#impossible to win with them they just LIE like they breathe

[prunelier]

wild that aries x taurus as a pairing gets so much hate because i have never met a taurus i didn't like. 100% success rate. half of my besties are taurus.

[cherryswisherz]

NEVA END

♱ CONTAINS: toxic p smut

♱ NIYAHSPEAKS: i wrote this listening to one direction

"ou boy you make me so mad, but i just come right back, it's like i can't get over you."

neva end (future ft. kelly rowland, 2012)

♱♱♱♱

this is not why i came here. i came to end this... whatever this is. i came here to return her ipad and go about my business.

and now, here i am, ipad in hand, her front pressed to my back, her hands braced on the desk in front of me.

"y/n?"

her fucking. voice. soft and deep in my ear.

i didn't say a fucking word. i didn't move an inch. i only stood there as paige's hands moved away from the desk, now tracing her fingertips down the front of my thighs.

"you can leave." she reminded me, running her hands along the hem of my leggings that i for sure no longer found necessary.

did paige give me full range to leave? yes. am i going to? fuck. no.

i nodded, my eyes still closed, "i know."

"so we both understand what's about to happen."

"i mean there's no alot to misunderstand in this situation.." i trailed off. who would i be without my smart ass mouth?"

paige only hummed in amusement but nothing was funny right now. not with her body pushed even closer against mine. not with her fucking hands slowly pushing my skirt up.

her actions were all slow and calculated as she pushed the material to pool at my waist, exposing the poor excuse for underwear i have on.

i blinked my eyes open and looked down, noticing paiges hand sliding around over my hand that held her ipad. which she slid out of my hand in a matter of seconds.

i silently gasped when sh grapped both my hands and pulled them behind my back and bent me over the fucking desk.

my body burned as the ache between my legs grew damn near impossible to handle. especially when paige drew my feet apart with one of hers.

"if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask." she said, her voice was almost unrecognizable, all rasp and something else i couldn't describe.

as she drew one of her hands up the inside of my thigh, i knew she had the upper hand, which just couldn't stand. "i don't." and we both knew it was a bold faced lie, given that she quite literally had me bent over a desk. but i still couldn't let her think she won. she wins everything. she doesn't get to win this.

"oh?" she questioned, running her hands over my damp underwear. "this is for someone else? because we're the only ones here mama."

i drew in a deep breath, feeling that ache between my legs grow as she moved her fingers back and forth over my clothed pussy.

"literally anyone else. " i forced.

paige only hummed, painfully fucking slowly, sliding my panties to the side and exposing me to her. then she bent over so her lips were a centimeter from my ear and said "tell me it's for me, and i'll treat it like it's mine."

bro.

in that moment i was supposed to be thinking a bout every tear i had shed because of her. every time she made me wear someone elses jersey because she didn't want people to think we were together. i was supposed to be thinking about literally anything other than her fingers inside of me.

in that moment where i was supposed to be fed the fuck up. where i was supposed to be done with the toxicity of our situationship, she had to say some dumbass, stupid ass, sexy ass bullshit like that.

i was supposed to win this time.

but fuck a W.

i want an orgasm.

"it's for you." i mumbled, hating the fact that i was boosting her ever-so-large ego.

paige didnt move. "i didnt her you baby." she said, obviously trying to prove a point.

its always about points with her ass.

"it's for you." i said a little louder this time.

i felt her hand cup my pussy, applying as little pressure as possible. "who?" she asked?

she must be one of them deaf hoes.

"you paige da-" i was cut of my my own gasp when her fingers began to rub my clit in circles. it was enough for me to raise my head a little bit before she gripped the back of my neck putting be back where i was.

"how do you want it mama?" she asked, slowing down the pace of her fingers.

"yknow how i want it p." i moaned softly, trying to remember that she hadn't even really started yet and i was acting like this.

all she said was "i do." and that put a little fear in my chest because paige never shuts the fuck up.

but that fear quickly dissipated as she slid a slender finger in me, forcing a louder moan to tumble out of my lips.

"why you wanna leave me?" she asked, hand still moving slowly, sliding in and out of me as she angled almost perfectly into my spot.

"because you treat me like shit." i bit out, deciding that honesty was probably the best policy in this situation. but then she slid a second finger into me, pissing me off, because i was trying to be mad at her. "god. i fucking hate you." i cried into the desk.

she only curled her fingers perfectly into me, making a tremor run through me. "say it like you mean it." she said, releasing my neck and gripping my hips all to deepen her strokes.

and deepen them she did. with each stroke, she guided my hips deeper and rougher onto her fingers.

i was gripping the desk under me as curse words and some more shit fell from my mouth, practically vibrating as she hit that spot over and over again.

"you're dripping." paige said almost matter-of-factly. fucking me even rougher as she stopped the movement of my hips all together and just held them still, forcing me to take everything she was giving me.

and i knew she was right. i could feel the wetness she always caused, allpwing her fingers to move in and out of me with ease.

"fuck" i forced out, trying to take deep breaths as i tightened around her.

"you still leaving me ma?" she asked moving the hand on my hip to my clit, rubbing circle that maxed the speed of her fingers.

her voice was so annoyingly sexy but i couldn't fight the shivers it sent down my spine.

"answer me or you don't cum." she ordered, slowing her pace slightly.

"paige-" i cried out, begging her to let me have this one thing.

she only pinch my clit, which made me jolt forward. "FUCK!" i screamed. "no. no i'm not leaving you. never p, i wont ever- fuck!" i cried as she sped up her pace faster than before and the knot in my stomach unraveled and all i could feel was bliss.

my eyes rolled shut and my jaw dropped as she moved her hand to the front of my throat, pulling me so my back was to her chest, fucking me with her fingers in way that can only be described as villanous.

paige wouldn't stop. she kept going as i trembled against her whispering in my ear.

"you thought you were boutta leave me? huh? you thought i was gonna just give you up?" she asked pulling her fingers out of me, sliding them between my parted lips.

"you taste that baby?" she slid her fingers against my tongue making me moan at the taste of myself. "you wanted to take that away from me?"

she removed her fingers from my mouth and moved them to my clit this time, rubbing fast circles.

"sh-shit! paige wai-" i fell back against the desk reaching back to push her way.

"nah you wanna leave people and shit." she practically growled, gripping my arm so i couldnt push her. "take it." and she continued until i came again, leaving me as nothing but a pile of skin and bones on this godforsaken desk.

and as i tried to come back down to planet earth, all she did was put my panties and skirt back in place and pat my ass.

