#i started writing this and immediately started crying

[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.

[ixequte]

MIRAGE | gojo satoru x reader

He was fine. He was always fine.

The first time Satoru realized you were dying, he didn’t cry.

He didn’t panic.

Didn’t throw a tantrum.

Didn’t start tearing through cursed archives for some miracle buried under dust and blood.

He just blinked behind his covered eyes, that stupid grin tugging at his mouth like muscle memory.

"Funny joke.”

Because it was a joke. Had to be. Because people like you didn’t die. You were a hurricane. A pain in the ass. The only one brave enough to snatch his glasses right off his face and call him a nerd in public.

You were supposed to outlive all of them.

Outlive him.

And even when you started crumbling—

when your cursed technique faltered mid-mission, when you swayed in the hallway and brushed it off like it was nothing, when Shoko pulled him aside with a look in her eyes he didn’t want to name—

He just laughed.

Because if he didn’t laugh, he might crack wide open.

And if he cracked—

if he let even a splinter of it in—

he wouldn’t survive you leaving.

Not again.

Not you.

"You good?" He asked once. Just to hear you call him an idiot.

You were curled up on a hospital cot like you barely fit inside your own body anymore, pale under the fluorescent lights, fingers slipping off your phone twice in a row.

But you still cracked a smile.

“I look that bad, huh?”

He barked a laugh. "Please. You always look like shit. This is just limited edition."

You smiled at him like he’d handed you a goddamn crown.

And he sat there—grinning like an asshole—like he didn’t spend the entire morning eavesdropping outside your room, learning you had weeks, not months.

“You’re allowed to hate this, you know. You're allowed to hate me for it.”

He rolled his eyes. Flung an arm over the back of the chair.

"Hate you? You’re not that important."

You laughed.

And he memorized the sound like a dying man hoarding breath.

Because it was almost over.

And he was going with you.

After that, Satoru started keeping track of you like he was studying for the world’s worst exam.

He didn’t write anything down.

Didn’t trust himself to.

Instead, he promised he’d remember:

The way your cursed energy flickered when you lied.

The way you touched ramen bowls like they’d burn you, even when they were cold.

The way you lit up when it rained, like the whole sky had decided to throw you a party.

The way you always, always, left a light on for him when he came back too late even when you should’ve sleeping.

He thought if he memorized enough of you, he could rebuild you later.

Patchwork you back together when the world finally ripped you away.

As if remembering could save either of you.

One night, you asked him to take you outside.

You could barely keep your eyes open. Couldn’t stand without swaying like paper in a storm. Your breath rattled in your chest like loose change.

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t waste a second.

Just scooped you up like you weighed nothing, like it didn’t kill him to feel your ribs under his hands.

He told himself you were just tired.

Told himself you weren’t slipping through his fingers.

You blinked up at the stars and mumbled, "If I make it to winter... will you take me somewhere it snows? Like really snows. So much you can’t even hear yourself think."

Satoru snorted. Because that's what assholes did when their world was ending.

"You’ve seen snow, dumbass."

"Not like that." You whispered.

You smiled and he felt something inside him tear.

"Yeah. I’ll take you."

"Liar.”

He grinned like he had a choice.

"Always."

And you smiled like you believed him.

You didn’t make it to winter.

Didn’t even make it to fall.

The last week, you stopped eating.

The last three days, you stopped talking.

The last day, you opened your eyes once—

found him immediately—

and smiled.

That was enough.

He stayed with you until the machines went silent.

Stayed even after the nurses stopped checking.

Held your hand like it still belonged to him.

Like if he squeezed hard enough, he could keep you here.

At the funeral, Satoru didn’t wear black.

Showed up in his uniform. Wore stupid sunglasses.

Because you would’ve roasted his ass for wearing a tie.

You would’ve laughed.

He stayed after everyone else slunk away. Sat cross-legged in the dead grass, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

Waited.

Like maybe you were just late.

Like maybe you’d come barreling around the corner any second, cussing him out for being a dumbass.

When the wind finally stirred, he leaned down over your headstone.

"You missed it..”

"It snowed yesterday."

It wasn’t the right snow.

But he said it anyway.

Because lying to you felt more honest than admitting you were really gone.

That winter, it snowed.

Not a dusting.

Not a polite frosting.

A real storm.

The kind that swallowed whole cities, muted every sound until the world felt abandoned.

Exactly what you'd asked for.

Satoru didn’t visit your grave.

Didn’t lay flowers. Didn’t say your name.

Didn’t need to.

(He needed to.)

He walked the streets like he always did.

Smirking at the sky like he was too good to care.

He told himself he was fine.

That people died all the time. That he’d seen worse.

That if you weren’t strong enough to stay, that was your fault, not his.

He kept moving. Teaching. Fighting. Winning.

(Losing.)

Because that’s what the strongest did. That’s what he was supposed to be.

Untouchable. Invincible.

Not the kind of idiot who looked over his shoulder every time he passed your favorite ramen shop.

Not the kind of fool who half-expected to see you there—

grinning like a menace, waving him over.

