. Not the kind he wore when he was playing with his prey. This was the kind he gave you every day when he held your hand or brushed your hair behind your ear. It should have been darker. He should be upset. Maybe he’s lulling me into a false sense of security…

Sylus looked at the small tears falling from your eyes. He slowly reached out his hand to cup your face and brush one of the water droplets from your cheek with his thumb. “Now why are you crying over a broken vase?” 

“That vase probably cost more than my annual salary!” You gasped. 

He chuckled, “Oh, it absolutely did.” 

You looked at him like he was crazy which only made him laugh more. He pulled you into his arms, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other cradling your head. “I don’t care about some vase. Things are replaceable and replacing it wouldn’t even make a dent in my wallet.” 

Sylus pulled back to look into your eyes. “I was worried you had hurt yourself. You didn’t get cut by the glass, did you?” 

His eyes scanned your body as you shook your head. “No, I just wasn’t paying attention and ran into the table.” 

“That’s good.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Sweetie, you could burn down this entire place. As long as you emerged from the ashes unscathed, I’d consider nothing lost.”

Warmth rushed through your body. You felt your heart pounding in your chest. This was completely bizarre. You wanted to smile and laugh at the ridiculousness of what he said, to bathe in the words that he used to tell you he loved you without quite saying it. But you couldn’t. This reaction was so far from what you had experienced in the past. It was hard to believe someone could respond to broken property with anything but anger. You couldn’t shake your shock. 

Sylus furrowed his eyebrows as he searched your blank face. “What’s wrong, kitten? Are you sure you didn’t get hurt?” 

You shook your head. “No, I’m okay. I just expected you to be angry.” 

He smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss on your lips. “I find it very difficult to be angry with you.” 

This made you smile, finally feeling like you could breathe a little. 

Sylus gently squeezed your shoulders and began to moved back. “I need to go finish this meeting but I’ll be out soon and we’ll have dinner. I’ll send Luke and Kieran to come clean this up. Don’t touch anything. I don’t want you getting cut.” 

You nodded and watched him walk out of the room. As you sat down to wait for Luke and Kieran your mind drifted back to the look in Sylus’ eyes. Hardly ever had you been met with such gentleness in your childhood. Years of being attacked and hurt over the smallest mistakes had made your walls impossibly high. The way Sylus treated you made you wonder if it was time to start knocking them down a few layers. 

Some days later you found yourself in Sylus’ kitchen locked in a staring match, stillness between you as hardly mixed batter dripped from his face down to his clothes.

You had been eager to bake him the new chocolate chip cookie recipe you found. He had insisted on helping you. It was his kitchen after all and you were powerless to resist him. You hadn’t wanted to anyway. There was a certain domesticity to baking cookies together that made your heart flutter. If only the shady criminals he did business with could see him like this. 

Sylus’ kitchen was stocked to the brim the state of the art appliances. You had been so eager to try them out, especially the electric mixer. You had to make due with a hand mixer at your apartment, so when Sylus pulled out his fancy mixer you actually squealed. 

After dumping all of the ingredients into the metal bowl you excitedly went to turn on the mixer. However, in your excitement you had failed to realize the difference between your hand mixer back home and the appliance in front of you now. At home you had to use the highest setting from the get go. Here, that was the completely wrong move. 

Sylus wasn’t able to stop you before the contents of the bowl went flying everywhere. You quickly turned the mixer off and looked at him, mouth agape. Both of you had been hit but he had gotten it much worse. 

Everything had gone quiet. His mouth was drawn into a tight line and the only movement from his was the rapid blinking of his eyes trying to see through the mess on his face. 

You began to stutter, “Sylus, I-I’m so sorry! I w-wasn’t thinking. I got too-“

He cleared his throat to cut you off. One of his hands wiped across his face, smearing the not-quite-batter onto his fingers. Suddenly his hand moved towards your face to seek it’s revenge. You quickly turned your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. 

It was an involuntary reaction, one that made Sylus pause. There was something off about the way you flinched as you turned away. You were afraid and he noticed. 

You hadn’t really thought Sylus was going to hit you. In fact, you were becoming increasingly certain with each passing day that he would rather condemn himself to hell than cause you any pain. You couldn’t help it, though. Sudden movements, especially towards your face, had historically meant one thing for you. It was engrained into your brain. 

When the sting never came, you slowly opened your eyes. Your heart sank when you saw the look on Sylus’ face. 

“Kitten…” his voice was soft and broken, garnet eyes glassy. He knew. 

You gave a pitiful laugh, “Sorry, I overreacted.” The sad excuse for a smile on your lips did nothing to defuse the tension.

“Stop.” His voice was stern, but filled with empathy. He grabbed your hands and pulled you to the kitchen table where you both sat. 

Sylus’ hands squeezed yours like letting go would be the most painful thing in the world. “Will you tell me about it?” 

Avoiding eye contact, you sighed, “I’ve never really told anyone before.” The soft brush of his thumbs across your knuckles kept you grounded. 

Talking about it scared you. It would make it too real and you’d much rather pretend like it never happened. But as you sat with Sylus, the man who you were growing to love beyond what you ever thought possible, you wondered if you had any other choice. If you continued to avoid it, were you really allowing yourself to be fully loved? 

Sylus wanted to know everything about you. It was easy to talk about your taste in music or tell stories of times you’d embarrassed yourself at work. Talking about things like your father and how he abused you, that was much harder. 

As you focused on the feeling of his hands, though, your courage rose bit by bit. When you finally made yourself look Sylus in the eyes, your heart squeezed. The man in front of you continuously surprised you the more you got to know him. He was equal parts strong and soft, dangerous and safe, relentless and patient. He was a man who teared up at the mere thought of someone intentionally hurting you. 

Sylus wanted to love you with everything he could. You wanted to let him. It would be difficult, maybe even painful, to relive the past with him. But you knew at the end of it all he would hold you and show you what it meant to be truly loved. 

“It was my father,” you began, “though he wasn’t always that way. My mom died when I was six and he couldn’t handle the grief.” 

You laughed, though it was devoid of any real humor, “It’s a pretty cliche story to be honest. Dad was buried in grief and started drinking. It was a slow progression, just yelling or telling me I was bother. He didn’t hit me for the first time until I was seven.” 

Sylus scooted his chair closer to you, legs resting on either side of your own. His grip on your hands never loosened and the look in his eyes was a swirl of fury and devastation. 

“Keep going,” he urged. 

You took a deep breath and continued, “I was helping him with the dishes. It was my job to dry them. Of course everything he handed to me was dripping wet. It was inevitable, I guess, that something would slip from my grasp. I shattered a mug. It was one of my mom’s favorites which meant my dad used it almost every day.” 

Your hands were shaking now, but you willed yourself to finish, “I knew he would be mad. By then I was used to being yelled at. What I didn’t expect was for him to slap me across the face. He started apologizing immediately, hugging me while I cried. He promised he would never hit me again. That was a promise he was never able to keep, no matter how many times he made it.” 

Sylus pulled you up from your seat by your hands and sat you across his lap. One of his hands grasped your waist tightly as the other laid in your lap, continuing its soothing strokes across your knuckles. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry he ever laid his hands on you.” His voice cracked, the effort he was putting into not breaking down painfully obvious. 

You gently touched your forehead to his and smiled softly. “It’s nothing you need to be sorry for.  You have no fault in this.”

“Still, I-“ 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him as you pressed a finger into his lips, “it got better as I got older. Not because of anything he did. I was just able to learn what triggers to avoid, to get out of the house more, and he started to care less and less about where I was.”

Sylus shook his head. “I want to kill him.”

This made you laugh, “I’m afraid he beat you to it.” 

Sylus eyes widened and you let go of his hand to cup his cheek. “It wasn’t intentional. At least, the police didn’t think so. His drinking was out of control and by the time I was sixteen he had been heavy into drugs as well. I guess his carelessness caught up with him and what he mixed that day killed him.” 

Silence washed over the two of you again. For a few moments you just sat there together. The longer you stared into his eyes the harder it became to hold back the tears. You had tried to keep it light, to let the bitterness outweigh the hurt. But the way Sylus looked at you was disarming. He saw beyond the dark laughter and the emotionless retelling. He saw the pain that plagued you. 

He pulled you close and gently rocked you in his arms. Once the tears started it was difficult to make them stop. So you didn’t try. You let yourself come undone in the arms of the man you loved. Sylus didn’t ask anymore questions, didn’t urge you to continue speaking. He simply held you and whispered words of love and encouragement into your ear. 

‘It’s okay.’

‘I’ve got you.’

‘You’re safe with me.’

‘You’re so strong.’ 

It was hard to tell how much time had passed like this. Eventually the tears ran out and the air in the room felt less heavy. You pulled your face away from his chest, wiping the tears from your eyes. As you sniffled, you took a good look at Sylus’ face. A laugh began to rumble in your chest and, though you tried, you were unable to keep it from bursting from your mouth. 

Sylus look at you in surprise. “Did I miss something? What’s so funny?” 

“I’m sorry,” you giggled, “it’s just, I was so caught up in telling you my story and crying that I forgot.” You grabbed his face with both of your hands. “Your face is still a mess.” 

A wide grin spread across his face. “That’s right and I have you to blame, kitten. If I remember correctly I was just about to enact my revenge.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm, yes,” he hummed, “but before I get back to my plan, I need to clear something up.” Sylus leaned in so his face was inches from yours. 

His voice was barely a whisper as he asked, “You know I would never intentionally hurt you, right? Not emotionally and certainly not physically. I would rather die.” 

You gave him a quick peck on the lips and sighed, “I know that. I didn’t think you were actually going to hurt me. It was just an involuntary reaction.” 

“Good,” he replied, “we’ll work on that. But in the meantime…” 

His voice trailed off and the gentle, loving look in his eyes was replaced by something deeply mischievous. “You should run, kitten.”

As you and Sylus chased each other around his kitchen, cookie batter repurposed as a weapon, you felt a part of your heart begin to heal. It had been painful to relive the past, but you knew it was worth it. You were confident that before long, with time spent in Sylus’ warm and caring presence, you would stop expecting pain and start anticipating love.

[raekensluver]

George Clarke request -

walking in on him doing all the YouTube challenges that he did on stream and being like wtf

this was so fun to write!!

contains: flufffff

george clarke x fem!reader

you rap your knuckles against george's door, hearing a faint thud from inside followed by an unintelligible, muffled "come in!"

you hesitate for half a second before pushing it open—and immediately freeze in the doorway.

george is sitting in front of his streaming setup, cheeks comically full, almost chipmunk-like, marshmallows stuffed into every available space in his mouth. half the bag lies open on his lap, and there’s a sticky string of drool threatening to fall onto his shirt.

you clamp a hand over your mouth to smother your laugh, eyes flicking to the monitor where twitch chat is moving wildly fast:

user 1: SOMEONE SAVE HIM!!! user 2: OMG GEORGE'S GIRLFRIEND HIIIII! user 3: SHE WALKED IN AT THE WORST TIME LOLLL user 4: GEORGE YOUR GF IS GONNA LEAVE YOU AFTER THIS

you bite down on your lower lip, fighting a grin as you wave awkwardly at the camera. george tries to say something else, but it’s just a series of indecipherable grunts.