"i don't even know you tried me like that."

this. bitch.

♱TAGLIST: @patscorner @theriyshow @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @1onescu @mrsengstler @kmoneymartini

[fangdokja]

Trust no one. Not even yourself.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where love feels like a cage and loyalty is a loaded weapon, you must navigate the suffocating grip of those who claim to care—because sometimes, the ones who love you most are the ones who break you.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! College! Bully x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Torn Between Us - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 12,333

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, social isolation, bullying, love bombing, explicit domestic violence and realistic depictions of abuse in the family, mature language, crime, unhealthy coping mechanisms, gaslighting, victim blaming

♡ A/N. It's kind of hilarious that I get comments from "Are you okay?" to "Why do you romanticize sexual abuse in glamorous ways". Yes, in that wording too. The dichotomy of comments. Of course, already putting it out there, I'm not the type of person to chat and waste time in internet arguments. If one doesn't obey RULES, immediate block, no questions asked. It's also to make sure these people don't get bothered by my content that disturbs them. So, it's a win-win. But, to me, it's funny. Like "Wow, thank you. It's so good that it felt so realistic, huh?". That makes me happy. A big turn-off for me as a writer (but I don't mind it when other authors do it) is "inaccurate world building and logic." I get genuinely irritated at myself. It's why when it comes to fandom characters, I make sure it's as accurate as a Yandere character can get. Same goes with anything world building. I like worlds that still have systems and logic involved, even in fantasy settings. And, by default, this also includes, controversies and taboos. Yeah, I talk a lot in these notes. But, honestly? Considering how fast you long form readers go through my work. Might as well chat, since I hardly talk anyway. And, if you read these notes. Thank you. :)) Also, I was supposed to put the NSFW until I realized it was reaching 13k+ words already...

The first thing you felt was pain.

It wasn’t the kind that built slowly, easing its way into your senses—it was sharp, sudden, and all-consuming. A brutal yank at your scalp wrenched you out of the fragile limbo between consciousness and exhaustion. Your head snapped back, the roots of your hair screaming as you were dragged from the mattress by an iron grip.

You hit the floor hard, the side of your head smacking against the cold tile. The sting of impact shot through your temple, and for a moment, everything blurred—the light filtering through the curtains, the outline of the woman looming above you.

Your mother.

Her face was twisted in rage, but there was something worse in her eyes—a hunger, a satisfaction in your helplessness.

The door clicked shut behind her, sealing the soundproof room in its suffocating silence.

“You really thought you could hide from me?” Her voice was a low, venomous hiss, the kind of quiet that always preceded something worse. “You think I wouldn’t find you, huh? After everything I’ve done for you?”

You stumbled back, your body already trembling with an instinctive fear that seized your lungs and made it impossible to breathe.

“I—I wasn’t hiding—”

“Don’t you lie to me!” Her hand shot out, grabbing the front of your shirt and yanking you forward so violently your head snapped back. Her face was so close to yours you could smell the acrid stench of cigarettes on her breath, could see the bloodshot fury in her eyes.

“You haven’t come home in weeks,” she snarled, her voice trembling with rage. “You think you can just disappear? Just run away? I had to come all the way to this shithole because of you. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is for me?”

She threw you down, and your back slammed into the edge of your desk. Pain radiated up your spine, sharp and paralyzing, but before you could catch your breath, her hand was on you again—this time in your hair, wrenching your head back so hard it felt like your scalp was on fire.

“Answer me, you little leech!” she screamed, shaking you violently. “Do you think I enjoy cleaning up your messes? Huh? Do you think I like chasing you down?”

She yanked you upward by your hair again, dragging you to your knees. Your scalp burned, and a whimper escaped your lips before you could swallow it down.

You whimpered, trying to pull away, but she yanked harder, the tendons in your neck straining painfully as you choked on a sob.

“I don’t have the money,” you gasped, the words spilling out in desperation. “I promise, I—”

The slap came so fast you didn’t even see it, just felt the explosive pain as her palm connected with your cheek. Your head whipped to the side, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

“Of course you don’t have the money,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’ve been too busy playing house here, haven’t you? Hiding away like a pathetic little coward, thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

Her hand released your hair, only to shove you backward. You hit the wall hard, the impact rattling your teeth, and before you could even think about moving, she was on you again.

“Please,” you choked out, your voice hoarse from the lack of sleep. “I—I’ll get the money. I just need more time—”

Another slap came fast, cracking across your cheek with enough force to whip your head to the side. The metallic tang of blood bloomed on your tongue, and your skin prickled with the sting of her hand.

“Time?” she barked, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Time doesn’t pay the fucking bills. Time doesn’t keep a roof over your head, you little parasite!”

Her words struck harder than the blow, each one carefully crafted to cut where it hurt most. You weren’t her child. You weren’t even a person in her eyes. Just a burden. A mistake.

She shoved you backward, and you scrambled to catch yourself, your palms scraping against the rough tile. The small, cramped dorm room felt even smaller, the walls closing in as her shadow loomed over you.

“I raised you,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “I fed you. Clothed you. And this is how you repay me? By acting like a selfish little bitch? By keeping what’s mine?”

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Crying would only make it worse.

“I don’t have it,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I promise, I’ll—”

Her foot connected with your side, and pain exploded in your ribs. You crumpled, clutching your stomach as she kicked you again and again, each blow punctuated by her snarling words.

“You don’t have it? You don’t have it?” she repeated, mocking your desperate tone. “Then what the hell have you been doing all this time? Lying around, feeling sorry for yourself?”

“I had to come all the way here,” she hissed, dragging you across the room and throwing you onto the bed. The back of your head slammed into the wall, and your vision blurred. “Because you’re too much of a coward to face me like a damn adult!”

You tried to sit up, but she was faster, straddling your chest and pinning your arms down with her knees. Her fingers closed around your throat, nails biting into your skin.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is?” she spat, leaning in so close that her spit flecked your face. “Do you know how humiliating it is to have to track down my own child like some fucking runaway dog?”

Your airways constricted, panic surging through you as you choked, your nails scrabbling uselessly at her hands. Her grip was too strong, her weight crushing the breath from your lungs.

Tears streamed down your face, and the corners of your vision darkened.

She released you suddenly, and you gasped, coughing violently as your lungs screamed for air. Before you could recover, she slapped you across the face again—once, twice, three times. Each strike was sharp and deliberate, her rings tearing into your skin.

“You’ve been hiding at this university,” she said, her voice cold and measured now, as if she were recounting a list of your crimes. “Pretending you’re some poor little victim. Do you think anyone here gives a shit about you except me?”