(You were gone. You weren’t coming back. He knew that. He knew that.)

But sometimes—

when the world went completely still—

when the snow muffled everything so perfectly it felt like standing in a dream—

Satoru slowed down.

Let his hand brush the side of a bench you once tripped over.

Let his breath fog up the air in front of him, because he's still a human. So breakable.

And he whispered it, just once, because no one was close enough to hear:

"I loved you, you know."

It disappeared into the snow like everything else he couldn’t hold onto.

Didn’t matter.

He said it anyway.

Still did.

Always would.

[rubyrose143]

Hirano and Kagiura

„To all the haters out there, I just wanna say, if you’re jealous then just go cry about it“ - Amy Flamy

I wanted to do this thread now to end the forced hate towards hrkg.

So lean back and enjoy cause it’s gonna be MUCH 😉 (I’m their lawyer haha)

some information before I start:

Hirano and Kagiura are two roommates who live in the same dormitory and attend the same school. Hirano is one year older and on the disciplinary committee and Kagi is on the basketball team.

Let’s start 😁

We all know Hirano and Kagiura have a special bond since the first time they met! Kagi is really fond of Hirano and Hirano is really attached to Kagi.

Both are really direct and stubborn people, nice and caring but also loud and straight forward! But even when there are points where they are really similar, there are things where they aren’t similar, at all. In fact how they love a person is different and that’s what I’m going to show you.

„Hirano doesn’t love Kagi and never will, because he doesn’t feel romantic/ intimate feelings towards him. He does that to satisfy Kagiura“

Reeeeeeeaaaaallllllyyy? Wow this is interesting. So love means intimacy?Hmm… I seee.

So Kagiura didn’t love Hirano before the temple too because he didn’t had the urge to kiss him nor to touch him? Miyano didn’t like Sasaki too because he didn’t know if kissing was okay?

Love is something complex, something big and complicated. Love doesn’t mean: „Crush, blush, date, marry, sex, children“

No. If you love someone you want to be with them, you care about them, you miss them, you want to help them, support them in every little situation.

And both Hirano AND Kagi care about each other more than anyone else

Hirano always cared about Kagi, thinking about if he ate or practiced, if he’s fine and not overworking himself. 

After the confession where he turned him down, even THEN he cared about his feelings, thinking if it’s okay to wear the earrings he has gotten from his kouhai. 

He lets them try things out (the ten seconds) to see if he can see him as a potential partner 

And the courage to say that Kagi forces Hirano to do thing he doesn’t want is just straight up absurd. Kagi always sticks to the line and never breaks his boundaries.. Even when he did cross the line even a little, he felt guilty and apologized immediately, thinking about it for days! And Hirano hates it when Kagi avoids him and TELLS him to do it (madly… and loud…)

And Hirano doing this all to satisfy Kagiura because he could never love him is also just stupid. When Miyano wanted time to see if he can see Sasaki as a romantic partner, did we say he won’t love Sasaki? No… but fine let’s say Hirano and Kagi won’t get together cause why not? (sigh) 

How Niibashi said, Hirano is on his journey to fall in love. He is realizing things like, he does like Kagiura and he doesn’t dislike touching (if he initiates it) he wasn’t this far few chapters ago. Hirano never had thoughts about romantic relationships and people are all stereotypical about romance. Let the boy experience his own emotions. If he doesn’t like things, that’s fine, if he does like things that’s fine too. But stop being so pushy and try to make everything about stereotypes. Sensei‘s work was never like that. She doesn’t even like to use things like Uke and seme, she writes a story about boys who love each other. And isn’t that why we read this? So why make everything negative just because you don’t like it. If you don’t like hrkg or ssmy, don’t read it and don’t take the joy of the people who do love it.

And also, Kagi is right, sometimes love isn’t pink and beautiful, sometimes it hurts

Because love is sometimes suffering, longing, guilt and missing. 

And I use the words ‚sometimes‘ really often because it’s different for every couple and pair all around the world. Everyone loves different! Just because hrkg‘s relationship is like that, doesn’t mean ssmy‘s is like that. Just because ssmy‘s relationship is like that, doesn’t mean hrkg‘s relationship is like that (And both couples are healthy and perfect in their own ways)

Hirano and Kagiura have a great relationship 

Supporting each other

Caring about each other

missing each other

thinking about each other

appreciating each other

And that’s what you call ‚love‘. It’s a pure feeling. Intimacy comes muuuuchhhhhh later (sometimes). We don’t know if Hirano will be ready in one chapter, in five chapters or in fifteen chapters! And that’s not our problem anyway. 

How Kagiura said, for him love means wanting to be with someone more than anyone else, and Hirano feels the same way. 

Kagiura is faster in wanting things cause he had a previous relationship where he didn’t want any of this so he can compare both feelings.

So he is sure this one has to be Love.

.

.

.

In the end they care about each other more than anyone else. Support each other more than anyone else.

Enjoy being with each other more than with anyone else.

And love each other more than anyone else, cause they are their favorite/ most important persons in each others life.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of Hirano and Kagiura which still has a looooong way to go.