"you’re doing chubby bunny?" you ask, laughing now. "is this part of your stream where you’re doing every big youtube challenge?"

"You know, most boyfriends just... text when they miss me," you say lightly, glancing at the chaos on the screen. "not... whatever this is."

george tries to respond, but it just comes out as a garbled "mmm bmm mmm!" that sends you into a full giggle fit.

you grab a tissue from his desk and walk over, gently pressing it against his chin where the marshmallow drool is starting to drip. he leans into your touch immediately, his whole body sagging like you’ve just rescued him from certain death.

"you’re such an dummy," you murmur affectionately, brushing a thumb over his cheek. you glance at the chat again:

user 5: they're so cute I’m actually gonna cry user 6: GEORGE SHE STILL LOVES U OMG user 7: MARRY HER ALREADY GEORGE

george carefully starts plucking the marshmallows from his mouth, spitting them dramatically into a bowl on the desk, finally gasping, "i was doing so well until you walked in."

"hmm, you still looked cute," you tease, leaning down to press a kiss to his sticky forehead.

as you move to get out of the way of his stream, he grabs your wrist, sticky fingers and all.

"stay," he mumbles, still slightly breathless. "sit with me. you’re my good luck charm."

your heart softens instantly. how could you say no to that?

you settle beside him, laughing when he leans his whole weight against you, marshmallow-scented and beaming.

[puppybei]

Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 10 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Kdrama esque cliche, Depiction of Christian wedding, reader is received to be wearing a dress but I’ve kept it as vague as humanely possible, Switched up writing styles a bit for this one don’t be too mad lol, kissing without consent but it’s just to shut Sukuna up- scandalous I know!! Mentions of pregnancy and giving birth but nothing in detail. Mention of Toji!! Lowkey really bad writing

Wc: 4.5k

Year 20XX, September 20

It was lightly drizzling that day, wet cement and autumn leaves crunching under his feet, shoes squeaking with every step he took, hair plastered to his tiny forehead as he finally reached the playground.

The ten year old Sukuna was skipping class for the first time in his life, in fact, he even took a bus to another town just to escape. He has to go back, he knows his parents will find him by the evening- but those few hours he got without the adults criticizing his every move was much appreciated.

The boy walked around the new town for an hour, finally coming to stop at a small neighborhood park, crawling inside one of the cylindrical slides and sitting with his with his knees propped up. That was where Sukuna met you for the first time, though neither of you were old enough for the memory to stick with you after twenty years.

The sound of a young girl crying made the boy’s head snap up, climbing out of the slide and into the gravel. A peculiar sight greeted him, a girl his age sitting on the corner with her right pant leg pulled up, red streaming down her knee as she hiccuped and sobbed.

Two presumably older boys stood over her, dirt and grime coating their hands as they laughed at her, kicking sand upwards as she sputtered and coughed. Normally Sukuna didn’t really care about weaklings who couldn’t defend themselves but the screeching laughter of the older boys was starting to irk him.

A short scuffle later, the twelve year olds had run away, tail tucked in between their legs as they promised to get back at Sukuna. Your cries had been reduced to mere sniffles and you were bandaging up Sukuna, pink hello kitty bandage placed on his scathed knuckles as he grumbled about how girly they were.

You shyly smiled in return, holding his hand as he helped you up and thanking him with big doe eyes. Sukuna felt something in his stomach flutter but he crushed down the feeling immediately, he had never been on the receiving side of anyone’s good will and his hands felt clammy with the feeling that bloomed in his heart.

You both spent a good hour in the park, playing and just talking while Sukuna had made sure no one else was going to bully you. By the time the sun set, the people his parents sent out had come to pick him up and he watched you wave goodbye as he sat in the car, tinted window obscuring his vision of you.

Sukuna forgot to ask you for your name and you went on with your own life, unbeknownst to both of you, fate had other plans and would tangle your red strings.

Twelve Years Later,

Sukuna doesn’t really remember how he ended up with the velvet box in his pocket when he was on the clean up mission that changed the trajectory of his life. One minute he was walking through a high end shopping district to meet with an investor and the next he was talking to the salesman from the jewelry store.

It was a pretty stone, he knew you’d like it. He had access to your Pinterest board and made sure to get the ring that was to your every whim and wish, the perfect band, the perfect stone, the perfect cut- it had to all be perfect. He wasn’t going to half ass a proposal- he’s not that dense.

The notion kind of started on a late night call with Toji, one where he confessed he got his then girlfriend pregnant and was going to marry her. When Sukuna asked him why, Toji gave some generic man answer- though to his credit he did sound very sincere in professing his love to the woman.

Which then spurred Sukuna on to start thinking about you- a kid with you. Maybe a kid who looked like you- yeah he wouldn’t mind a brat or two if they came out like you. The fantasy brought a smile to his face as he laid down on his hotel bed, still dressed in his formal suit as sleep had yet to come to him.

After the initial day dream, it seemed that every waking moment not spent doing work was imagining you with a kid, a child with the same pretty eyes as you, same toothy smile and perhaps he’d get to see the mini version of you that he missed out on. He’d get to dress them up in little clothes and he’d be a father.

He wasn’t a jerk though, he’d have to first solve the problem of your bare ring finger before knocking you up- though he wouldn’t mind which order he did it, but it was you- and damn him if he wanted to take things properly with you.

So yeah, he might’ve told Toji he didn’t want kids with you, but it’s not like that fucker needed to know he wanted to marry you first, watch you walk down the aisle in a pretty white dress with your hair and makeup done, maybe watch you sign the marriage certificate with his name, wanted to kiss you in front of everyone and claim you as his forever.

Seven years and three months later,

Sukuna could feel his breath catch in his throat, the itchy tag of your clothes still pressed in between his fingers. He could feel your warm breath on his chest, the way you slightly trembled when your question came out, your own body warm and soft against his.

“Fuck.”

He immediately regretted his word choice as he mumbled the curse out in panic, sitting up on the bed when you scooted away, face turned away from him.

Your bottom lip was pulled in between your teeth, worry lines already forming on your forehead, eyebrows furrowed as you felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up your face.

“Forget it- sorry I never. Just-”

The bedsheets rustled around you as Sukuna almost leapt forward, hand curling around your upper arm as he looked down at the bed, not meeting your gaze,

“This isn’t how I-”

He let out an exasperated sigh, one hand shoved inside his pocket and playing with the velvet box that he and Uraume flipped the old apartment upside down for.

It had never been a question of who he was going to marry, he always knew it was you, the real question was when? How long does one wait to propose to the love of his life their ex/baby mama before it’s considered socially acceptable?

He knew he had to wait a year at minimum to get his shit sorted out, and then what? Another year of dating- slowly introducing Hana to her father and then how long was he supposed to wait?

Sukuna never really did well on what society expected of him, finding the thousands of unwritten rules on how to communicate and behave quite honestly a huge hassle and not worth his time. The only reason he didn’t ask you to marry him outright after dating for a few months, was that he knew it would make you sad.

And fuck him if he couldn’t stand the sight of disappointment on your face. He hated seeing you bottle things up, hated watching your expression flicker for a moment before you steeled yourself and fixed it with a smile that just didn’t sit right on your face.

So yeah, he might have gone down multiple subreddits and spent an unhealthy time on websites seeking the help of strangers until he realized they were all incels and had no life of their own.

And he hates himself for hesitating, for holding back, for not proposing to you earlier. He wonders how long you kept that to yourself, had he really let his girlfriend doubt herself for the entirety of their relationship.

He cursed under his breath, letting go of your arm as he chewed on the flesh of his cheek, poking his tongue into the sides of his mouth,

“I- Fuck- I can explain everything okay- just,”

He looks up, meeting your own worried gaze as you put your hand on top of his, practised ease evident with the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes right.

Sukuna never considered himself a coward, fuck it he could just propose now and be done with everything- the only reason stopping him was you. He doubts you’d want him on one knee in a bedroom that had barely been cleaned for the past week, still dressed in your Pyjamas with empty ramen bowls sitting on the night table, evidence of last nights’ movie marathon.

“I made a reservation, tonight- for 9.”

His voice comes out raspy, almost hesitant, if you hadn’t known Sukuna for so long, you’d say he was bashful even. His gaze drops to your bare finger, staring at it for a second as his grip tightens around the box in his pocket, jaw clenched as he seemed to be lost in thought.

Sukuna wasn’t unprepared- no, infact he’d booked the reservation for the restaurant almost three months ago, no matter how many times he tried to bribe the fuckers at the restaurant- the head chef said something about moral integrity or some fuck shit and wouldn’t let him cut in.

And so he willed himself to wait- after all, this head chef was also a top class patissier, one who you admired ever since you were in high school.

It was one of those days where you both were engrossed in your own worlds, Sukuna finishing up the documents his useless treasury left behind while you were working on an Opera cake- a more bitter chocolate cake that you wanted to impress your teacher with.

Songs from the shared playlist you and Sukuna made when you first started your ‘arrangement’ played softly in the background, filling up the silence whenever you stopped talking. As you started layering and decorating the cake, a notification popped up on your phone. An update from your favorite patissier- turned- chef, he was opening up a restaurant uptown.

Your excited chatter soon filled the silence up and Sukuna barely nodded in response, you thought he wasn’t paying attention and continued to gush about the chef, your enthusiasm even affecting Sukuna as he paid just a little bit more attention that day, burning the details of you into his memory.

“It’s okay- I don’t need to know anymore, it was just a stupid question I didn’t- you don’t need to answer,”

Though Sukuna wasn’t a coward, he sure felt like the world's biggest one as he watched you get up from the bed and disappear into the washroom, manicured nails taunting him with the way they shined under the dim lighting.

Sukuna had got your nails done a month ago, you were taken aback when he asked to accompany you to your nail appointment, a bit suspicious when he insisted you get white nails, chalking it up to this being another weird control thing he wanted with you. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna was playing the long game, internally smug when the nails came out to your liking even if he was the one who chose the design.

Next came shopping for d-day, he knew you’d want to wear something off-white, you always wanted to save wearing pure white for the actual marriage. So when you both went out he made sure to buy everything that your gaze lingered on- not that he didn’t do that normally, but he took extra care to guide you to more engagement-okay clothing.

“Wear the dress I bought last week,”

You stopped on your way to the bathroom, turning around and raising an eyebrow at the six foot man who sat tense at the edge of your bed,

“Okay…”

Sukuna had been unusual the entire date, first off he refused to tell you where you were going, instead picking out your outfit for you and mumbling something about how you’ll know when you get there. Even more weird was the fact he was wearing a suit- a personal favourite of yours but unnatural nonetheless.

By the time he pulled up to the restaurant, you finally put two and two together, smiling so hard at the CEO that your cheeks hurt. You weren't sure how Sukuna managed to get a reservation, but he must have pulled a bunch of strings to make up for not answering your question before.

He led you in, hand resting on your lower back as he glared at the male employee who smiled at you, eyes narrowing into a mean squint. Sukuna is an impatient man, but as the waiter led you to your seats, he only got far more impatient- leg bouncing under the silk lined tables, swirling the wine around in his cup lazily as his eyes shot from looking at you, to the table napkins, to the view outside the window seat you were perched at and then finally back to you again.

“I didn’t mean it.”