Her hand closed around your arm, nails digging into the soft flesh as she yanked you off the bed and threw you to the floor. You landed hard on your knees, pain shooting up your legs.

“Answer me!” she screamed, her booted foot colliding with your ribs.

The impact sent you sprawling, the air rushing from your lungs. You tried to crawl away, but her foot came down on your back, pressing you into the cold tile.

“You think you’re so clever,” she continued, her voice rising. “Hiding here, avoiding your responsibilities, avoiding me. But I know you, baby. I know every little secret, every little lie.”

She grabbed the back of your head, slamming your face into the floor. Blood spattered across the tile, warm and sticky as it seeped from your nose and split lip.

“You owe me,” she hissed, crouching beside you and grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at her. Her nails dug into your cheeks, her breath hot and foul against your skin.

“Do you understand?” she said, shaking you violently. “You owe me. I don’t care if you have to steal, cheat, or whore yourself out—you will get me that money. Do you hear me?”

Your voice cracked as you sobbed, nodding frantically. “Y-Yes—”

The next slap sent your head snapping to the side.

“Louder,” she demanded.

“Yes!” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’ll do it! I’ll get the money!”

———

The hand in your hair yanked with ferocious strength, pulling at your scalp until the roots screamed in agony. Your head snapped back, the sharp crack of vertebrae forced into an unnatural angle resonating in your ears. Before you could cry out, a fist collided with your cheekbone, the impact sending shockwaves through your skull. Your vision blurred with stars, and the coppery tang of blood filled your mouth as your lip split open.

Her voice was low and cold, slicing through the air like a blade. “You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you?” A sharp tug on your hair wrenched a pained gasp from your throat. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?”

You tried to stammer out a response, but her fist collided with your cheek, the force sending you sprawling. “Shut up!” she hissed, towering over your trembling form. “Do you think I’m stupid? Running off to your little school, acting like you’re too good to come home.”

Your body was dragged across the floor like a rag doll, the rough texture of the tile scraping the skin from your knees and elbows. A boot slammed into your stomach with brutal force, driving the air from your lungs. The sensation was hollow, a sickening vacuum where breath should have been, your diaphragm spasming as you choked on nothing.

A boot slammed into your ribs, the sickening crunch of bone making your breath hitch. “You don’t even deserve this education. What have you done to earn it? Nothing!” Another kick landed against your stomach, and you doubled over, clutching yourself as the air left your lungs.

“Do you know what I’ve sacrificed for you?” Her voice rose, venom dripping from every word. “All the things I could’ve had if it weren’t for you? And you have the nerve to ignore me, to avoid your responsibilities?”

Before you could even attempt to rise, another kick landed squarely against your ribs, the crack unmistakable this time. A sharp, jagged pain bloomed in your chest, each shallow gasp of air accompanied by the fiery agony of bone grinding against bone. You curled in on yourself instinctively, arms shielding your head, but it offered no protection.

A hard-soled shoe came down against your forearm, the force bending it at an unnatural angle. A white-hot flash of pain exploded in your vision, your own muffled scream echoing in your ears as the limb gave way. You clutched it to your chest, trembling, only to feel fingers clawing at your shoulders, wrenching you upright.

You whimpered, curling into yourself, but she wasn’t done. She grabbed your arm, twisting it cruelly as you yelped in pain. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She dragged you upright, slamming you against the wall. Your head hit the plaster with a dull thud. “You think I’m blind? You think I don’t know about the money you owe me? About the favors you’re dodging?”

Her nails dug into your shoulders as she leaned in, her breath hot and acrid against your face. “I should’ve left you to rot,” she snarled. “Ungrateful little bitch.”

The shove against the wall was unrelenting, the back of your skull slamming into the unforgiving surface with enough force to make the plaster crack behind you. Your head swam, the room spinning violently as nausea roiled in your stomach. Her nails raked down your arm, leaving red welts in their wake, and the dull thud of another punch to your abdomen left your knees buckling beneath you.

She didn’t let you fall.

Your body was dragged upright again, only to be shoved forward. You crashed onto the floor, your face bouncing off the tiles. The sharp edge of your jaw hit first, sending another sharp stab of pain radiating through your skull. You tasted more blood, hot and metallic, as it spilled from your mouth, pooling beneath your chin.

You flinched as she slapped you across the face, the sting blooming into a sharp, fiery pain. “Do you think the world cares about you? Do you think anyone at that school will protect you when I’m done?”

You tried to pull away, desperation overtaking your fear. “Please, I—”

“Please?” She mocked your voice with a cruel sneer. “Please, please, please,” she repeated, punctuating each word with a punch to your side. “That’s all you ever do. Begging like a worthless rat.”

She pressed you to the ground, her foot pressing into the small of your back. “Get up,” she spat. When you didn’t move fast enough, she grabbed your hair again, yanking you upright. “I said get up!”

You sobbed, choking on the blood pooling in your mouth. “I’ll get the money, I promise. Just give me time—”

“Time?” she interrupted, laughing bitterly. “Time is for people who deserve it. You think you’re entitled to my patience?” She slammed your head down against the floor, the impact making you see stars. “You’re nothing but a burden. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

A foot pressed onto the small of your back, grinding down with her full weight. The force flattened you against the floor, your bruised ribs screaming in protest as you struggled for breath. The heel twisted, grinding into your flesh, and you bit down on your own lip to keep from screaming, the already tender flesh splitting further.

Your good arm instinctively reached out to crawl, but she stepped on your hand with calculated precision, the heel of her shoe crushing your knuckles into the hard tile. The popping sensation was sickening, each joint folding under the pressure, and the pain was enough to make your vision go black for a moment.

Her grip returned to your hair, yanking your head up and slamming it down once more. The impact jarred your entire body, the sound of your skull cracking against the floor echoing in the small room. Blood smeared the surface where your face had been, a sickening trail that blurred with your tears.

There was no reprieve. No pause between strikes. Each hit, each blow, felt calculated—designed to hurt, to maim, to leave a mark that would ache for days, weeks. Your body was a canvas for her violence, every bruise and laceration a testament to her fury.

The world faded in and out, each moment marked by a new wave of pain. When her hands finally released you, your body crumpled onto the cold, blood-slick tiles. Every breath was a struggle, every twitch of your limbs a reminder of the damage inflicted.

The room was silent now, save for the ragged sound of your own breathing and the steady drip of blood hitting the floor.