And we fans are always gonna be here no matter what! So for all the people who still hate and comment, please, go read Hirano to Kagiura AND Sasaki to Miyano again, thanks!

Thanks for reading this! I worked on this for many days! Let’s spread this and make the haters go away! 💚💛

[tiredandsapphic]

LETDOWN

pairing ꩜ adult!lottie matthews x fem!reader headcanons summary ꩜ lottie whose cursed and blessed with loving you, whose time is running out (totally inspired by van) an ꩜ angst! i listened to too much radiohead writing this

꩜ when you show up to the commune with the others, helping find nat, lottie immediately knows. you don’t look sick—but that’s the worst part. you look better than you used to, stronger.

꩜ eventually you break, probably in some heated argument between you and lottie. you only break when she speaks so shakily, the poor girl from years ago resurfacing— “you don’t get to do that, you don’t get to come here and leave again.”

꩜ it’s bitter, but emotional fights aren’t uncommon. it’s old muscle memory, two broken girls who never learned to speak without bleeding. lottie’s words are always your weakness, “you don’t get to martyr yourself now, not with me. not again.” or when you insist you came to say goodbye—“don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare say goodbye to me.”

꩜ lottie tries so so hard to be strong, for you. she doesn’t cry in front of you, she just assures you. but the minute shes alone? she crumbles. she slips out of bed when you’re fast asleep, wraps a blanket around herself and walks to the garden barefoot. she crouches down in the dirt and weeps. silent. grieving. mouth pressed into her sleeve keep any sounds from reaching you.

꩜ some nights you find her, her absence too heavy in bed. you’ll find her outside praying to the moon, the stars, whatever will listen. you always hold her, cry with her. “i don’t want to be strong. i want to be selfish. i want to beg you to stay.” she will admit, and you’ll just assure her you’re here, right now, in that moment. you have to pretend her emotions don’t hurt more than your actual illness.

꩜ you’re annoyingly independent. most days you bring her tea, you make her food, you help around the commune without her help. she tries to sit you down, but you insist she lets you live rather than just survive.

꩜ she loves to take control—especially when you’re too tired or weak do anything but whimper. you're stretched out on the bed when she kisses lower and lower. her words are soft against your skin “let me take care of you,” and god, she makes you come so gently. slowly. like shes drawing the pain out of you with every pass of her tongue, every roll of her fingers.

꩜ you, cold? all the time. it could be sweltering out and you’re a human burrito in bed. layers of stolen hoodies and comfy blankets. lottie loves it. she’ll happily pull you into her lap. you’ll press your freezing feet or fingers against her and laugh when she squeals.

꩜ you ramble about a bucket list at random times. half of it is genuine the other half pretty much nonsense. she doesn’t tell you but she keeps a little journal of your ramblings. some however aren’t as light hearted— “i want to live long enough to see you get laugh lines.”

꩜ when things start getting worse, you start getting worse, lottie holds you tighter and closer at night. she kisses you more, dances barefoot in the garden with you more, and perhaps prays to it a little more. she insists youre not getting weaker, youre just softening. like dusk.

꩜ the night it happens, shes holding you in the garden, under the stars, your favourite place. it’s quiet. she knows. you know. lottie doesn’t scream, she just holds you tighter, rocks you in her arms and kisses your hair until you’re gone, entirely.

꩜ when you’re gone, she breaks. she lets herself fall apart, knowing she promised you that she'd build something new with what’s left. she knows you're still with her, physical absence and all. she even does some of the things left on your silly bucket list she wrote down.

꩜ perhaps some of your past teammates visit her, support her. tai just looks at her like shes looking into mirror, a soft understanding.

꩜ she spends a lot of time praying to you now, as if you're a goddess or deity. something holy and lost. she dreams of you, constantly, like a soft haunting.

꩜ your music plays in her home, anything that reminds her of you. something physical to keep you tethered. she lets ‘landslide’ by fleetwood mac echo like a prayer.

[formulaonecrumbs]

Hi!!! I love your writing and wanted to request a writing with Daniel where he helps the reader through some anxiety (maybe work or school overwhelm). He’s just gentle and helps you through it. Appreciate you! 🧡

you’re more than enough

Daniel Ricciardo x school teacher gf!reader

summary: you had a rough day at work and daniel cheers you up.

warnings: none except snot-nosed annoying kids

A/N: based on actual kids i’ve known since i was 12 🤗🤗 anywayyyss i hope u enjoy this my love!! thank u so much for sending in a request, it’s always appreciated greatly. I LOVE U 🫶

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

you weren’t crying yet.

not really. but the sting was right there behind your eyes, that pressure building in your chest like a wave you couldn’t hold back for much longer.

your classroom had been a mess today. one kid had shouted at you for taking his phone, another refused to do the test you’d spent hours preparing, and two girls nearly came to blows during silent reading. and on top of that, your lesson observations were coming up next week and your to-do list was longer than your arm.

you were burnt out. just completely wrecked.

so when you got home, dropped your bag by the door, and saw daniel standing barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove in one of your aprons — a ridiculous yellow one that said kiss the cook (he’s cute) — your heart cracked open without warning.