You could see Sukuna swallow down the wine, adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. You stopped mid cut into your food, glancing down at the knife in your hand before you mumbled out,

“It’s okay Ryo- really I-”

This time Sukuna reached forward, hand immediately wrapping around your delicate wrist as he forced you to look up at him, he’s always been a little attention hungry when it came to you,

“Fuck- no you don’t get it.”

He bit his lower lip, shaking his head as one hand disappeared under the table and into his pocket. You finally let go of your knife and fork, setting them down to smile warmly at Sukuna,

“Ryo really, you don’t have to explain anything,”

Sukuna barely nodded in response, quiet again as he settled down into his seat and ate the rest of his food in tense silence.

When the dessert came out, you could barely hold in your excitement, going as far as to pass a note to the chef through the waiter. Sukuna watched your giddy smile as you cut into the cake, his own heart beating fast in chest as he watched you savor every bite.

By the time you were done, Sukuna had started to fill the silence with idle chatter, talking about Yuuji and Megumi and everything in between. You listened to him carefully, adding your two cents whenever needed.

The man had started to fiddle with his hands under the table, suit blazer looking slightly uncomfortable with how much he was moving. Sukuna brought your attention back to him when he started talking about Uraume, slipping the ring from the box and into his hands.

He watched you respond animatedly at him, all smiles and flushed cheeks from the alcohol. Sukuna had watched countless engagement videos, making sure he had the correct posture and not some long ugly winded speech that he knew you’d hate.

The plan came crashing down when you laughed at some stupid joke he made though, smile lines and crow's feet adorning your features and Sukuna felt the love for you speeding over his chest and in that moment he took your hand in his, still seated right next to each other with the city lights twinkling behind you.

Your hand was yanked from the table and you were starting to question Sukuna when he slipped the ring onto your finger, a perfect fit.

“Marry me,”

It was so Sukuna of him to order you to marry him instead of wooing you, although you guess you don’t have anyone but yourself to blame considering you love him- brashness and all.

“What I said to Toji-,”

This caught your attention, looking up at him and catching his eyes with a curious expression. Sukuna’s ears were tinged red, he was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky,

“I wanted to get married first, I wanted you to be mine before I knocked you up-,”

Your mouth opened in shock at his crude choice of words, slapping his shoulder playfully as he merely rolled his eyes and continued on his speech- or rant,

“Sorry for fucking that order up,”

He mumbled, gaze stuck on the carpeted floor as he avoided your eyes. Good thing you didn’t back out from a challenge though, next thing the 6 foot man knew, your lips were pressed against his, impossibly sweet and soft.

He grunted in response, hand cradling the back of your head as he pulled you closer, only letting you go to have a breather,

“Silly Ryo, you’re lucky you’re cute. I don’t know if I would have agreed to this otherwise,”

He could feel you smiling against his lips, he cursed under his breath, pulling you in once again as he kissed you more deeply with furrowed eyebrows.

Six Months Later,

Sunlight filtered in through the stained glass, shades of red and blues dancing on Sukuna’s face as he waited at the altar. The pews were lined with pink and white roses. The church was dim, sunlight and candles serving as the only source of light.

Sukuna was dressed in a black suit, crisp black dress shirt that hugged his figure under the vest. He had his hands in his pocket, unusually tense, anticipation and anxiety thrumming through his body as he kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

He could barely hear the chatter of the people you had invited- not him, he’d rather you sign in an office and call it a day, but anything to make his soon-to-be wife happy right. Speaking of keeping you happy, he even wore a lapel pin, a white rose that rested just below his collar, contrasting the all black look and honestly he just wanted to rip the entire suit off and be done with it.

Even his hair was styled with copious amounts of gel, face tattoos covered with foundation. He never thought of covering them up, but he visited your family once and heard not so savoury comments about himself and had to grit his teeth in order to not make a scene.

The church bells finally rang and his head snapped upwards, red eyes expectantly looking at the huge wooden doors of the church that opened. His breath caught in his chest as he watched you walk in, heart patterring so loudly he felt his entire body was buzzing in awe. Sukuna would later tell you that the glistening in his eyes was caused by the dry air and not by the sight you.

Your heels felt heavy as you walked to the altar, veil obscuring your view and his simultaneously. Sukuna had to dig his nails into his palms to fight the urge to rip off the material and uncover your face. You had him in a trance, jaw going slack as he watched the white dress swish around you.

He barely composed himself when you stood beside him at the altar, whatever the priest said going in one ear and out the other as he stared at you, barely making out your soft smile through the translucent veil.

He swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth as he watched your gaze turn to the little ring bearers, turning his own head to see them. Hana was dressed in a white dress, a huge bow tied at her waist and her pink hair in short bouncy curls. Yuji, the ever sweetheart, held her arm as the now seven year old held the rings carefully in her small hands.

Sukuna barely registered you saying ‘I do’, in fact he himself couldn’t remember if he said it in time. The entire thing felt like you were both in a daze, like you two were the only people that mattered in the entire world. Sukuna finally felt at ease as he slipped the ring onto your finger for the second time in his life, eyes trailing up to see your face and wiping away the tears that gathered in the corner of your eyes,taking care to not ruin your makeup.

Sure, he might have called you a ‘silly woman’ for shedding tears at your own wedding, but was it really your Sukuna if he didn’t make a stupid comment. You merely giggled in response to his scolding, holding his calloused hand in yours as you slipped his ring on.

Sukuna thinks he’ll remember this moment forever, the giddy look on your face, mascara lined lashes batting up at him, the upturn of your lips, the pearl necklace sitting on your collar bones that just caught the light from above, the look in your eye as you held his hands in yours. He sure hopes the photographers he spent his money on captured this, otherwise he was going to unleash hell on them.

A flurry of flowers was showered upon you both as you walked down the aisle, you could make out Toji with his son, cracking a smile at you both from the pews, even Aoi came with her son, a basket of white petals in her hand as she waved at you.

A glance at Sukuna showed that he was staring right at you, softly brushing off the petals from your hair with a serene look, he looked neither angry- which was a lot coming from Sukuna, nor did he look insanely joyous- which would honestly just scare you if he did. He looked peaceful, content and the look he had on his face made you feel all gooey inside, like you were a teenager who got caught staring at her crush.

One year later and five months later

Sukuna had a headache, he’s been having this headache for the past month or so. He blearily blinks awake from his slumber, awakened by the sounds of a baby crying. He grabs the monitor as he swings his legs, sitting down on the corner of the bed.

The black and white screen showed baby Shiro wailing in the blue nursery room and Sukuna let out a sigh. He heard you mumble in your sleep, turning around and brushing his fingers against your cheek, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth when you sleepily nuzzled into his palm.

He pulled the covers over you, tucking you in as he stood up and made his way to the nursery. The dimmed lights were turned on as he entered the room, Shiro’s high pitched wails stopping once Sukuna entered and loomed over his crib. The baby boy had your features, same sparkling eyes and pouty lips whenever you got upset.

Sukuna picked Shiro up, sleepily patting his back as he laid him on the diaper changing counter, nose wrinkled in disgust as he changed Shiro as quickly as the man could physically do. But Shiro was still crying and Sukuna could feel a vein pop in his head, he took the baby to the kitchen and sat him on the baby chair, already getting out the milk for him to heat up.

A quick temperature check was done and Sukuna held Shiro in his arms, walking back and forth as he fed him the bottle. By this time you had gotten up, sensing the cold empty space beside you and walking into the kitchen.

“Ryo you should have called me too,”

Sukuna looked up in your direction, sending a nod in acknowledgment as he grumbled, turning his body away from you,

“You barely slept last night. Don’t be stupid. I can take care of this much,”

Actually Sukuna had been taking care of far too much work than he took credit for, you don’t know if he was trying to make up for the pregnancy he missed out on but he barely let you take a step from your bed, even complaining when you tried to do simple exercises.

He also paid much more attention to Hana, making sure she didn’t feel left out at any point. He attended all her events and praised her over every small thing, though the praise itself was questionable.

Even after you gave birth, which was a huge ordeal, as it is with any kid from a six foot five man, he was there with you throughout the entire process. Even insisting you get a maid for three months while you got to reciprocate and he took care of the kids, taking a leave from his job as he left Gojo and Geto to run the company for a few months.

Even now, a month after dismissing the maid, he’s been ever so attentive to you, he makes sure you don’t even have a chance to get up in the middle of the night, claiming the spot before you even realize it’s open.

You check the time and it’s a little over seven in the morning, not unusual for Shiro to be up, infact his older sister should be following suit pretty soon. You can already hear her little steps down the stairs, loudly calling for you as you push Sukuna aside and set a pan on the stove.

“Hi darling, Mumma’s gonna get breakfast started for you so why don’t you go sit down hmm?”

Hana was finally tall enough to sit on the grown up table, in your opinion she was growing old way too fast, already eight and her dad’s behaviour was rubbing off on her, she was apparently very sassy to her classmates in the third grade, never to you though.

Shiro had quietened down after the bottle was over, blinking curiously at the clatter of plates around him as he was put back in his baby chair, slamming his hands on the table and babbling incoherently as Hana talked to him.

Sukuna settled down at the table nodding along to Hana’s story about the new friends in her class as he sipped on a cup of coffee you got him. The radio was turned on and soft music played while you made food, breakfast was the one meal Sukuna allowed you to cook, Uraume was called over for lunch and dinner.

When breakfast was finally done you put the plates in front of Hana and Sukuna, Shiro was barely five months old and you wanted to let him be curious about foods before introducing them to him.

The sunlight streamed in through the shimmery curtains, highlighting the mess of toys on the floor and pouring warmth into your bodies. The children sat in the shade while you and Sukuna basked in the morning glory.

The first few hours of the morning was always your favorite, the kids were too sleepy and pliant to start any sort of fight and Sukuna usually took care of Shiro so you just had to make breakfast as you talked to your husband. It filled your heart up with love and affection to see the same scene every morning, like something in you was healed, it was filled to the brim. It was everything you could ever want and so much more.

Yeah. This was it.

Previous Current

Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @poopooindamouf @sadrna @domainofmarie @sukubusss @nousija @pjofics @katsukiseyebrows @the-reas0n-is-y0u @krispywhisperswhispers @pillkits @needsleep3000 @tangsakura @raquel12 @not-aya @melancholycries @littleemissperfecttt @tojisbabymommasblog @thebumbqueen @totallygyomeiswife @kiyotosbae21 @bwlol7 @ratedrrrr @ihrtbin @kunascutie e @periwinkle07sblog @getoxo @dilfkentolover @gradmacoco @gojoscumsluttt @levifiance @averyjadedemerald @anyaswlrd @rcveriees @thenightperson @yoriichiiloveu @charlie-xo @salfishers @flmdrva @favvkiki

A/n: And that’s the end ladies!! Tbh there are a lot of plot holes but I would like for everyone to remember that I’m 1. Just an 18 year old and 2. I’m doing this for free and from the comfort of my home!! Anyways I’m so glad that so many of yall were willingly a part of this!! Like I gained 400 followers from this that’s crazy… be on the look out for my next series featuring Duke of the north! Nanami lol!! I love you all so much and rereading the comments I got were the only things motivating me to finish this!!

[b1eedthefreak]

can we have some daryl angst? Daryl and reader get into an argument and it ends with him saying something mean and making her cry. Fluff at the end and forgiveness, put your own twist on it your ideas are great!