———

After a while, the barrage stopped, and you dared to glance up, only to find her crouched in front of you. Her face was close—too close—and her breath reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes.

Her voice softened suddenly, a terrifying shift that sent chills down your spine. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out yet,” she murmured, crouching down to meet your tearful gaze. “But keep this up, and you’ll find yourself with nowhere to go. Understand?”

You nodded weakly, trembling beneath her cold, predatory stare. She patted your cheek almost mockingly, smearing your blood across your face. “Good girl,” she said, her tone dripping with malice. “Now clean this mess up. I don’t want to see a single drop of blood when I get back.”

Her voice mellowed, sickly sweet, as she reached out to cup your bruised cheek.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, her tone dripping with soft tenderness. “You know I don’t want to hurt you. But you make me do this. You make me.”

You flinched as her thumb brushed over your split lip, and her smile widened.

“Don’t cry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make me feel bad, okay? You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’ll fix this. You’ll find a way to make it right.”

Her other hand clamped down on your shoulder, nails biting into your skin.

“You will, won’t you?” she pressed, her voice hardening just enough to make it clear that this wasn’t a question.

You nodded, the motion jerky and desperate. Anything to make it stop.

Her smile returned, and she stood, brushing her hands off as if you were nothing more than dirt she’d stepped in.

“That’s my girl,” she said, turning toward the door. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

She didn’t slam the door when she left. She didn’t have to. The sound of her calm, measured footsteps receding down the hall was worse than any explosion of anger. It meant she was satisfied—for now.

You lay there on the floor, the silence in the room broken only by your ragged breathing. Your body ached, your chest heaving as you struggled to hold back the sobs clawing their way up your throat.

The phone on your desk buzzed once, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet. You didn’t need to look to know it was another message. Probably him. The bully. Or maybe someone else who wanted to mess with you.

It didn’t matter.

You were the weak link, and everyone knew it.

────────────

The lie came easily—too easily. It dripped from your lips like oil, slick and poisonous, just like the makeup covering your face, as you stared at Domo’s face on the screen. “She’s been gone for so long, you know? And she just… wants to spend time with me.” You hated yourself for the waver in your voice, the hesitance that made it sound true. Domo smiled, her usual warmth softening her features. “Of course. Family comes first. We can always reschedule.”

Her kindness twisted the knife in your chest, but you nodded anyway. “Thanks. I’ll text you.” And then you ended the call before you could hear more, before her care could claw any deeper into the fragile parts of you that you were barely holding together.

The truth? There was no family bonding. No heartfelt reunion. Just you, sitting alone in your dorm as the hours stretched long and suffocating. You stared at the laptop glowing before you, the dim blue light washing over your battered face. The bruises on your cheek and ribs throbbed in unison with your pulse, each beat a reminder of what waited if you didn’t produce the money fast enough.

You clenched your teeth, flexing your fingers before placing them on the keyboard. This was the part of yourself you never wanted anyone to see. The part you shoved into the shadows because it didn’t fit the quiet, awkward nothingness that defined you.

But it was the only thing you had.

The screen filled with lines of code, flashing in rapid succession as your fingers moved. You had always been good at this—too good. The exhilaration of bending firewalls to your will, of slipping through systems unnoticed, had once been a guilty thrill. Now, it was a survival mechanism.

You rationalized it as you worked, forcing the bile down in your throat. It’s not like I’m hurting anyone. This isn’t stealing. It’s… repurposing. The rationalizations tumbled over themselves like dominoes, each lie shoring up the fragile structure of your conscience. You weren’t hacking major accounts or wiping people out. Just skimming from places that wouldn’t notice a few hundred dollars gone. Universities, minor corporate accounts, underused funds in bloated systems.

The screen flickered, the transfer confirmed. You leaned back, chest heaving as though you’d run a marathon. Two hundred dollars here, fifty there. It wasn’t much, but it would add up. It had to.

You glanced at the clock: 3:42 a.m. Only a few more hours until she comes back. The thought sent a fresh spike of panic through you, and you dove back in. Another account. Another breach. Every keystroke felt like a confession, a sin piling atop an already crumbling foundation.

This wasn’t the first time you’d done it. The bruises lining your arms and the faint scar under your lip reminded you of how long this had been your reality. She leaves. You buy time. She comes back. You pay her off. A cycle that never ended, no matter how desperately you wished it would.

When the hacking was done, you stared at the balances displayed on the screen. Enough. For now. Your head thudded against the back of the chair, exhaustion wrapping around you like chains. The room was cold, empty, suffocating in its silence. You wanted to cry, to scream, to do anything to break the hollow ache gnawing at your chest.

But instead, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from your side. You shuffled to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer out into the quiet campus. The streetlights cast long, eerie shadows across the pavement, and for a moment, you swore you saw movement. A flicker of something—someone—watching.

You yanked the curtain shut, heart pounding in your chest. Just your imagination. Nothing’s there. You repeated the words like a mantra, though the uneasy weight of a presence lingered, settling into the corners of your mind.

When morning came, you’d transfer the money to her. When she left, you’d breathe again—for a little while. But tonight, you had no time to think about Domo, or bullies, or the terrifying fragility of the life you’d cobbled together.

Tonight, survival was all that mattered.

────────────

The air in the dorm room felt heavier, as if the walls themselves anticipated her arrival. You’d barely slept, the dark circles under your eyes deep enough to make your hollow face look corpse-like. The money was ready, stacked in an envelope on the small table near the door. A meager offering to stave off her wrath.

It’s enough this time, isn’t it? It has to be.

When the knock came, sharp and deliberate, your stomach twisted into knots. The sound echoed through your chest, each rap like a nail driven into your ribcage. You didn’t hesitate. Hesitation would only make things worse.

Opening the door, you saw her—your mother, standing tall in the hallway, her tailored coat spotless, her hair perfectly styled. She looked out of place in the dingy dormitory, like a predator descending on prey. Her painted lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It never did.

“Sweetheart,” she greeted, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The smell of her expensive perfume suffocated the room. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten about me. You’re cutting it close this time.”

“I-I have it,” you stammered, pointing to the envelope. She clicked her tongue, her heels sharp against the floor as she approached the table.

Picking up the envelope, she weighed it in her hand like a predator inspecting its meal. “All of it?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.

“Yes. I promise.”

Her nails were painted crimson, as though dipped in fresh blood, and they grazed the edge of the envelope as she opened it. Her eyes scanned the money, the movements slow and deliberate. “Hmm. This isn’t as much as I expected.”