“hey, love,” he said with a warm smile. “you’re home early—”

you didn’t answer. you just walked straight into him, burying your face in his chest as your arms wrapped around his waist.

he didn’t hesitate. his hands came to your back immediately, holding you close like you might fall apart without it.

“oh, baby,” he murmured, his chin resting gently on your head. “that kind of day?”

you nodded into his chest.

“want to tell me about it, or just… be held for a while?”

you didn’t answer at first. you just stood there, breathing him in, the smell of his cologne and tomato sauce filling your lungs like something steady. after a minute, you whispered, “i feel like a crap teacher.”

daniel leaned back just enough to look at you, his brows pulling together. “hey. no. don’t even say that.”

“i’m serious. i tried so hard today. i planned everything. i did everything right. and still, they were rude and loud and disrespectful. i just…” you exhaled shakily. “i don’t know if i’m cut out for this. i feel like no one even cares.”

daniel’s hand slid up your back and into your hair, fingers weaving through gently.

“you care,” he said quietly. “and that’s more than most.”

you frowned. “what if that’s not enough?”

he leaned down, kissing your temple with a kind of softness that made your knees go weak.

“you show up every day and give them your heart. even when they don’t see it. even when they throw it back at you. you keep showing up. that’s what makes you good at this.”

“but it’s so draining.”

“i know, baby. and you’re allowed to admit that. it doesn’t make you weak. it makes you human.”

you let out a breath that caught at the end like a half-sob, and daniel held you tighter.

“you’re doing more than enough,” he whispered. “you’ve got a job that asks for your brain, your patience, your energy, and your soul all at once. and you give it. every single day. but you’re allowed to rest too. you’re allowed to not be perfect.”

you pressed your face into his hoodie, letting the tears fall quietly now.

“can i just… not do anything for the rest of the night?” you mumbled.

“absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “i already started dinner. i’ll finish it. we’ll eat on the couch, watch something dumb, and you can fall asleep in my lap if you want.”

you looked up at him, eyes glassy. “you’re too good to me.”

he grinned, eyes crinkling. “nah. i’m just smart enough to love someone amazing.”

you laughed, even though your face was still damp. and that sound — your laugh — was all he needed to know that you were starting to come back to yourself.

later, you sat curled up beside him, bowl in hand, wrapped in a blanket he’d warmed in the dryer for you. your head rested against his shoulder, your body finally calm.

and he stayed right there, the whole time, like he always did — soft and solid and safe.

THE END :>

[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

[rezitio]

I really like your writing!

Do you take requests? If so, can I request jealous/possessive sex with Raian? Obviously his s/o is very attractive and gets attention from a lot of men, and I can't imagine Raian being keen on other men lusting after his girl.

✦ ╮ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘

angry sex w/ raian k.

warnings: est. relationship, manhandling, angry/possessive sex, smut, slapping, degradation, oral m!, fingering, brief mention of piv and anal, overstim, passing out.

𝓪/𝓷: 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓻, 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓚𝓾𝓻𝓮 ♡. 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝓡𝓪𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓻𝔂.

━━━━━━━━━━

“Raian! Would you just listen –” You pleaded desperately. How in the world did you get yourself into this situation? If you couldn't tell by the veins prominent on his forehead, the grit of his teeth or the grip power his tense muscles exerted on your wrist—Raian was angry.

“Don't.” Was all he said; it had your mouth shut the entire car ride. It was all a mistake. Raian knows you're fucking beautiful. He takes pride in it. But God, does he hate those bastards whose eyes as far as blink down at your curves.

Sometimes he can stand it. I mean, it gives him an excuse to release some pent-up stress. But nights like tonight… Oh dear.

I pray for you; I really do. Maybe if you had shut down Lihitio earlier, maybe instead of just laughing off his touch when you knew damn well Raian wouldn't be happy to see that and pushed him away, maybe you would have survived.

Rest assured, Lihito is in a bathroom right now trying to stop the bleeding before he faints. As for your fate? Gloria Patri

He threw you on the bed, uncaring for your landing. Immediately he tears up the same dress he was praising you in a few hours ago. “Raian!” You begged. One last plead to him, but he doesn't want to listen.

Raian isn't one to place you over his lap and give you spanks, telling you, ‘You've been a bad girl’; he has no time for that. He's the type to fuck you so hard you're begging and crying. He's one to leave everywhere on your body sore so you still remember the consequences days after. more hcs?

His backhand makes contact with your cheek. You expected a hard slap, something he does only during sex, but instead he caressed your cheek. Teasing you. He laughed to himself watching you flinch. It meant you weren't going to forget this.

Landing a hard slap on your pussy, he starts to warn you. “What would you have done if he brought out his dick like this…hm?” He smudged his hard over your face, he laughed when you turned away and began slapping it on your face.

“Would have been so eager for his dick too?” He didn't let you reply; rather, he roughly shoved himself in your mouth. He let you do what you were supposed to. You sucked him, your eyes looking up at the monster, still trying to plead with him. But your movements were too slow for him; he was far gone from gentle tonight. He took control.