Be There For You

daryl x reader

warnings: angst, daryl being stubborn and mean

a/n anon i loved this request i’ve been wanting to write something like this for so long! i also apologize because i forgot to add the fluff at the end 💔 but they forgive eachother at the end :)

⸻

The sun was starting to dip low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and gold as you and Daryl trudged through the woods, bags slung over your shoulders, the day’s haul secured. You were talking his ear off like usual, voice light and cheerful despite the exhaustion pulling at your limbs.

“I saw this field earlier,” you said, glancing over at him with a bright smile. “It was full of those little white flowers, you know? Like… wild daisies or something. We should stop by on the way back. It looked so pretty, Daryl, you’d love it!”

He gave a small grunt in response, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile, but before he could say anything, his hand shot out, covering your mouth. Your heart jumped in your chest.

His eyes were sharp, scanning the trees. That’s when you heard it, the voices, too close, too many.

Daryl pressed you back against the nearest wall of a crumbling brick building, his body shielding yours. “Stay here,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You barely had time to nod before he was slipping away, silent like a shadow. You clutched the strap of your bag, peeking just enough to see him step into view. There were three men. They clocked Daryl immediately, shouting at him to hand over his supplies. Daryl stayed calm, his crossbow raised slightly, but ready, but not stupid enough to make the first move.

And then everything exploded into chaos.

The men fired first. Daryl ducked behind cover, returning fire with sharp, precise shots. You stayed frozen behind the wall like he told you, heart hammering against your ribs.

Until you saw him, another man, one that must’ve been hidden creeping up behind Daryl with a gun raised.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. You darted from your hiding spot, lifted your pistol and fired.

The man dropped like a stone, his gun clattering against the pavement.

But it didn’t end there.

Another guy lunged for you. You barely got your arm up in time before the blade nicked you, a shallow cut, but enough to sting sharp and hot. You stumbled back, but before he could do more damage, Daryl turned and shot him square in the chest.

Silence fell heavy around you.

You clutched your arm as Daryl stalked toward you, his face thunderous. He grabbed your uninjured arm, pulling you toward him roughly, not enough to hurt, but enough to shake you.

“What the hell are ya doin’?!” he barked, his voice booming louder than the gunshots had been. “I told you to stay put!”

You opened your mouth to explain, to tell him you had to… he would’ve been shot if you hadn’t, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“You were tryin’ to help?” he snapped, cutting you off. His eyes burned into you, harder than you’d ever seen them. “That what ya think? If you wanted to help, you would’ve stayed the hell back and let me handle it! But no, that’s too damn difficult for ya to understand, right? I don’t need no damn help, and I sure as hell don’t need your help.”

You stared at him, the breath knocked out of you. Your chest ached, tears welling up fast, hot, but you bit them back. You refused to let him see you cry. Not here. Not now.

Without another word, Daryl grabbed the bags and started marching back toward Alexandria.

You followed him silently, a wide gap between you. The walk felt endless, your chest tight, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. You kept your head down, letting the tears fall freely now, wiping them away with the sleeve of your jacket.

When you reached the gates, Eugene spotted you both from his post. He furrowed his brow, taking in Daryl’s stormy expression and your teary one.

“Uh… reckon the mission was a mite more eventful than anticipated,” Eugene said awkwardly, shifting on his feet. “Ya need me to… fetch someone?”

You shook your head quickly, mumbling a quiet “no thanks” before pushing past him, making a beeline for your house.

You barely made it inside before the sobs broke free. You dropped your bag on the floor, covering your mouth to muffle the sounds as you collapsed onto the couch, curling into yourself.

A few minutes passed. You heard the door creak open but didn’t lift your head.

Heavy footsteps. Then a bag being thrown carelessly onto the other side of the couch.”What’s wrong with you?” Daryl’s voice was gruff, but there was confusion underneath it, like he didn’t understand why you were crying.

You whipped your head up, tears streaking your cheeks. “You don’t get to ask me that after what you said,” you choked out, voice cracking.

Daryl stiffened. “All I said was for ya to stay back. I didn’t need your help—”

“No, Daryl!” you shouted, pushing yourself off the couch, shoving at his chest with both hands. “You don’t get it! Just because you’re this big strong guy doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m nothing! We’re supposed to be partners, Daryl — dating! You don’t get to talk to me like that!”

You pushed him again, and he stumbled back a step, wide eyed.

“I was trying to help you,” you cried, fists pounding weakly against his chest. “I just wanted to help…”

Realization finally dawned across his face. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

“Baby…” he rasped finally, reaching for you, but you shoved at him again. “Get off me,” you hiccupped, tears blurring your vision.

But Daryl didn’t let go. He wrapped his arms around you, strong and warm, pulling you against his chest as you struggled weakly. “I know, baby. I know. I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking right alongside you. “I’m sorry, so sorry…”

You clung to his shirt, fists balling into the fabric, soaking it with your tears. His hands moved up and down your back, trying to soothe you, trying to hold you together when he’d been the one to tear you apart.

“I just wanted to help you,” you sobbed against him. “Please, Daryl… let me be there for you..”

He pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “You’re right,” he murmured hoarsely. “You’re right, baby. I’m sorry. I just—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumbs wiping the tears from your cheeks, so gentle it made your heart hurt.

“Jus’… get scared,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I can’t lose you, ya hear me? I can’t.”

You hiccupped, your arms wrapping around his neck as fresh tears slid down your cheeks only this time they weren’t just from sadness. They were from feeling seen.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered. “But you gotta trust me, Daryl. You gotta let me be there for you, too.”

He nodded, forehead resting against yours. “I will, baby. I swear. I’ll do better. You’re my

everything. I ain’t never gonna push you away again.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into his hair. For a long time, you just held each other, breathing each other in, the world outside forgotten.

Daryl Dixon, stubborn, gruff, and so scared to love,

finally understood.

And he wasn’t letting you go.

⸻

[bnnysweets]

WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME IF TURNS OUT I’M INSANE?

abby x bpd!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. i labeled like “bpd!reader” bc i have it and it’s inspired by how much i wanna comfort during crisis, but you can read it thinking just about mental illness in general. i listened to the whole the record album by boygenius while writing this!

warnings: angst & comfort. reader has a crisis and abby helps. talks about voices inside reader’s head, bad past memories and fear of abandonment. mention of self harm but it’s very brief. modern au. readers is called baby, sweet girl and angel.

when you both started to live together you agreed ‘bout the cameras, abby work a eight hour shift and you were almost graduating, but despite that, you still spent a bunch of time alone at house, so the main reason was security. you are a little unpredictable while going through a crisis and sometimes self destructive, abby just wanted to keep a eye at you.

today was one of those days when you did everything as you should, everything was alright until the voices in your head told you it wasn’t. you arrived home, went to the gym, did your homework, cooked and bathed, you were laying on the couch scrolling through instagram when suddenly it hits you, a felling that you are nothing, just absolute hollow.

at first you were just crying, it was okay, nothing new, but everything escalated quickly, your heart was beating so fast that you thought it would stop, you vision almost completely black and you had lost when was the last breath that you took properly.

abby was exiting the parking lot when she thought about checking on you, she opened the app to see the camera footage and saw you sat on the ground, with your knees pressed against your chest, rocking backing and forth and trembling like you were naked at alaska, she called you immediately and looked what would be the fastest way home.

“hi baby.”, you didn’t answer, abby could hear you crying and trying to catch your breath without any success, “i saw it on cameras, i know okay? you don’t need to say anything just listen to me.” you let a little “mhm.” and she was a little bit more calm, just to know that you still could listen to her without your mind disturbing it. “i’m coming home, almost 10 minutes away, i need you to try your breath exercises, i know you think they don’t work but i need that you at least try them.” you started to do without thinking twice, “you’re such a sweet girl, you know that, right? i love you so much, you’re the most precious person that i’ve met, the kindest, sweetest and smartest. i don’t know what is going on your mind, what they’re saying to you or what you’re remembering…but nothing of that define who you are. you are so much more than anything, and i mean, anything that happened to you, you are so much more than what your mind try to convince you that you are. sometimes i even think you’re an angel on earth. i need you to know that, you know that? that you’re a angel? you make heaven a true place when i’m with you. don’t let they say to you that you’re not making progress because you are, everyday i see how much you try to be the better, and trust me, you are. i love you. i’m not going to leave you. we’re are all good”.

“i’m sorry abby.”, her heart stopped, finally you were talking, “i’m sorry i’m this shitty girlfriend, always disturbing you, i love you so much, so so much but i don’t deserve you. i’m just empty.” and now her heart shattered, her foot stepped harder on the accelerator. she was already on yours street but for some mysterious reason the traffic was horrible, she parked in the first empty space she spotted and got out of the car, running towards your house. “nothing can make me hate you, nothing. i don’t care if your mind say to you that you don’t deserve this but you do, you deserve love, gentle love. love without fear, without turbulence, and i’m more than happy to give it to you.” she took a deep breath, “now, may you please open the door?” you left your phone on the couch and rushed to the door.

when you opened it abby was catching her breath, her eyes lit up seeing you, you were a sight for her sore eyes, even when you looked like this. she grabbed you and closed the door with a kick, you hold her so tight that you felt alive again, you felt your heart stopping hurting, she was the best medicine. she carried you to the bed you shared, “i love you, i love you, i love you, i fucking love you, you understand me?” she positioned you on top of her, she was holding your face delicately with a hand and with the other she was smoothing your back. “you are not mad at me?” you asked, even fearing the answer, “oh my love, how could i ever be mad at you? how?” her hand moved from your chin to your cheek, caressing it, she looked at you like she could truly see you, without see all the bad things that went through your mind, all the bad things that you did, all the bad things you always remembered, she could comprehend and appreciate you, even when you were a mess, she loved you even when you couldn’t understand why.

“i’m sorry.” you said and she took your hand in hers and kissed it, “why are you sorry for?” she looked at you with those eyes again, those eyes that you were always able to saw how much she cares for you, “i’m sorry for being like this…for always be a burden, for never being stable, for not being able to give you a normal relationship.” you started to spiraling again and faster than the light abby put her hand on your chest, where you heart is, and she started to breathe really calmly, deeply, and without noticing you were following her rhythm. when you finally calmed down you rested your head on her shoulder, she moved to the edge of the bed to reach the little table beside the bed, she opened the drawer and grabbed your medication and your water bottle, she offered to you and you took them.