“It’s everything I could—”

The slap came so fast, so sudden, you barely registered the sting on your cheek until you were stumbling back, your head snapping to the side. Her handprint burned into your skin, but you didn’t dare cry out.

Her voice was cold, the venom behind it more terrifying than her strike. “You think this is enough? Do you think I go through all this trouble for crumbs?”

“I—I can get more!” you blurted, your chest heaving as panic clawed at your throat. “Just give me a little more time!”

She closed the envelope, tucking it into her purse with an air of calm so calculated it made your blood run cold. Then, without warning, her hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

You screamed, but the sound barely escaped before she yanked you down, dragging you toward the center of the room. Pain exploded across your scalp, blinding and raw.

“Do you think I have time for your excuses?” she hissed, her grip tightening. “You’ve always been pathetic. Always needing someone to clean up your messes.”

Her knee collided with your stomach, and the air rushed from your lungs in a broken wheeze. She released your hair, letting you crumple to the floor like a discarded rag doll.

“I should’ve known you’d be useless.” Her voice was low, deliberate, and each word sliced through you like a scalpel. “It’s embarrassing, really. How you can’t even manage something as simple as this.”

You tried to push yourself up, but her foot slammed down on your back, forcing you flat against the floor. “Stay down,” she ordered. “You’re exactly where you belong.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. Crying would only make it worse.

“Do you know how humiliating it is for me to come here?” she continued, pressing harder until your ribs screamed in protest. “To see the pathetic little hole you’ve buried yourself in? You’re lucky I even bother with you.”

She released you, and you gasped, curling into yourself on the cold floor. Her heels clicked as she walked to the door, her purse swinging at her side.

“Don’t make me come back for this again,” she warned, her tone sickeningly sweet once more. “You wouldn’t like what happens if I do.”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. You didn’t move for a long time, your body trembling with the aftermath of pain and fear. The room was dark now, the only light coming from the faint glow of your laptop.

You stared at it, the temptation gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Just one more time. I’ll take a little more. I’ll make it back somehow.

It was the only way to survive.

────────────

The room was dimly lit by the pale glow of your computer screen, the soft hum of the CPU your only companion through the relentless hours. Your fingers ached, stiff from the endless tapping and coding, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you moving. You’d done it. After days of sleepless nights, tense calculations, and hacking sessions that pushed the boundaries of legality, the number on the screen made your chest swell with something foreign: triumph.

It was the largest sum you’d ever seen in your life. Enough to keep your mother at bay for a long time, maybe even the rest of the year if you played it smart.

You leaned back in your chair, your head lolling against the worn cushion. Exhaustion clawed at you, but a smile—real, genuine—curved your lips. For once, there was no immediate shadow of fear, no sharp pang of dread in your stomach. You felt... safe.

Your gaze drifted to the photo frame sitting on the cluttered desk, the only piece of decoration in your otherwise bleak dorm. It was your high school graduation photo. Your father, with his immaculate suit and confident smile, stood tall beside your mother, who clung to his arm, her makeup flawless, her pride radiating through the glass. And there you were, sandwiched between them, holding your diploma with trembling hands.

Back then, you thought things would stay like that forever. A perfect picture. A perfect family.

Your smile faltered as your eyes lingered on your mother’s face in the photo. She looked happy then—truly happy. Not the brittle, strained version of her that had emerged after your father’s departure. The moment he left, everything broke.

You closed your eyes, memories creeping in like unwelcome guests. The screaming matches, the shattered glass, her tear-streaked face twisted in anguish as she begged him to stay. And then the silence, the unbearable silence that followed his departure, her love curdling into something sharp and possessive, clinging to you like a drowning woman to a lifeline.

“She only has me,” you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling in the quiet room. The words felt like a mantra, a justification for everything you endured. “She needs me.”

The screen in front of you flickered as you finalized the transfer. The money was secure, broken into portions just as you’d planned. You wouldn’t give it to her all at once—that would only end in disaster. No, you’d ration it out, let it trickle through her fingers slowly. Enough to keep her satisfied, to keep her from asking questions, from demanding more.

A wave of relief washed over you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were ahead of the game. You could breathe.

The thought of handing over the first envelope filled you with a strange kind of hope. Maybe this time, she’d smile like she did in the photo. Maybe she’d thank you, even hug you. Maybe, just maybe, things could go back to the way they were.

You stood, stretching your aching limbs, and crossed the room to the mirror. Your reflection stared back, hollow-eyed and pale, but there was a spark of pride in your gaze. You’d done something good—for her, for yourself. It wasn’t legal, no, but it was necessary.

Your fingers brushed against the photo frame as you returned to the desk, the cold glass grounding you. No matter how much she hurt you, no matter how much fear she instilled, you still loved her. She was your mother.

And you’d do anything to keep her happy.

———

The knock on the door was soft, almost tentative, but it still sent a jolt of adrenaline through your system. You clutched the envelope tightly in your hand, its weight heavier than the sum it carried. This was it. You smoothed your hair, tried to compose yourself, and opened the door.

She stood there, a vision of maternal grace, her sharp edges carefully filed away. Her lips curled into a warm smile, one that lit her face in a way you hadn’t seen in years. For a moment, she looked just like the mother in the graduation photo—loving, proud, whole.

“There you are, sweetheart,” she said, stepping inside and brushing a hand over your hair. Her touch was light, affectionate, as if the hands that had dragged you out of bed days ago had never known violence.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Hi, Mom.”

Her eyes flicked to the envelope in your hand, but she didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Instead, she guided you to the small couch in your dorm room and sat down beside you, her perfume a familiar cloud of roses and nostalgia.

“You’ve been working so hard,” she said, her voice tender. “I’ve been so worried about you. You look tired, baby.” Her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against the dark circles under your eyes. “Have you been eating enough? Sleeping?”

You nodded, unsure of what else to do. The words caught in your throat, tangled in the weight of her presence.

“I brought your favorite,” she said, producing a neatly packed box from her bag. Inside were homemade cookies, perfectly golden, still warm as if she’d baked them just for you. She broke one in half and held it to your lips, her eyes soft with an affection that made your chest ache. “Here, eat. You need your strength.”

You bit into the cookie, its sweetness almost overwhelming. She watched you with such intensity, as though every crumb you swallowed was a testament to your gratitude, your obedience.

Finally, you held out the envelope. “I—uh—I managed to save some money,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “For you.”