His arm snaked under your head propping it up. His other hand held you down by your cunt, simultaneously applying pressure to your clit.

His dick started abusing your mouth. The position he had made you rezitio feel like you were choking on his dick. That, or you were actually choking on it.

You began to shake, but his other hand held you down. Unconsciously, you were rubbing your clit on him. “Would you have let him use you like this? ... hm?”

“Mrph…nhhh” Your voice vibrates his cock, sending him into a frenzy. He stuck himself balls deep down your throat. He enjoyed the vibrations of your sounds. You shook even more in his grip trying to breathe, your clit rubbing itself on his palm.

He let you go for a second–so you wouldn't pass out on him before harshly trapping your head in a thigh lock.

He loved the vibrations, the struggle, the warmth. It gave Him more pleasure than the suction. “Through your nose… breathe through your nose.” He reminds you, but you still struggle beneath him. Your nails are piercing crescents on his waist.

He felt another gag; how he'd love to just fuck your jaw till that slick tongue can't flirt with anyone else again, but he knows if he's going to teach you a lesson, it needs to be something else… something more memorable.

He finally pulls out; you cough, catching your breath. “Look at you…” he says, sizing his dick up on your face. It reaches all the way to that mini brain of yours. “Pathetic.”

He smears the mixture of your saliva. And pre-cum on his dick all over your face like oil. Something you craved you had, knowing how rough he's going to be. He steps back, analysing your body.

“You let him touch you like this…” His palm dangerously low on your waist. Rubbing deep painful circles around it. “Raian, it wasn't that low—”He struck a slap to your cunt. “Don't – don't tell me what I fucking saw.” His fingers drifted, wandering around your core. Raian's words got harsher and harsher as his finger drifted towards her.

He started rough, no mercy, two fingers digging your G-spot. He didn't bother with any lube or saliva as he loves to use, you were already soaking giving him as much as he needed.

But even with so much wetness in your pussy, he still found a way to make your legs shake. Your moans shake with your legs; the moment he started pushing deeper, you grabbed onto his arm.

No words were said, no glare was given, he didn't even look at you; he just stopped, giving you a chance to correct yourself. You weren't the brightest.

“Raian… please,” Even though he stopped his movements, the aftershock and tension still have you shaking. “Gen…gentle.” Now you know you're doomed.

Your concept of time is distorted. In fact, your ability to think has been taken from you. By mountains of orgasms. There's no energy to talk or even react; all you can do at this point is take it.

Your jaw is hurting from the intense kisses and blowjobs, a cunt is gaping and sore from his fingers, and your ass is fully stretched out by his length.

“Could he ever make you feel this good… SLAP! ...huh?!” He doesn't expect an answer from you; in fact, he'd be quite disappointed if at this point you could even understand the words he's saying.

Your eyes go blurry, overwhelmed by the pleasure of another orgasm. Your body stopped shaking before orgasms. Now it just comes out without warning – a broken bladder.

The last thing you saw was his smirk before you passed out.

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Made by Rezitio! Lol sorry it took so long

[naebaetwsog]

New comfy start

Tws when you are a transferred student from a school where you suffered bullying.

genre. Angst, happy ending, school bullying.

warning. Bullying, triggering(sorry)

pairing. Classmate!tws x fem!reader

a/n. Hii, I came back, sorry for my disappearance. FIRST OF ALL tws comeback was amazing!!! The vibe, the songs, how creative the physical album was, how the promotion are being, everything about them and this comeback is peak.(just a lil sad bcs Hanjin continues with almost no lines…). SECOND OF ALL I’m doing this type of imagine bcs of weak hero class 2, as someone how waited 2 years for this(I first watched it in 2023), I loved it, and I can’t wait till class 3(im sure there is a class 3). Anyways I’m going to stop talking before I give spoilers. Please enjoy this writing, and keep supporting tws in their new comeback

Shinyu

You were just another new kid with a heavy silence around you, and Shinyu didn’t even realize you’d joined the class. He had his head down, hoodie pulled over his messy hair, catching up on sleep from staying up late gaming. The teacher’s voice was nothing but background noise to him. It wasn’t until second period, when he finally looked up, that he noticed you—sitting at the far side of the room, eyes fixed on your notebook.

He quietly asked his tablemate, “Who’s that?” And when they told him you were a transfer, something about that made his chest tighten.

At break, gossip flew like wildfire. Whispers of your past—the bullying, the beatings, the reason you had to transfer schools—spread like smoke. Shinyu stood in the hallway, absorbing it all in silence. His face didn’t change, but his steps grew faster. He didn’t even know why, but he had to find you. Maybe to say something. Maybe just to check if you were okay.

But you were already gone.

You were in the bathroom stall, trying not to hyperventilate. The walls felt like they were closing in, and the sound of distant laughter made your heart race. You didn’t know the rumors were about you. You didn’t want to.

Shinyu only saw you again after class, standing alone at the bus stop. He hesitated, then slowly approached, hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pocket. “Hi,” he mumbled. “I’m Shinyu… I didn’t get to say hi earlier.”