“what is a normal relationship?” she asked softly and you let a little scoff, “it’s one that you don’t need cameras to see if i’m not going to harm myself just because my mind hates me.” abby guided your head to look at her, “so a normal relationship is one without you? without your intensity?” you nodded, “yes, it’s one without me being so extreme about everything.” abby caressed your face, “so i would never be happy in a normal relationship.” your eyebrows furrowed, “what do you mean?” she put her fingers on your lips, like she was admiring, “if i won’t have your intensity i don’t wanna it. i know that most of the time it makes your life very hard but it also brings so good things to your life and consequently to mine.” you looked confused but before you could say anything she answered, “when we started dating, on our second month together i already knew we would work out, you know why? because you were so transparent that i already knew you, your reactions, your likes and dislikes and i already loved them. you never lied to me about anything, even when you broke my favorite watch. you remember when you had a fight with one of my best friends because they said something bad about me behind my back? and when i didn’t believed on you, you didn’t get mad, you explained to me what was happening, you showed me proof. this is what makes you the person that i want to spend the rest of my life with. i understand your condition, and that sometimes you’re going to relapse, but every single time it happens i’m gonna to be here, to comfort you, to you talk to or just cry, i don’t mind it. i love you, you are so much more than a diagnostic.” when abby stopped talking you pecked her lips, “thank you.” you said and hugged her again, “you don’t need to be thankful babe, i just doing my job.” “well you do a very good job.” she giggled, “it’s because i fucking love it.”

dividers by @byuvly

[lynbels]

hiyaaa can i order a prompt 4 with jaehyun of bnd sort of more like how he has cuteness aggression with the other members and maybe also mixed with a number 10 please?? ik this is kind of a mdni blog but can i js take my cute stuff and then i swear ill leave😢🙏

a little bit of love, a little bit of chaos - mjy (m)

#10 Laughing until you’re both crying and out of breath + kissing your forehead + #04 mumbling “You’re my favorite person.” · prompt request list

🎀 genre fluff, humor, friends-to-lovers, slice of life - ‼️ tw chaotic friends, lots of teasing, extreme fluff, forehead kisses, confession, light cursing - ✉️ 1829wc

💌NOO idk why I’m starting to write so much smut but I swear I love writing my cutesy fluff and I totally see myungjae doing this like the way he adores his members is just so UGHH

It all started because of Woonhak.

You’d been friends with him for a while now — the loudest, most chaotic part of your life, the boy who texted you seventeen times a day and dragged you into his endless schemes without even asking. So when he told you he wanted to introduce you to his friends, you didn’t think much of it.

“They’re not normal,” Woonhak warned, grinning like he was proud of it. “You’ll see.”

You didn’t really get it — not until you were standing awkwardly in Leehan’s living room, clutching a soda and feeling about as out of place as a cactus at a water park.

That’s when you met Jaehyun.

He was… sunshine. That was the only way you could describe it. Black hair flopping into his eyes, bright grin that crinkled the corners of his face, voice a little raspy from laughing too much. He bounded over like he’d known you for years, practically tackling Woonhak into a hug mid-sentence before turning to you with a wide, sparkly smile.

“Hi!! You must be Woonhak’s normal friend,” he teased, throwing a pointed look at Woonhak, who immediately tried to punch him in the arm.

Somehow, you found yourself laughing — real, belly-deep laughing — within minutes. Jaehyun had that effect on people. He didn’t just smile; he beamed. He didn’t just laugh; he giggled and clapped and doubled over like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He had no chill, no filter, and apparently no concept of personal space because five minutes later he was slinging his arm around your shoulders like you’d always been part of their group.

“Isn’t she cute?” Jaehyun declared, squeezing you closer while Woonhak made gagging noises in the background.

“Stop,” you laughed, shoving at him — but he just grinned wider.

Over the next few weeks, it became a regular thing: movie nights at Leehan’s place, late-night convenience store runs with Woonhak and Riwoo, getting dragged into Taesan’s weird pranks (and somehow always losing). Jaehyun was always there, a golden retriever in human form — ruffling your hair, teasing you for everything, poking your cheeks and calling you “squishy” until you smacked his hands away.

He had insane cuteness aggression, especially with the boys. He was constantly hugging Leehan out of nowhere, squishing Riwoo’s cheeks until he whined, flopping across Woonhak’s lap dramatically just because he could. He even tried to kiss Taesan’s cheek once, but Taesan saw it coming and dodged so hard Jaehyun nearly fell over the couch.

“One day,” Jaehyun vowed, shaking his fist. “I will kiss you, Taesan, you can’t run forever!”

“You’re insane,” Taesan deadpanned, but even he was hiding a smile.

It didn’t take long for your friendship with Jaehyun to shift into something… different.

It was little things at first: the way he started lingering a little longer when he hugged you, the way he found reasons to text you late at night (“i saw a duck and thought of u,” “do u think ghosts get scared too”), the way he looked at you when you laughed like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You tried not to overthink it. He was Jaehyun — sweet, touchy, impossible Jaehyun. He was like this with everyone… right?

But then there was the night you stayed over after movie night, curled up in a blanket on the floor because Woonhak had stolen the couch and the others were already snoring around the room.

You were trying not to shiver when a blanket landed on top of you — and Jaehyun sat down right next to you, tucking the edges in carefully like you were something precious.

“I really like you, y/n,” he mumbled suddenly, almost too soft for you to hear.

You turned to look at him — and he kissed your forehead, quick and clumsy, like he couldn’t stop himself.

Your heart absolutely exploded.

The next morning, Woonhak caught you two sneaking glances at each other across the kitchen and immediately groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“This is so gross,” he whined. “I regret everything. I should’ve left you guys strangers.”

“You love us,” Jaehyun teased, tossing a piece of cereal at him.

“I want a refund on life,” Woonhak declared dramatically, dodging it.

Jaehyun just laughed — bright and beautiful — and reached over to squish your cheeks.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he said, and his smile was so warm you almost forgot to breathe.

It got worse after that.

Jaehyun didn’t even try to hide it anymore. If you so much as yawned, he was draping his jacket over your shoulders like a doting grandparent. If you said you were cold, he tugged you into his side without hesitation. He kept sneaking kisses too — on your forehead, your temple, sometimes even your hand like you were royalty — and every single time, you went stiff as a board because everyone was watching.

Especially Woonhak, who looked one second away from throwing himself into the nearest trashcan out of secondhand embarrassment.

“You guys make me sick,” he grumbled one day, watching Jaehyun fix the hood of your jacket for the third time in five minutes. “Like actual stomach pain.”

“You’re just jealous,” Jaehyun chirped, poking Woonhak’s side.

Meanwhile, Riwoo was busy dramatically pretending to puke into a bag, Leehan was shaking his head fondly like an exhausted single parent, Sungho looked vaguely amused (but very much like he was taking mental notes for future teasing), and Taesan just gave Jaehyun a long, unimpressed stare.

“You’re whipped,” Taesan declared, sipping his drink. “Pathetic.”

Jaehyun only grinned, completely unaffected. “Thanks, I know.”

And then — because apparently he didn’t know the meaning of shame — Jaehyun stood up, clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention like a camp counselor about to announce a trust fall, and blurted:

“I’m asking her out.”

Silence.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun said brightly, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Cue absolute chaos.

Riwoo immediately dropped his phone and screamed.

Woonhak threw himself backward onto the couch like he’d been mortally wounded.

Sungho started laughing so hard he almost fell over.

Leehan looked like he wanted to say something but was too busy trying to keep Riwoo from actually collapsing.

Taesan just stood there shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was associated with any of you.

“THIS IS HAPPENING??” Woonhak shouted from where he was lying dramatically across the couch cushions. “IN FRONT OF ME?? IN MY OWN HOUSE??”

Jaehyun ignored all of them, smiling only at you — bright and sure and a little bit nervous around the edges.

You could barely hear yourself over the chaos, but you said yes anyway — and Jaehyun beamed, grabbing your hands and spinning you around like an overexcited golden retriever.

“Disgusting,” Woonhak muttered loudly, covering his face.

“I’m getting married first,” Jaehyun sing-songed back, hugging you close.

“You’re barely adults!” Taesan called after him, but he didn’t sound all that convincing.

At that moment — messy and loud and full of too much love — you realized you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Woonhak absolutely lost his mind the first time he caught you and Jaehyun kissing.

It wasn’t even that dramatic — just a quick, sweet kiss when you thought no one was looking. You were standing by the kitchen counter, Jaehyun tugging gently at your sleeves like he couldn’t not touch you, and you leaned up to peck him on the lips.

But of course.

Of course Woonhak walked in at that exact moment, holding a bowl of popcorn, and immediately let out a sound so shrill and horrified it made everyone else jump.

“OH MY GOD!” he shrieked, dropping the bowl.

Popcorn exploded everywhere — bouncing off the floor, the counters, even hitting Riwoo in the head as he came running to see what was wrong.

“WHAT WHAT WHAT,” Riwoo shouted, skidding to a stop.

“They’re—” Woonhak pointed accusingly, like he’d just witnessed a crime. “They’re making out in the kitchen!”

“We kissed once!” you protested, laughing helplessly as Jaehyun tried (and failed) to look innocent.

“This is betrayal,” Woonhak moaned dramatically, sinking to his knees in the popcorn. “I introduce you to my friend and now you’re— you’re kissing in my kitchen! Under my roof!”

Jaehyun just pulled you closer, grinning ear-to-ear. “You’ll survive.”

“No, I won’t,” Woonhak said, voice cracking. “I’m gonna wither away.”

Meanwhile, Sungho was laughing so hard he had to hold onto Leehan for support, Taesan was filming the whole thing on his phone with zero shame, and Riwoo just started eating the popcorn off the floor like it was no big deal.

In the middle of it all, Jaehyun bent down, brushed a kiss to your cheek, and murmured — so only you could hear:

“I’m never letting you go.”

And even though Woonhak was still whining dramatically in the background, and Riwoo was throwing popcorn at Taesan, and Sungho and Leehan were trying (and failing) to restore order — you swore you’d never felt happier.

Messy, noisy, chaotic.

But full of love.

Exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, after what felt like forever — after Woonhak finished dramatically mourning his “lost innocence,” after Taesan finally stopped filming, after Sungho managed to bribe Riwoo away with promises of bubble tea — the others filtered out, leaving you and Jaehyun blessedly alone in the kitchen.

For a second, it was silent.

You looked at him, he looked at you — and then you both broke into laughter again, breathless and giddy, leaning into each other like you couldn’t help it.

“God, they’re so dramatic,” you wheezed, wiping at your eyes.

Jaehyun grinned, nose scrunching in that way that made your heart do stupid little flips. “You’d think we committed a felony.”

You leaned your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Maybe we did. Betrayed Woonhak’s trust or something.”

“He’ll live,” Jaehyun said, wrapping his arms around you, squeezing just a little tighter than necessary. His chin bumped the top of your head as he murmured, softer now, “You’re mine now, right?”

Your breath caught a little — because even though he was teasing, there was something real and serious underneath his voice.

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m yours.”

The way Jaehyun beamed — like you just told him he won the lottery — made your chest ache in the best way.

He leaned down, kissed your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips — slow and sweet and so full of feeling it made your toes curl.

“You’re my favorite person,” he mumbled between kisses, voice getting a little rougher, a little more shy.

You smiled against his mouth. “You’re mine too.”

For a long moment, the world faded out. No loud friends. No flying popcorn. No chaotic screaming. Just Jaehyun, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt exactly right.

prompt request list also eeee first bnd req and Drabble!

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

HAISIAAIHI CAN U DO THANOS X FEM!READER ROUGH SMUT?? You can decide the plot but like at the end it’s extremely tender🥰🙏🏼

Rough around the edges

Character: Su Bong x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Genre: Rough Smut, Soft Aftercare, Emotional Intimacy Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Su Bong has always been careful with you — patient, restrained, afraid he might break you. But tonight, something snaps. He lets go, giving you everything he's been holding back. It's rough, hungry, a little overwhelming... and by the end of it, you're tangled in his arms, safe and loved in a way that steals your breath.