Her eyes widened, shimmering with what looked like genuine pride. She took the envelope delicately, as though it were a fragile gift. Opening it, she flipped through the bills, her expression melting into something softer, more radiant.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she breathed, pulling you into a sudden, crushing hug. “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

Her words were honeyed, dripping with adoration, and yet they stung. You closed your eyes, leaning into her embrace, the warmth of her body erasing the bruises she’d left days before.

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmured, her hand stroking your hair. “You’re all I have, you know that? Just you and me against the world.”

Her grip tightened, just for a moment, but then she pulled back, holding your face in her hands. “Promise me you’ll always take care of yourself, for me. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

The tears in her eyes looked so real, so heartbreakingly sincere, that for a moment, you believed her. You wanted to believe her.

“I promise,” you said, the words feeling like a chain coiling tighter around your chest.

“Good girl.” She kissed your forehead, a gesture so tender it left you dizzy. “I love you, you know that?”

You nodded, your throat burning with unspoken words.

The rest of the evening passed in a surreal haze of domestic bliss. She stayed for hours, tidying your dorm, chatting about mundane things, laughing at old memories as though nothing had ever been wrong. It felt like stepping back in time, to when your world was still intact, when her love wasn’t a weapon but a shield.

And yet, beneath the surface, something gnawed at you. A shadow of doubt, a whisper of fear. Because you knew—deep down—that this wasn’t love. It was something darker, something that wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed until you couldn’t breathe.

But for tonight, you let it happen. You let her smile and laugh and hold you close. You let yourself believe, just for a little while, that everything could be okay.

———

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, a biting reminder of the wounds she was carefully tending. Her touch was impossibly gentle, almost reverent, as though the same hands hadn’t carved those injuries into your skin just hours ago. She hummed softly, a melody you vaguely recognized from childhood, her voice smooth and warm like a lullaby meant to soothe your fears.

“Hold still, sweetheart,” she murmured, her fingers brushing your cheek as she dabbed at a cut near your temple. “This might sting a little.”

It did. The pain flared, bright and hot, but her other hand stroked your hair, grounding you in the surreal tenderness of the moment.

“You’ve always been so brave,” she said, her eyes meeting yours with a depth of sincerity that made your stomach churn. “Taking everything life throws at you with your head held high. I don’t know how you do it, baby.”

Her smile was soft, motherly, and the juxtaposition of her words against the still-healing bruises on your arms made your throat tighten.

She leaned closer, inspecting her work, her breath warm against your skin. “There. Good as new,” she said, sitting back with a satisfied sigh. Her hand lingered on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You really scared me, you know. You’ve been so distant lately.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse and small.

She tilted her head, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated concern. “Oh, sweetheart, no. You don’t need to apologize. You’ve just… been through so much, haven’t you?” Her hand moved to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with an intimacy that felt suffocating.

“I’ve been so hard on you,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly as though she might cry. “I hate seeing you like this, so beaten down. You deserve so much better.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of confusion and unease tangling with the faint, desperate hope that this time—this time—she meant it.

“Let me take care of you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re my baby, my whole world. I just want to see you happy.”

She stood and moved to the kitchen, her movements fluid, almost cheerful. “You must be starving,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll make your favorite. Just sit there and relax, okay? You need to rest.”

Her back was to you now, and for a moment, you could almost pretend this was normal. The hum of the stove, the faint sizzle as she prepared the food—it all felt so mundane, so safe.

But the memory of her voice—razor-sharp and dripping with venom—echoed in the back of your mind.

"Don’t make me come back here for nothing, you useless little brat."

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought. She was different now. She was kind. Loving. She hadn’t been like this in years, not since before everything fell apart.

The meal she placed before you was perfect, a careful recreation of a childhood favorite. She watched you with expectant eyes as you took the first bite, her smile widening when you nodded in approval.

“See? Mommy knows what you need,” she said, sitting beside you and placing a hand on your knee. “We’ll be okay, won’t we? As long as we have each other.”

You forced a smile, the words catching in your throat.

The warmth of her affection was almost worse than her anger. It wrapped around you like a blanket, smothering you under the weight of its expectations. But you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t risk breaking this fragile illusion, not when the alternative was so much worse.

So you nodded, swallowing down the fear and confusion and guilt. “Yeah. We’ll be okay.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, you could almost believe it.

────────────

The halls were quiet, the chaotic din of the usual school day replaced by an unusual calm. It was as though the entire campus had been wrapped in a fragile layer of peace, everyone too preoccupied with the looming end-of-year celebrations to pay you any mind. You walked alone, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering faintly, your shadow stretching and shrinking against the scuffed linoleum floor.

For the first time in what felt like ages, your chest felt lighter. The suffocating weight of constant vigilance had lifted, even if only for a moment. Domo was away, too busy with her responsibilities to hover protectively over you, but her absence didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like freedom.

You passed clusters of students bustling about, their faces flushed with excitement and stress as they carried props and decorations for the Christmas program. No one spared you a glance, not even the cliques that usually whispered behind your back or the bullies who made a sport of finding new ways to humiliate you. They were too wrapped up in their own lives, their own dramas.

The solitude was soothing.

Your lips curled into a faint smile as you stepped out into the courtyard. The winter air was crisp, biting gently at your cheeks and nose. The skeletal trees stood silent, their barren branches reaching towards the pale gray sky. You sat on one of the cold metal benches, pulling your coat tighter around you, and watched the world move on without you.

It was better this way.

The distant sound of carols drifted through the air, mingling with the faint chatter of students. You allowed yourself a moment to close your eyes and soak it in—the peace, the simplicity. No shouting. No biting words. No stifling fear clawing at your throat.

For the first time in months, you felt something like happiness. At least for a while.

———

The air was crisp and still as you crept through the dimly lit campus grounds, the cold biting at your exposed skin. Every step felt heavier than the last, your stomach knotting tighter with each reluctant movement. The text from him sat unread but seared into your mind, its bluntness coiled around your thoughts like barbed wire: "My dorm. Tonight. Don’t make me wait."

It wasn’t the first time. His demands always came with the same suffocating inevitability, a choice between the humiliations he’d orchestrate and the unspeakable consequences of defying him.

You kept your head low, your heart pounding as you slipped into the shadows, avoiding the few lingering students rushing to finish end-of-year preparations. The warmth of the day had been fleeting—Domo’s absence notwithstanding. You’d almost dared to hope the universe might grant you a reprieve. But he’d reminded you, as always, that peace wasn’t for people like you.

His dorm building loomed ahead, its sharp, modern edges cutting against the pale moonlight. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the door, the sterile chill of the metal handle grounding you in the moment. Inside, the fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly, the hallways deserted and eerily quiet.