You looked at him, startled, and mumbled your name, voice so soft he had to lean in. He didn’t press. Didn’t ask. Just nodded and sat down beside you, a comfortable distance away. From then on, he didn’t hover—just made sure you never felt alone. Leaving you space when you needed it. Quietly walking beside you when the silence felt safe.

Eventually, you smiled at him. And that’s when he knew—he’d earned your trust.

Dohoon

Dohoon stormed into class fifteen minutes late, hair tousled from the wind, casually flashing a sheepish grin at the teacher before slipping into his seat. He didn’t notice you at first. Not until class was over and he stood up, stretching, then caught sight of you hunched over your desk.

New face.

Dohoon wasn’t nosy, just naturally kind. So he walked over, smiling. “Hey, I’m Dohoon. You’re new, right?” His tone was soft, warm.

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t even look up (newton third law, ifykyk). Fear gripped you like a reflex—something about his tall figure, the closeness, the crowd still shuffling around—it paralyzed you.

He blinked, confused, and backed off immediately. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

He walked away, but he didn’t forget. A few days later, it happened.

You were waiting for the bus when a group of girls cornered you. You tried to ignore them, but their words were sharp, cutting deep where the wounds hadn’t healed yet. You were already crying when Dohoon walked past and stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes darkened. “Hey.”

The girls turned, and suddenly their tone changed. “Oh my God, Dohoonie oppa—hi!”

He didn’t even acknowledge them.

He walked straight up to you, gently took your hand, and led you away without a word. You barely noticed where he was taking you until you were sitting in a quiet little café with a warm drink in your hands and a cookie on a napkin beside it.

“Eat,” he said, sitting across from you. “You don’t have to talk. I’ll stay.”

And from that moment on, he did. He showed up every morning just to walk with you. Sat with you at lunch. Walked you home when he could. And if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way, his glare alone was enough to send them running.

He didn’t save you—he gave you the space to save yourself.

Youngjae

He didn’t talk much, and he liked it that way. Youngjae preferred silence, not out of awkwardness, but because it was peaceful. He noticed you right away when the teacher introduced you. Something about the way you avoided everyone’s gaze felt familiar.

He didn’t approach you after class. He just watched you walk out, a little too fast, like you didn’t want to be seen. Then, slowly, he followed—quiet footsteps, careful not to startle you.

You noticed him when you turned a corner. He didn’t say anything, didn’t smile. Just held out a small packet of gummies, then turned to walk with you.

It became a habit.

He never forced conversation. Just walked beside you in silence, always offering a small snack like it was your daily ritual. You didn’t know why you let him, but something about his quiet presence felt safe. Like he wasn’t expecting anything from you.

One day, your hand brushed his when you both reached for the same gummy. You looked up, startled, and finally whispered, “Why do you keep walking with me?”

Youngjae shrugged. “You looked like you needed a friend.”

That was it. That was the moment.

From then on, you talked more. And laughed. And eventually, he became your person. The one who sat next to you during tests. The one who left notes in your locker. The one who never needed to say much to make you feel seen.

Hanjin

The second the teacher finished introducing you, Hanjin clapped—loudly. “Welcome!” he beamed, flashing his signature grin. You shrank into your seat, mortified.

He didn’t care. He was too excited. At lunch, he was already standing at your desk, hands in his pockets, grinning. “Let’s eat together?”

You said yes—not out of comfort, but fear. You didn’t know if saying no would offend him. He didn’t seem dangerous, but you’d learned the hard way that anyone could be.

Still, lunch was… nice. He talked enough for both of you. Made stupid jokes. Got ketchup on his shirt. You barely spoke, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Later, you told him everything—about the old school, the bruises, the nights spent crying under the covers. He didn’t cry. Just nodded slowly, then said, “Okay. So I’m sitting next to you now. Forever.”

And he did.

He changed his seat. Brought you extra snacks. Waved dramatically when he saw you in the hallway. Called you nicknames that made you groan but secretly made your day.

He made you feel like you mattered. Like your story wasn’t something to hide, but something that made you stronger.

Jihoon

Before the teacher could even ask, Jihoon raised his hand. “I’ll sit with them.”

His voice was soft but steady. You looked up, surprised. He smiled at you—nothing too much. Just enough to feel safe.

He didn’t talk much during class. But the second the bell rang, he lit up. “Want a tour? I’m Jihoon. The nicest person in this school, probably.”

You followed him silently, and he didn’t mind. He showed you everything—from the weird art room to the best vending machine. “This one gives extra snacks sometimes. It’s magic.”

He introduced you to all his friends. Spoke for you when you couldn’t. Sat beside you during every class he could. And when you didn’t show up to school one day, he called you on FaceTime during break just to say, “Hey. Everyone misses you. I do too.”

You cried the day you told him your story. And Jihoon cried too.

From then on, it was impossible to separate you two. If anyone tried, it felt wrong. He was your safe place. Your loudest cheerleader. The light in the middle of your darkest year.