⚠️ Content Warnings:

Rough sex (consensual)

Vaginal penetration (unprotected; established relationship)

Hair-pulling, manhandling (Su Bong is very physical)

Dazed crying during sex (reader overwhelmed but happy)

Overstimulation

Slight size kink (Su Bong being very commanding, reader smaller)

Soft, emotional aftercare (cuddling, forehead kisses, whispered "I love you"s)

No explicit reader physical description (body-neutral writing)

Very possessive energy ("mine" talk)

Gentle dom / soft dom Su Bong vibes

It started with the way you looked at him.

The way you reached for him without thinking — trusting, soft, so sure he'd catch you.

And Su Bong did catch you.

He always did.

But tonight... something inside him cracked open.

You barely had time to gasp before he had you pinned against the bedroom wall, big hands gripping your thighs, hauling you up like you weighed nothing.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, his mouth crashing against yours — rough, devouring, desperate.

You whimpered into him, clinging to his shoulders.

"Tell me to stop," he growled into your mouth.

You shook your head frantically, nails digging into him. "Don't. Please."

That was all he needed.

He tore your clothes off like they offended him, leaving you gasping and shivering under his touch.

He dropped to his knees without a word, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, and buried his mouth between your thighs like a starving man.

You cried out — high and broken — one hand tangling in his hair, the other slamming against the wall behind you for balance.

Su Bong groaned against your heat, the vibrations rattling through your whole body.

He was messy.

Sloppy.

Licking you open with no finesse, no patience, just pure need.

Your hips bucked helplessly, thighs trembling around his head.

You came too fast — shaking, gasping — and Su Bong didn't even give you time to recover.

He stood up, flipped you around against the wall, and shoved down his pants just enough to free himself.

You barely caught a glimpse — thick, flushed, leaking — before he was lining up and slamming into you with one brutal thrust.

You screamed — overwhelmed, wrecked — clawing at the wall, at anything.

He was deep.

So deep it hurt a little — but it hurt perfectly.

Su Bong cursed under his breath, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back.

"Fuck," he growled, voice shaking. "You're mine. You hear me?"

You sobbed out a moan, nodding frantically.

"Say it."

"I'm yours," you gasped, voice wrecked.

"Good girl," he rasped.

He fucked you hard against the wall, each thrust jolting you up onto your toes, the slap of skin on skin filthy and loud in the small room.

Tears blurred your vision.

Your legs gave out, but he just held you up, slamming into you harder, chasing both your pleasure and his own like a man possessed.

When you came again, it was messy — full-body spasms, sobbing into your own hands — and Su Bong followed a heartbeat later, burying himself deep with a broken, desperate groan.

He stayed like that for a long moment — panting, trembling — before he realized you were crying softly into your arm.

Not from pain.

Not from fear.

From being so completely overwhelmed.

"Shit—" he muttered, immediately pulling out, wrapping his arms around you like he could physically shield you from the world.

He carried you to the bed, laid you down so gently it made your chest ache.

"Baby," he whispered, brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. "Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, reaching for him blindly.

He took your hand, pressing soft kisses into your knuckles, your wrist, the inside of your palm.

"You’re okay," he murmured. "I've got you. You're safe."

You tugged him down until he was wrapped around you — chest to chest, legs tangled, his big body curling protectively over yours.

Su Bong kissed your cheeks, your temple, your eyelids, whispering "I love you, I love you, I love you" like a prayer between every kiss.

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in his scent, feeling the aftershocks ease slowly under the weight of his touch.

And in the safety of his arms, you drifted into sleep — wrecked, cherished, and so deeply loved it hurt.

[dior-luxury]

omg hi, huge fan of ur works!! i saw ur requests for windbreaker were open?(if not please disregard this🙏) but can you maybe write a kotoha x gn reader ? maybe like a meet cute with a reader that looks like a delinquent but is actually pretty sweet

Kotoha Falling In Love With A "Delinquent"

( ✧ ) ────── friend stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] kotoha

- [𝐩:𝐬] none~

Note: KOTOHA!!! I literally love her, I'm so happy that writing for her is my first wind breaker request 🥹!

Spring settled on Makochi like a lazy cat, stretching its golden limbs across the streets, softening the city’s harsh edges with warm breezes and drifting petals. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, blanketing the sidewalks like pink snow. The street outside Bofurin’s territory was unusually peaceful today.

Kotoha, hands stuffed into the oversized hoodie she liked to wear when she wasn’t kicking ass or babysitting reckless delinquents, strolled through the shopping district. Her hair down in its usual style, earbuds in, blasting a playlist she’d thrown together for mood control. It wasn’t working.

She was still annoyed. Angry, really. Some idiot had knocked over her scooter earlier and didn’t even leave a note.

But then she saw you.

Leaning against the side of a vending machine, one foot resting lazily against the metal, smoke curling from the cigarette barely hanging between your fingers. Not school uniform, just a black biker-style jacket over a white tee, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. You looked like the kind of person who didn’t ask for trouble—but didn’t mind if it showed up.

Your hair was slightly messy, and there was a faint scar over your eyebrow. Definitely not a local. Kotoha’s brain immediately labeled you: trouble. Her inner monologue went something like: Ugh, another wannabe punk? Please.

But then you turned your head.

Your eyes caught hers, and the expression you wore wasn’t cocky or calculating. It was… soft. Curious, even. You blinked, straightened a little, and awkwardly stubbed out the cigarette.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice low but gentle. “Didn’t mean to blow smoke your way.”

Kotoha blinked. Wait. Polite?

“…You’re not from around here,” she said, one eyebrow arching.

You smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly looking more like a kicked puppy than a threat. “Nah, just moved here. Was trying to find the train station. Got lost. Again.”

Kotoha didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she squinted at you, trying to detect any sign that this was an act. The jacket, the cigarette, the scar—it was all so textbook “delinquet.” And yet… your aura was more like someone who carried bandaids in their pocket just in case someone scraped their knee.

“…You always dress like that?” she asked, tilting her head, lips twitching in amusement.

You looked down at yourself and laughed, short and embarrassed. “Guess I look like a thug, huh?”

“No,” she lied, “You look like someone who listens to sad music in the rain.”

Your face turned red so fast, and that’s when Kotoha knew—this wasn’t just some punk. You were sweet. A little shy. And kind of cute in the way baby goats are cute: nervous, jumpy, but genuinely earnest.

“Well,” she said, taking out one earbud, “you’re lucky I found you first. There are guys in this area who’d pick a fight just because of how you look.”

“…You’re not gonna fight me?”

She snorted. “Please. You’d cry.”

You looked mildly offended—only mildly, because you knew she was probably right.

She started walking, glancing over her shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll show you where the station is. But you’re buying me a soda.”

You fell into step beside her, matching her pace, eyes drifting up to the blossoms that fluttered down between the buildings like a soft, wordless promise.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quieter now.

Kotoha didn’t look at you, but her smirk deepened. “Don’t mention it. Just… maybe drop the cigarette next time.”

“…It was my last one anyway.”

A pause. She turned to look at you.

And for the first time in a long while, Kotoha’s face softened—not her usual half-smile or sarcastic quirk, but something real. Warm.

“Good,” she said.

[watchthisqqq]

Heesu in Class 2

I’ve posted that it’s hard to write about heesu in class 2. I don’t mind critique. I really don’t (heck I agreed with some of the critique). But the amount of negativity I feel does mischaracterize what this show is actually like so the audience reaction is going to be part of my review. There is a lesson in expectation setting here which could have helped with some of the backlash. What things boiled down to is that this show is worth watching. The show has a kdrama style but it is good. It’s well acted, well shot and there is clear direction on where it’s going. Everything has a purpose in supporting Heesu’s journey towards self-acceptance or the audience acceptance of that journey.

This might feel like an odd analogy but comparing this show to breaking bad: people complain that it's a slow/boring at the beginning because it's setting up so many different things. I never felt like Heesu was boring but it's comparable to me because the audience is receiving a lot of information that you won't get a pay off for until much later. Because the pay off is so delayed that it feels great when it happens.

I understood what the show was doing even when sometimes I didn't like all of it. The Chang Young and Ji Hu were a contrast in straight couples having it easier but also something that audience could link onto while waiting for the pay off of heesu and seong won getting together. But I think that didn't quite work because of audiences mind set going into the show and they were not that enthralling. But I think partially by design: they were the smooth ride with so little hurtles to overcome and the focus and the anticipation is on heesu and seong won where it should be.

I'm going to be compassionate with the critiques because I do think certain things were stacked against this show. I think it was supposed to be released two years ago. There were rumors of it being straight washed. If that's already in people's heads and a het couple gets added. Manhaw readers have expectations and then this is not a regular bl format. All this is going to make it an uphill battle for the show.

However despite all that and even my own hesitancy about the format I did recognize the quality and the heart of the show. I loved heesu, seong won, ji hu from the start no problem. Heesu's family and his interactions with them are amazing. I surprised at the level of anger this show has received past the mid point when things started picking up more speed. There are a lot of good things here and I assumed that would shine through despite the previous perceptions.

I wish I and others had gone into this show in the same way I did with love in the big city. If I knew it was not a conventional format I think I would have set myself up better.

I immediately connected with Heesu as a character. I recognize the emotionality, the jealousy, the possessiveness, the meaness. The feeling of creating discomfort for others just by existing. We've seen self-acceptance stories before but this feels unique and feels honest. The acknowledgment of the internal consequences of homophobia.

What I want to emphasize is that there is excellence in this show which for me makes the critique irrelevant. Heesu’s journey is the core of why this show is so good. Personally I cry every time I think about it for too long. To have that othering be seen and acknowledged and the effect of it and to walk through it. Episode 9 is something that will stay with me. That episode couldn’t have happened without the build up of the previous episodes.

I don’t want to speak on how people are feeling but there is something here about the intensity of this reaction. It’s like there is an undercurrent of protectiveness of bl and fear of this overt queer expression being taken away. For me the core of this story does speak truth to the queer experience and love for it. I disagree with the idea that the show is homophobic (queerbaiting, straightwashing, etc.) because despite it’s framing everything in the story is in service of a queer character's acceptance of his queerness.

I’m accepting that the show did not resonate in the same way with everyone that it did for me. The point of this post is to say maybe not to be dissuaded by the response and see if it resonates with you.

[iwtv-theories]

How Iwtv may adapt “the vampire Armand” (theory)

Tw: given Armand’s trauma.

I personally don’t think a whole season will be dedicated to adapt tva. But, I do believe a subplot of his past will be developed over multiple seasons through flashbacks and other writing devices . We already have a new Indian writer hired for the show - who wrote a play about living in a brothel . so we’ll most likely dive more into his past and trauma . it’s also foreshadowed that Armand will eventually tell Daniel his story- similar to how Louis and Lestat did. Armand already told Daniel a (probably not quite accurate) depiction of his past with the children of Satan . And Armand saying to Daniel: “Do you want to hear my story? My first memory…” (could foreshadow he’ll eventually tell Daniel his entire story ).