Room 312. You knew it by heart. You had never asked to learn this intimately, but circumstance—and his persistence—left you with little choice.

The door was ajar when you arrived, as though he’d been expecting you.

“Come in,” his voice called, low and casual, from somewhere inside. It grated against your nerves, setting off alarm bells in the recesses of your mind.

You stepped inside, the warmth of his room almost suffocating after the cold outside. He was seated at his desk, leaning back lazily in his chair, his posture deceptively relaxed. His gaze met yours, sharp and assessing, and the faint smirk playing at his lips sent a chill down your spine.

“Right on time,” he drawled, gesturing for you to close the door. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

You said nothing, your throat dry as you complied.

The tension in the room was palpable as he stood, his movements unhurried, his towering presence swallowing the space between you. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he remarked, his tone light but laced with something darker. “Almost like you thought you could avoid me.”

“I wasn’t—” you began, your voice shaky, but he silenced you with a sharp laugh.

“Save it,” he said, stepping closer until you could feel the oppressive heat radiating off him. “I don’t care what excuses you’ve been telling yourself. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

His hand shot out, gripping your chin with bruising force as he tilted your face upward. His expression was unreadable, his eyes scanning you like you were something to be dissected. “You look happy,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “What’s got you in such a good mood, huh?”

The question was rhetorical, his fingers tightening painfully as he leaned in closer. “You know,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against your cheek, “I don’t like it when you forget your place.”

You swallowed hard, the fear clawing its way up your throat as his grip shifted to your shoulder, shoving you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” he commanded, and you obeyed, your limbs stiff and trembling.

He loomed over you, his shadow stretching long and menacing under the harsh light. “We’re going to play a little game,” he said, a cruel glint in his eyes. “You’re going to listen very carefully, and if you’re good—well, let’s see if you remember what happens when you’re not.”

The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around your neck. You didn’t dare look away, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, as his gaze pinned you in place.

And just like that, the fleeting warmth of the day was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding reality you couldn’t escape.

———

He leaned against the desk in his dorm, his expression dripping with smug satisfaction, as if he had already won a game you didn’t even realize you were playing. His phone rested in his hand, the glow from the screen casting shadows on his face.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. His tone was light, almost amused, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “All this time, I thought you were just pathetic. Turns out, you’re also a little criminal. Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

Your stomach dropped, your breath hitching as his words sank in. He chuckled darkly at your reaction, pushing off the desk and stepping closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he sneered, tilting his head as he studied your wide-eyed panic. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? That you could just go around doing… that and no one would notice?”

He held up his phone, the screen flashing with what could only be described as evidence—screenshots, transaction logs, even security footage. Your heart pounded in your chest, a sickening rhythm that drowned out everything else.

“You’re so damn stupid,” he said, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Leaving a digital trail like that? Rookie mistake. But I guess I shouldn’t expect too much from someone like you. After all, you’ve never been anything but a useless, desperate little nothing, right?”

The insult stung, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. His grin widened at your silence, his enjoyment of your fear palpable.

“Let me spell it out for you,” he said, stepping even closer until you were forced to back up against the wall. “I’ve got everything I need to ruin you. Everything. Those little stunts you pulled to get your precious mommy her money? Yeah, I’ve got it all. And trust me, it’s enough to get you expelled, arrested… maybe even worse.”

You shook your head frantically, your voice trembling as you tried to protest. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, save it,” he snapped, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “I don’t give a shit about your sob story. You think anyone else will? You’re nothing, sweetheart. Just a sad little loser with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.”

The tears burned at the corners of your eyes, frustration from everything welling up as if ready to pour out; but you blinked them back, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. He noticed, of course, and his smirk turned cruel.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he mocked, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You wouldn’t want Mommy Dearest to find out, would you? Imagine how disappointed she’d be. Or worse—imagine what she’d do if she found out her little cash cow has been hiding things from her.”

His words were a dagger to your chest, twisting with every syllable. He knew exactly where to strike, exactly how to exploit your deepest fears and vulnerabilities.

“But don’t worry,” he continued, his tone softening into something almost sweet. “I’m not a monster. I’m willing to keep this between us… for a price.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. “W-What do you want?”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Oh, nothing too crazy,” he said, leaning in until his face was inches from yours. “Just a little obedience. A little gratitude. Maybe even a little fun. After all, we’ve got such a good thing going, don’t we?”

His hand reached up to cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Or, you can try to run. Try to fight. But let’s be real—you don’t have the guts. You’ve never had the guts. So why don’t you just be a good little slave and play along? It’ll be so much easier for both of us.”

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His words wrapped around you like a noose, tightening with every passing second. There was no escape, no way out. He had you, and he knew it.

———

The air in the room felt oppressive, suffocating, as his words dripped into your ears like poison. His grin was wide, vicious, a predator toying with its prey, knowing there was no escape. He perched on the edge of the bed, his presence overwhelming even as he leaned in casually, as though you were equals in this twisted game.

“You really think she doesn’t know?” he murmured, his voice a low, mocking purr. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting your panic like a mirror. “Domo. Your precious, perfect Domo. She’s not stupid, you know. I mean, come on, you’ve been sloppy, haven’t you? Or did you think you could actually hide all this?”

You flinched at his words, the knot of anxiety in your chest tightening. You had been careful. Meticulous, even. But now, doubt began to claw its way into your mind. His smirk widened at the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

“That’s the thing about people like her,” he continued, his tone almost conversational. “She’s got this shiny, righteous exterior. Strong sense of justice, doesn’t she? Loves tearing people like you apart. The frauds, the liars, the criminals. Do you even know what she’d do if she found out?”

Your stomach churned. You’d seen it yourself—how Domo could rip someone’s reputation to shreds with a single exposé, how her ruthless sense of morality left no room for gray areas. And you, with your secrets, your crimes…

────────────

The first time you saw Domo’s sense of justice in action, it left a deep impression—one that you didn’t know whether to admire or fear. It was a cold, rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky seemed to weep with an intensity that felt personal. Most students had already gone home, but you stayed late in the library, hunched over a stack of outdated textbooks you couldn’t afford to replace.

That was when you heard it—low, vicious laughter echoing from the stairwell. Curious, you crept closer, peeking from behind a bookshelf.

There she was. Domo.

And in front of her, trembling like a trapped animal, was a senior. He was taller, broader, someone who carried himself like he owned the place—until that moment. His usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by a look of sheer panic.