Kyungmin

Kyungmin was sunshine in human form. He smiled at everyone. Helped teachers carry boxes. Always smelled like sweet lemon (make it make sense).

He knew about you before you even walked through the classroom door.

He didn’t approach you at first. But every time he heard someone whisper about you, say something cruel, laugh too loud—he shut it down instantly. “Don’t talk about people you don’t know,” he’d say, sweetly but firmly.

One day, you dropped your pencil and flinched when he bent down to pick it up. His heart cracked.

That’s when he made a decision.

He was going to make you smile.

Bit by bit, he tried. Left little notes in your locker. Complimented your drawings. Helped you carry your bag. Asked about your day. The first time you laughed at one of his jokes, he nearly cried.

Eventually, you opened up. And he listened like your story was sacred.

With Kyungmin, healing didn’t feel like recovery. It felt like joy. Like getting to be a kid again. Like remembering what it felt like to smile without guilt.

And in the end, you did. All the time. Because of him.

[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.

[oya-oya-okay]

H-HEYYY sorry for my English😭💦💦💦

I WANTED TO TELL YOU ABOUT MY DREAM...🥺🤯🤯 Which I dreamed about in 2022!! I was 16 yo... (I write down all my dreams, so I can reread the ones I dreamed about even in 2019!😋)

TOO LONGGGGG💥💥💥💥❤️❤️❤️❤️

It was some kind of difficult moral period, I was very tired and felt constantly annoyed. I didn't want to do anything, I just wanted to sleep. I remember thinking, "I want to sleep for a long, long time! And don't wake up! Just let me sleep for a long time!"

When I was sleeping, I felt more relaxed, because the real world was very annoying to me. I'd come home after school and go to bed for a few hours, and then wake up and do my homework and stuff

And on October 21(22), 2022... LMAO. I went to bed with similar thoughts (it was the night from Friday to Saturday (that is, it was already October 22). I had a day off, so I went to bed very late) and I think I fell asleep pretty quickly

I had a few dreams about my family and something like that, and then I suddenly found myself in a house. This house was very small and made of stone, it had holes for windows and doors, but they themselves were missing!! There was only one room and it was quite dirty inside, and the furniture (bed, table, chair, chest of drawers...) was in different corners

I went out of this house into the street and saw that the house was located in the middle of a large hill. There is a river around the hill itself, and a large forest nearby. The trees were very tall and seemed somehow dark, but nevertheless the atmosphere itself was bright. The grass was almost yellow, and the slight breeze was warm. The sun shone and got into my eyes, and I saw everything around me as if with a slight blur effect

I thought, "It's obvious that this is a dream!" and was surprised at how quickly I realized it. My dream has become lucid! But immediately after that, I felt uncomfortable, some kind of tension bothered me, and I decided to change the dream. To change the atmosphere to a different one, to come up with something else, but I couldn't. Then I just wanted to wake up (I kind of felt like I'd been sleeping for quite a long time, and I usually wake up at 10 a.m. or a little later on my day off), but I COULDN'T!

I tried to close my eyes and try, try, but it didn't work. At some point, I even began to doubt quite strongly that this was even a dream. What if this is reality? Is this really a reality? Why am I here? What kind of strange house is this? Is there any proof that this is a dream?

I realized that I could see everything quite clearly, despite the blurring, and it really looked like reality. I can't even change anything! I started thinking about someone to show up here and be with me. I tried very hard to even think about Azul, LMAO, BECAUSE IF AN ANIME CHARACTER APPEARS, IT'S OBVIOUS THAT THIS IS A DREAM. And sooner or later I'll wake up! But nothing came out😭😭😭😭😭😭

It really scared me, I really started to seriously think that this was reality. I started to believe that, GOD🤯 I remember shaking and crying, but I didn't know what to do. Like, I don't even know what will happen if I run into the woods. So I decided to go back to the house. When I went inside, I saw a light-colored dog lying on the bed and looking at me. I was so upset that I didn't care what kind of dog it was and I got into bed next to it

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling and breathing heavily. My eyes were already aching from crying and I was panicking. I rolled over on my side and started looking through the hole where the door should have been (but it wasn't there, it was just a hole leading out). The sun's rays, it's almost evening, the grass is almost yellow... The sounds of the river and my heavy breathing. At one point, the dog even snuggled up to me, as if feeling sorry for me

And I don't remember how, but I WOKE UP!!! AAAAAAHHHH!!!🤯💥🤯💥🤯 It was almost 1 o'clock in the afternoon!!! After a while, I suddenly remembered about this dream and was COMPLETELY SHOCKED BY ALL THE DETAILS THAT I REMEMBERED, DAMN IT. And I still remember it!!!

Here is an approximate atmosphere dream

It was really scary and unpleasant, so after that I no longer wanted to "sleep for a long, long time". And so f these were the consequences due to some health problems, I wouldn't be surprised lmao🙂😭😭

THANK YOU VERYYY MUCHHH THOSE WHO READ TO THE END😭😭😭😭😭

[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.

[deadman-is-a-moron]

Ok two episodes into this season of Doctor Who and I can officially say I hate it. If you're liking it just ignore me I want to bitch.