But, given the nature of Armand’s past I assume a lot of scenes will be portrayed by Assad, and some scenes by a younger looking adult actor, along with darker scenes being verbally stated (similar to Claudia verbally recounting her trauma with Bruce, to Louis). But … I also believe that by the end of Armand’s story a huge “bomb” or several “revelations” will be revealed as Daniel asks “a few follow up questions.” Which indicate Marius is even worse than Armand openly admits or realizes. It would be similar to how Daniel at the end of s2, points out discrepancies in Louis’ story (that re-contextualize everything) .

I think Armand will have been turned as an adult, but I believe it’ll be revealed that Armand was younger in his past than the flashbacks indicate. Similar to how certain passages of Armand’s book made him seem much younger than what he claimed to be . In Armand’s own flashbacks he’d be a “BOY masquerading as a gentleman" (even deceiving the audience into thinking he was older). PS, the next things I mention are either from the books or show canon.

Daniel : “just some follow up questions. Your FIRST memory was being chased down by slavers , so you were young… you had to be only 3 or 4 then? No wonder you aren’t positive of your birth name. I ask cause you said you said you were 15 when Marius saved you from the brothel, right? But, you told me that the night he bought and made a move on you that you were “too young for wet pleasure“ - and then 2 years later that was no longer the case . So you’re saying you only started puberty at 17 years old? Are you sure you weren’t closer to Benji’s age when some of this stuff happened ?” (Benji is Armand’s 12 y foster son who was previously abused and trafficked) .

Daniel: “you told me in 2022 that you were a 514 year old vampire . So you were born in 1508? You said you were 20 years old  when ‘adoration of the shepherds’ was made. But historians say the painting was commissioned between 1520-1525. So you'd have been somewhere between the ages of 12-17 when he 'donated' you to his friends ."

Daniel: “ I don’t know how to say this, but… are you sure the other young boys (that lived with Marius ) didn’t get donated to his artist friends too? Those boys were being trained as painters and hanging out with Marius’ ilk all the time . They may have had a hard time saying no to Marius’ requests , as well. You even said there were rumors of 'bad boys' being 'banished’ from the house ‘immediately' , for saying disrespectful things about Marius. When you first met Ricardo and he painted you , why did he cry ,throw the paint brush and say“ a very different picture master has in mind for you.” Was he warning you that being painted by someone isn’t as nice as it seems? If Marius wasn’t with the other boys -why did he make all of them show their ankles because ‘to him the ankles of boys were beautiful’. Why were those young boys already experimenting with each other , going to brothels and hanging out with courtesans for fun, and teaching you how to read by showing you “frightening books about men and women in carnality.” Aren’t those all signs that they were exposed to that stuff way too early ?! Marius made you go to brothels to ‘train you’ to be better at bedding men and women. And when you were a kid, you said Marius took you to a “ luxurious house of pleasure", which kept … "only young boys.” You even said that , this boys-house was “Eastern styled” and that the boys looked “Egyptian or Babylonian" . He even bought a couch from that establishment. Are you sure he wasn’t a regular customer there ? Armand… I don’t think he bought you to 'rescue you from the brothel'. He bought you because you looked like the boys from his favorite establishment! And at Marius’ house, the first thing those boys did when they met you was say they “loved you” and wink… are you sure they weren’t taught to do that with all house guests? Are you sure Marius' palazzo wasn't just a high-end brothel of young boys?"

Armand describing Marius' palazzo...

Never forget Marius tried to marry pandora when she was 10 !That man is a repeat offender! I don’t trust Marius at all! idc if all the vamps in the books (or even AR respected him) . All my homies hate marius! And I feel like the show may re-contextualize some of those very questionable details sprinkled in the books , that were never addressed . I think the show will make Marius even worse than the books ! Iwtv writers tweeting: “Kendrick Lamar releases Marius diss track.” And in s2 Louis straight up says Marius “groomed” Armand. I don’t think, they’ll shy away from his questionable actions … but I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of the vamps initially fall for his charisma/wisdom (similar to how he garners respect from other vamps in the novels) . Similar to how a lot of abusers are often loved and respected by their peers. It was Marius after all that initially taught Amadeo how to 'lie' better. Not to mention (Marius' age and and drinking from Akasha would make ) his mind-gift and ability to control minds MUCH stronger than Armand's too . Which could (theoretically) have some scary narrative implications for the future... Daniel run before he tries to mess with your head .

[thecatsofus]

-ˋˏGirlfriendˎˊ

warnings: cheating(ellies gf is a total bitch, yet thats not a reason to cheat so dont cheat!!), just fluff ig, kinda angst, lmk if i missed anything.

a/n: i was listening to girlfriend and i thought about it but DON'T. CHEAT. a trump supporter at my house and im writing lesbianism. sorry about this being so short yall😞

Mai was the worst girl you've ever met.

Not even because she was dating Ellie, but because she was an actual bad person. Mai was always mistreating everyone, including her friends AND Ellie.

She constantly cheated on Ellie, barely spoke to her in a whole month, everytime Ellie's with you she gets possessive and jealous as if she didn't cheat on Ellie every week with a different guy.

You were always telling Ellie she was a bad person, but she never listened to you. She actually did, but she was so afraid that Mai would tell everyone all the things and secrets that Ellie trusted on her.

You grew tired of it. Mai was trying to forbid Ellie to even talk to you. You used to hand out every day and now? It's barely once a month. And when Mai is angry at Ellie she always says she'll forbid Ellie to even talk to you, block you and make you disappear from Ellie's life forever.

Mai knew she wasn't a good person, she knew it. She did all that on purpose. She never really liked Ellie, she just hated you. Why? Well.. Let's say in fifth grade her "boyfriend" started liking you and broke up with her because of you and you didn't even said yes to him. Yes, fifth grade. She still has rancor over something so stupid. Let's see what she'll say about this.

In a month that Ellie's lucky, Mai let her hand out with her friends, she's at your house. Whenever she can, just to scape her crazy girlfriend. Or course Mai can't know about this because Ellie's lucky to go out with her friends. Not with you. So she said she was at Dina's when she's actually watching a movie with you.

She's sitting next to you, her head on your shoulder and your hand on hers. Of course if Mai saw this she'd go crazy, more than she is. Hell, there's no need for that. You and Ellie are just friends and did that all the time. You do it even with Dina that dates Jesse and he doesn't say nothing.

"Two months ago I was arguing with Mai and she almost hit me." Ellie says as she snuggles closer to you, clear that she's about to cry.

Two months ago was the last time you saw Ellie, so during the movie she was randomly dropping stuff that happened in this last two months, she was always so calm around you she even forgot about Mai and all her problems.

"She what?" You never felt so angry in your life. "Ellie she's a total bitch how can you not see it? Jesus I'm fucking tired of it. It's been two months, Ellie. Two months since I've last seen your face or even spoken to you because apparently she blocked me on your phone. I really don't understand why you can't just break up with her."

Ellie sat up and looked at you, never letting go of your hand. Her eyes are watery and you can see it, a held your hand tigher as a few tears run down her cheeks, when she was crying she always needed to hold on something to feel safe.

"I'm sorry.. I never wanted it to happen I'm just scared she'll tell everyone what I told her about me and- I'm so sorry." Ellie started crying and immediately leaned on you, she'd fall if she wasn't sitting. What she was feeling guilty for? If there's someone to blame here is Liam in fifth grade.

"Hey, don't cry. Stop it, yeah? It's not your fault. It never was and never will be." You wrapped your arms around her before you placed your hands in her face soaked in tears. "Oh, Ellie.. Don't cry, sweetheart." You look at her, feeling pity. She was blaming herself for something she shouldn't. You wiped her tears with your thumb, kissing her forehead, something you always did when she was crying.

But now she was looking at you differently. A way that always made you flustered, you can't really explain why, you are just friends, right? Forever.. Right? And she had a girlfriend. Definitely friends forever.

Your thoughts were interrupted by someone's lips on yours, you don't even have time to think before she pulled away and once she did you can see fear in her eyes.

Not fear of losing her girlfriend. Fear of losing you.

Losing that friendship she longed for. A friend she loved in ways she couldn't explain.

"I.. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that.." She says desperately, not wanting to lose you over that.

You look at Ellie, speechless. You had no idea what to say or do. But for one moment you forget she even has a girlfriend.

You brought her face close to yours, kissing Ellie's lips tenderly. The gentlest kiss she'd felt in months, after all Mai just came to Ellie when she wanted to fuck.

Fuck, Mai still exists.

You pull away from Ellie, looking at her with amusement in your eyes and she had the dorkiest smile ever. The girl is a sweetheart even when she's cheating.

FUCK, THAT'S CHEATING.

You pull away from her, surprised about what you two have done. But when you look in her eyes again you both start laughing. You know damn well Ellie is feeling guilty, she'll never admit that to Mai, though.

You just know that after that day Ellie is way more free now. She broke up with Mai the next day.

The girl threw a tantrum about it, saying Ellie was ungrateful, that she always did everything to see Ellie happy, that she loved Ellie and blah blah blah, but Ellie didn't listen to any of it, she just gathered her stuff from Mai's house and left.

Ellie started acting more like herself again, not scared to make her girlfriend get mad at her over nothing, because you weren't like Mai.

[rafeysvenicebitch]

📝007 masterlist

Your mother slammed open the door like a storm.

She tossed a battered suitcase onto your bed, the brass buckles snapping sharply against the quilt.

“I’ve had enough,” she said, breathless with rage. “You’re going to St. Mary’s. Boarding school. With ladies your age, who can teach you how to behave. And boys—gentlemen—not like that—” she hissed the words like venom, “—that hound dog Rafe Cameron. You need to go. You need to be cleansed of this… mess you’ve become.”

You tried to speak.

You tried to plead.

But the sob caught in your throat before you could even form his name.

That night, while the house slept in angry silence, you pried your window open with shaking hands. Climbed out, skirt snagging on the gutter, and dropped barefoot into the dewy grass. You ran, breathless, heart slamming against your ribs, all the way to the pond.

He was there.

Sitting at the edge, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a fishing pole held lazily in his hand. Every catch he lifted from the murky water, he kissed lightly—good luck, little buddy—and released again.

You stumbled toward him, sobbing.

“They’re gonna take me away,” you choked out, collapsing into the grass beside him.

He dropped the pole immediately, arms around you, holding you like you were something precious and breakable.

His forehead pressed to yours.

“We’ll figure it out, Fawnie. I swear.”

You stayed with him until the moon started to slide down, until the world started to gray with morning.

Then you had to go back.

The next day, your mother hovered in your doorway, arms crossed, watching you pack.

You stuffed every secret piece of him you owned into the pockets of your suitcase:

— The lighter with his initials and yours carved into the silver.

— Every folded, crumpled letter he’d passed you under classroom desks.

— His flask, nearly empty, tucked between your socks.

— The Polaroid he’d taken of you, laughing barefoot in his front yard.

— Cigarettes hidden in your toiletry bag.

Sarah Cameron had slipped you a stack of magazines—CosmoGirl, Teen Vogue, even a tattered Spin—and you tucked them between your sweaters.

Before you zipped the case closed, you gathered your sisters in the hallway, all of them small and shivering, like a litter of stray kittens.

You gripped their hands hard. Looked into their wet, wide eyes.

“Write to me. Call me. If you feel sad—really sad—go to Sarah. Or Wheezie. Or Rafe. Promise me.”

They nodded, one by one.

The next morning came too fast.

Your father loaded your suitcase into the trunk. Your mother barely looked at you.

You climbed into the backseat, clutching the Walkman Rafe had slipped you that night at the pond.

Pressed the headphones to your ears.

The tape he made for you hissed to life.

A scratchy, beautiful mess of Deftones and Mazzy Star, songs that felt like bruises on your skin.

You didn’t cry on the drive. You were too hollow for that now.

When you got to St. Mary’s, the sun glared mercilessly down on the parking lot.

Girls in pressed skirts and polished shoes milled around the entrance, laughing too loudly, like they’d never tasted sadness.

Your mother fixed your collar, her mouth pinched into a tight little line.

“Try to be… normal,” she said.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t even look back.

You stepped into the auditorium for orientation.

The air smelled like chalk and dust and lemon polish.

A nun in a pressed habit handed you a welcome packet with your dorm assignment printed in cold, stiff letters.

You sat down in the third row.

You tucked the lighter with Rafe’s initials into your blazer pocket, your fingers brushing it like a secret prayer.

You were here.

But you weren’t.

Your body was in St. Mary’s.

Your heart was still back home—beating wild and feral—in the dirty hands of Rafe Cameron.

Where it had always belonged.

Where it always would.

Taglist: @sarahsangelicdoll @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @vogueprincess @ilovefiction4lmen @mystargirl-interlude

[lovesickf-fics]

Hiiii I'm back again 👉🏻👈🏻 the silco brainworm has been controlling my every thought for a while now so I was wondering if I could request something with male reader x silco!

OKIE SO. I'm thinking like, alpha male reader who is very "not like other alphas" very quiet very calm very unassuming. And silco and him have developed some sort of friendship, to the point omega silco would definitely trust being around him in his heat. And reader took advantage of that trust and violated him in his most vulnerable moment. (Rape/noncon/nonconsensual mating bite)

OOKEEE THAT'S ALL I HOPE IT'S NOT TOO HEHE👉🏻👈🏻 - 🐺anon

Wolf in sheeps clothing

tw : noncon!, aob dynamics, nesting, heat, manipulation, coercion, scenting, mate marking, non con mating bite, blood mentions, knotting, light slapping, crying, drooling, praise, manhandling

character(s) mentioned : Silco (arcane)

reader pronouns : He/him

summary : the early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese, playing the long game works in your favour because now there's a pathetic hole ready for you, and it begs for it despite saying no

a/n : Oh wolfie, you are beyond good. This ask made me so excited to write (despite it taking ages) Thank you soso much, and i hope you like it!

It took months, almost a whole year, but befriending silco had done wonders in the long run for him. Sure, as an alpha, he could have just overpowered silco and forced him down and taken everything he'd wanted but that ruins the fun of it.

Being an odd alpha means getting into omega groups is easy. All he had to do was not act all intimidating and "knothead" like, and most omegas treated him like a friend, silco was no different.

All it took was for him to not outright growl at the omega and also not bare his teeth, simply keeping himself respectful and friendly got him next to the omega almost immediately.

Within 6 months, he was allowed to lean close to Silco, getting a whiff of his scent on days too busy for the omega to hide it as carefully, on weeks close to his heat, the alpha could practically taste him.

Acting calm on those days earned him even more brownie points, what a kind and collected alpha, nothing like the rest. It was subtle, the way his eyes would widen a little, mouth hanging open a little as he pauses mid sentence, but it worked.

Almost 9 months since their meeting originally it happened. They were in silco's office, and it happened. Silco went red in the face, the only skin unaffected being his scar, and then the smell hit him.

Silco went into heat, and he was just a desk away, He was up in seconds, practically jumping over the desk so he stands tall infront of a whimpering sat silco.

Silco barely manages to gasp out in shock, choking on the drool that's building in his mouth. Going into heat around an alpha is always so much more intensifying, and right now, silco is horrified, wet, and so desperate to get as close and as far away from the alpha thats stood next to him

He watches as silco struggles, fighting natural urges is like tearing yourself apart from the inside out, especially for an omega in heat.

Silco's legs tremble, he falls out his chair and he's shaking his head yet when he steps closer all silco does is keen, sat on the floor ready for his alpha.

It doesn't take him long to lift silco, who is wiggling and struggling but with some effort he drags the omega to his own private quaters, a nest laid ontop of the bed and dipping down onto the floor

Silco is mumbling for him to stop, how he can't be in there and how the alpha isnt the one who is to see it, that makes him twitch a little.

Not to see it, as if he hadn't been the best thing in silco's life for months, like he hadn't earned this. He threw silco down, knowing the nest would be soft enough not to hurt him in a way he didn't mean.

When silco landed, he started scurrying backwards, trying to be as small as possible, to avoid his fate. If it wasn't useless, it would probably have been cute

He approaches silco again, the same way he has for months, and he smiles, entering the nest and ignoring the whimper that causes from the omega. The whole area stinks of silco, clothes and pillows piled up in different areas, the whole room a pheremonal mess of desperation, and it was getting to him through the tent in his trousers.

Silco in the corner, mumbling no's and stop's, did nothing but fuel whatever heat was in his stomach, the whole room telling him the opposite of what the omega was saying.

With the smells getting to him now, he wasted no time, cornering the omega in his own nest, grabbing his ankle and tugging silco down so he is directly underneath him, the omega almost yelps, biting his own lip to try hide it.

None of that mattered when he could smell the rush of slick that his actions caused, leaning down and tugging the omegas clothes off, a few of the buttons popping but surprisingly most of silco's clothes stayed in tact, just another reason he was better than any other alpha.

With silco under him, he grabbed him by the hips and changed their alignment, now pushing his bulge against silco's wet hole, the heat making him pulse and the smell making him dizzy in the best way

Flipping silco around came like second nature, barely a blink between the barrier of clothes between the omegas cunt and himself to the hot feeling of skin on skin as he slipped inside.

Instinct took over, the clichés didn't lie when they talked about overwhelming urges and animalistic behaviours.

Hunched over the omega, gripping his waist with an iron grip and slamming his hips over and over and over, ignoring the cries from below, it felt like it was written as perfection, the overwhelmingness of it all tripped him further into a domineering threat, biting down at the shoulders, neck, and any skin in reach, hips never pausing to the point that each thud had a small ache with each connection

Silco was crying, drooling and leaking, every hole was wet and slick and shiny, he stank of pathetic pheromones, and the omega was trying so hard to move, but each slam of the alphas cock inside him rendered him shakey and his instincts kept him underneath and open for the intrusion he begged to stop.

From waist to ass, scratching and slapping at the shape that the alpha hadnt seen clearly, silco had the habit of dressing clothes that hid his naturally omega like body and he was realising why now, he never would have lasted nine months next to this had he realised.

Silco was desperate, bleeding from some of the bite marks, hiccuping sobs that were interrupted by moans from the stretch coming from the knot forming against the edge of his hole, each thrust sending it closer and closer to locking them in, locking them together.

He moves them now, pulling silco up so they're vertical, using the position to slam the omega down harder, nails leaving cuts where they dig in and teeth finding the crook of silco's neck.

Silco's moans are close to screams now, his tears, sweat and drool mixing across his cheeks and chin, and the final tipping point is the bite. The mating bite that sends silco into an orgasm, his hole pouring with slick to help the knot in, cum dribbling down his omega cock, covering his stomach and sheets as he gargles on the word please

He pushes the knot in, his own orgasm coming to him as he breeds the body he holds, pulse after pulse never stopping his hips, now just rutting into the hole that keeps him there.

Silco will hate him for a bit, but for now he wonders if that was enough to gets pups out of the pathetic and almost passed out omega

[anonymous-gambito]

This is hard to talk about in the piss-on-the-poor website that might misinterpret it and think I'm somehow "defending abuse", but I still want to mention.

When people write about the Agni Kai in fanfic, they often portray Zuko having to fight Ozai instead of the general as being some sort of cruel trick on Ozai's part.

But when Iroh is actually telling the story, what he says is that Zuko 'misunderstood'. And here comes the question. Does anybody else fucking know that? Does Ozai know that? That Zuko 'misunderstood'?

What I'm saying is, from the perspective of all those people there, do they interpret what happened that day as:

*Prince speaks out of turn*

*Fire lord says: "You'll have to fight me to defend your stance"*

*Prince says: "Sure! I'm not scared of you bitch!"*

*Prince proceeds to immediately start crying and shaking the second shit actually gets real and refuses to fight*

?

Is that what they all thought? Is that what they imagine happened when they say Zuko is a "coward"?

Did Zuko see his father on the other side of that arena and immediately had that same, sudden, and horrifying realization? Like immediate "oh no, fuck–I fuCKED UP!! NO! FUCK–"

Because ngl, that version sounds like it would've felt even more devastating for Zuko.

And if so, did Ozai ever find out? Did he ever find out and was like "Well, can't back down now! And nonetheless he's still stupid af so I kinda don't care". Or would he have reacted a different way? Did Ozai just never find out? Does Azula know?

(Straying from the point but I wonder if Zuko imagines his mother would be ashamed of him or something for not fighting in the Agni Kai, since she claimed his strength was that he "keeps fighting even though it's hard". Does he imagine he let her down that time?)

Respect and the Zuko-Ozai Agni Kai

"The Storm"

Iroh: Iroh After Zuko's outburst in the meeting, the Fire Lord became very angry with him. [Flashback quickly ends.] He said the challenge against the general was an act of complete disrespect! And there was only one way to resolve this. Iroh: That's right. Zuko looked upon the old general he had insulted and declared that he was not afraid. But Zuko misunderstood... Zuko had spoken out against the general's plan, but by doing so in the Fire Lord's war room, it was the Fire Lord whom he had disrespected. Ozai: You will fight for your honor. Young Zuko: [Frontal shot; kneels on his knees and forearms, while looking at the floor.] I meant you no disrespect. [Gazes up at his father, tears shimmering in his eyes as his voice starts to waver.] I am your loyal son. Ozai[: Far off frontal shot of Zuko as Ozai's shadow and eventually his head come into view.] Rise and fight, Prince Zuko! Ozai: You will learn respect, [Zuko pushes himself up on his knees and hands. Cut to a frontal shot of Zuko as he starts to shake.] and suffering will be your [Zuko looks up at Ozai, tears streaming down his face.] teacher. Iroh: It was no accident. After the duel, the Fire Lord said that by refusing to fight, Zuko had shown shameful weakness. As punishment, he was banished and sent to capture the Avatar. Only then could he return with his honor.

It's interesting to what degree "The Storm" narrative emphasizes the idea that the reason why Ozai dueled and burned Zuko is because Ozai found Zuko's actions disrespectful. It's not about Zuko being "soft-hearted" or "kind" or "anti-imperialist" or even about Ozai looking for an opportunity to get rid of Zuko, it's about Ozai perceiving Zuko's actions as disrespectful. Even the "shameful weakness" is probably partially a problem because Zuko is "disrespecting" the FN tradition of Agni Kai by refusing to fight after he'd agreed to and perhaps partially a problem since Zuko refused to respect Zuko's own honor by fighting to defend it.

Another interesting thing is while Ozai obsesses over Zuko's respect or disrespect, brining it up again in the DoBS, Azula just doesn't care. Unlike her father, she just doesn't care if Zuko is respectful or not. The only thing which matters to her in the end is whether Zuko is loyal or not.