Complaint #1: Why are we going so fast? First episode we didn't even get to spend 5 minutes alone with Belinda before the robots came. We learned that she had a boyfriend and that she's a nurse. That's it. No other status quo just immediately to the space stuff; don't get me wrong I love the space stuff but I also like to know who the hell I'm watching before the episode starts! And it's not like anything even happened in that episode. Belinda just stood there while people exposition dumped on her.

Second episode was also very rushed albeit less so. More in the middle when they got turned 2D. Again it was mostly just the doctor and Belinda being told things rather than them actually doing anything.

Complaint #2: Character development sucks here. Last season we got Ruby's explanation for going with the doctor; she wanted to know about her mother. Belinda's character is supposed to want to go home but my girl is not giving that impression. One Scooby-Doo reference and she folds immediately. I think they're trying to do something with the nurse thing but it's really only amounting to doctor jokes. I'd much rather see her care about actually helping people than just following the doctor around; in episode one we got a bit of that in the rebel shelter but then she left just as quickly. I want to see her help Mrs. Lowenstein out of a need to care for people; not because the doctor wants to explore an abandoned theater.

Also the emotional scenes they keep on trying to jam in are so bad! The "You're dangerous" scene would've actually meant something if Belinda didn't forgive him straight away. The little 2D confession scene about Gallifrey would've been cool if it weren't two seconds long (and if we hadn't heard this conversation with 20 other companions). The "we're not real" scene would've been sad if we had gotten to know these three characters for more that two seconds.

And for the love of Ncuti Gatwa's tear ducts can he not cry every episode? It is losing its emotional value quickly.

Complaint #3: I AM SICK AND TIRED OF THE GODS! It was cool during the Donna special but oh my lord last season 1/3 of the season was dedicated to the pantheon and it is getting old. This is a fun sci fi show! I don't want to see these mythological creatures! And the "alien made of light takes the form of a cartoon" concept is so cool WHY did they not just keep it that way?

This is like my 4th time saying something has lost its value but The Doctor beating an unbeatable god really loses its value after the 4th time in one run.

Honorable Mention: The shitty Supernaturalesque jab they took at the doctor who fan base. Maybe I'm one of the fans they're talking about! Doesn't excuse bad writing.

Conclusion: I don't know last season I had complaints but overall there were some banger episodes in there. This season has just lost me so quickly. And it is such a letdown after coming from that pretty good Christmas special.

Don't know if anyone will read all that. If you did tell me how you're liking the season!

[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 had 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.

[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 say this cause you said you said you were 15 when Marius saved you from the brothel, right? But, you said to 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 the boys in the palazzo 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! 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 .

[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.

[summer-squash]

Maybe right now i’m an old woman already, sitting in my chair by the window with a lukewarm cup of lemon tea. The people that loved me are making lunch in the kitchen because I can’t remember when to eat or how to cook anymore. Maybe I don’t remember who they are or why they’re here with me, but the sky is blue and my slippers are comfortable.

Maybe right now I am simply remembering what my life at 22 felt like. My old stumbling mind getting lost in time but focusing on memories with crystal clear accuracy. My junior year of college when I didn’t know if I’d ever find someone that wanted to see my childhood home as much as I wanted to show them.

I’ll sit in the window and feel young and confused, wonder why I used to get nightmares when I slept too hot, wonder why even now I can’t forget the first purple clouded dream I ever had.

Someone that cares for me will bring me a bowl of fruit. The apples are sliced horizontally so the seed pockets make five pointed stars in the center, I say “oh, I love stars! I’ve never seen an apple cut like this, you’re so creative!” They’ll smile and tell me about star fruit, and I’ll tell them that figs are actually flowers inside out.

The phone rings, it’s for me! A child’s voice asks me about my first job, and so I tell them everything I can about my third. They tell me they’re coming over for dinner tomorrow, and I ask, “do you know what a star tastes like?” Giggles pour out of the phone, “I know Grandma! I’m bringing all my apples tomorrow so you can show me how you cut them like that!”

Someone sweet and quiet helps me up from my chair. The window is dark. I am 17 walking down a rainy street with a broken shoe in a foreign country. It’s getting dark but I keep walking, circling the block. I’m homesick, I’m cold, I’m hungry. I eat a whole bar of cadbury chocolate before my tears dry up and I finish the walk to my host home. Six more weeks and I can go back home to clean clothes and warm nights and people that love me. I’m 17 and angry. I’m 17 and terrified. My mouth tastes minty and she helps me into bed.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll be 36, pulling out weeds in my new front garden, about to meet the neighbors I’ll tell stories about for the rest of my life. Or I’ll be 52 crying with my daughter when our house floods from a faulty pipe. Then I’ll be 19, coming back from a family vacation to the first house I lost to a flood. My childhood room was bubble wrapped in a storage unit and I’d never see it again, because I moved out and my younger sister could stop staring a room.

Right now I’m just 22, maybe I’ll forget everything about this day in a month, but it’s a day I’m living, and it’s a day you’re living.