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he stammered, his hands raised as if to shield himself from her words. “I was just messing around—”

“Messing around?” Domo’s voice was calm, almost too calm. It carried no heat, no anger, only an icy precision that made your blood run cold. “So stealing exam papers and selling them to desperate students counts as ‘messing around’ now?”

She took a step closer, her shadow looming over him despite her slightly smaller frame. The rain continued to pour outside, its rhythm punctuating her words.

“I have the screenshots, the emails, the recordings. Every lie you told, every bribe you took—it’s all here.” She held up her phone, her finger hovering over the screen. “It would only take one click for this to reach the dean’s office.”

The senior’s face paled. He stumbled backward, his bravado crumbling into a pitiful mess. “Please, Domo. Don’t ruin me. I’ll do anything—just don’t—”

“Ruin you?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “You ruined yourself the moment you decided your greed was worth more than the futures of those you exploited.”

There was no room for argument in her tone, no opening for negotiation. She wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t emotional. She was just. And that made it worse.

When the senior finally broke down into sobs, begging on his knees, Domo didn’t gloat. She didn’t smile. She simply pressed send.

You didn’t need to stick around to know what happened next. The senior was expelled within a week, his disgrace plastered across every whispering clique in the halls.

———

Another time, you saw her in action during a group project. It was supposed to be simple—divide the workload evenly, finish on time, get a decent grade. But one of your teammates, a quiet girl with a perpetually nervous expression, confessed to Domo that someone had been stealing her ideas and presenting them as his own in front of the professor.

Domo didn’t hesitate.

She called the guy out during the next class, her voice ringing clear across the room. “I think it’s only fair to credit the person who actually did the work, don’t you?”

The guy laughed nervously, brushing her off. “What are you talking about, Domo? We all worked on it together.”

“Really?” she said, tilting her head slightly. Her eyes glittered like shards of broken glass. “Because I have the timestamps on her drafts and the plagiarism report showing your presentation is word-for-word identical. Care to explain how that’s a coincidence?”

The classroom went silent. The professor frowned, leaning forward in his chair.

“Domo, I—” the guy started, but she cut him off with a single, raised hand.

“I don’t want your excuses,” she said firmly. “I want you to admit what you did, apologize to her, and redo the work properly. Or we can take this up with the academic board. Your choice.”

You could almost hear the sound of his pride shattering. He mumbled something that vaguely resembled an apology, avoiding everyone’s eyes, and spent the rest of the term walking on eggshells around her.

———

Domo’s sense of justice wasn’t loud or flashy. It didn’t rely on intimidation or physical strength. It was quiet, methodical, and utterly terrifying.

She didn’t give second chances. She didn’t forgive dishonesty.

And that was why you could never let her find out. Not about your hacking. Not about the money. Not about how you had initially planned to use her kindness for your own survival.

Because if she ever did…

She wouldn’t just hate you.

She’d destroy you.

────────────

“I mean, it’s almost funny,” he said, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Here you are, pretending to be this innocent little thing, latching onto her like a leech. But let’s be real—this friendship of yours? It’s built on lies. You used her.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, your voice trembling. “That’s not true. I—”

“Oh, but it is,” he cut you off, his tone sharp and biting. “You needed her, didn’t you? Not for who she is, but for what she could give you. Money. Protection. A shield to hide behind. You’re pathetic.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I care about her,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Care about her? Don’t make me laugh. If you really cared, you’d have told her the truth by now. But you won’t, will you? Because deep down, you know she’d drop you in a heartbeat. She’d see you for what you really are—a selfish, manipulative little rat.”

The words hit like a slap, and you recoiled, your heart pounding. “I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he sneered, cutting you off again. “You think she’s going to believe you over me? I’ve got proof, sweetheart. I’ve seen what you do. All those late nights, the hacking, the money you’ve been funneling. You really thought you’d get away with it?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to deny, but he didn’t give you the chance. “Don’t bother,” he said, his tone softening to something almost tender. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to tell her… yet. But imagine how she’d look at you if I did. Imagine the betrayal in her eyes when she realizes her best friend is nothing but a criminal.”

His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of affection. You flinched but didn’t pull away, too frozen by fear. “But I’m not the bad guy here,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m giving you a chance. A way out. All you have to do is listen to me. Do what I say. It’s not that hard, is it?”

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you tried to stand your ground. “I won’t let you manipulate me.”

His grin widened, his eyes dark with amusement. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to manipulate you. I just have to tell the truth. And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? You’ve already done all the hard work for me. All I have to do is hand her the evidence, and you’re done.”

His hand slid down to your wrist, his grip tightening just enough to make you wince. “So here’s the deal,” he said, his tone cold and commanding. “You’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it. No questions, no hesitation. Because if you don’t…”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’ll make sure she knows everything. And when she does, she’ll hate you. She’ll destroy you. And I’ll be right here to watch.”

You shuddered, the weight of his words crushing down on you. He pulled back, his grin as smug as ever. “So, what’s it going to be?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Are you going to be a good little girl and play along? Or do I need to make a few phone calls?”

The silence stretched between you, suffocating, as he waited for your answer. And in that moment, you realized there was no way out. Not without losing everything.

———

His lips crashed against yours again, rough and demanding, his fingers curling into the nape of your neck with enough pressure to make your scalp burn. You didn’t resist—not because you wanted this, but because resisting would only escalate things. His breath was hot and suffocating, his teeth grazing your lower lip as if to punish you for every shudder of disgust you couldn’t suppress.

Your mind spun in chaotic circles, desperately searching for an escape even as his body pressed you further into the mattress. His weight pinned you down, his hands wandering in a way that felt more like a claim than an embrace.

You closed your eyes, trying to block him out, but that only made your thoughts louder. They roared with a single name: Domo.

Domo, who would never forgive you. Domo, who could never know.

The thought of her was a knife in your chest, sharp and twisting. You didn’t fear her anger—you feared her disappointment. Domo wasn’t just a friend. She was the only light you had, the only one who ever made you feel like maybe you weren’t completely worthless. But Domo had a sense of justice as unforgiving as the universe itself.

You had seen her at her most ruthless. She wasn’t the type to scream or cry when betrayed. No, Domo dissected you with precision, unraveling every thread of your lies until you were nothing but a tangle of shame and regret. You had watched her dismantle people who thought they could outwit her, her sharp words leaving them gutted in ways they never recovered from.

If she found out about the hacking… the money…

Your stomach twisted. You’d seen it happen before. The way her eyes hardened, the way her voice turned cold, like steel slicing through flesh. Domo didn’t just destroy people—she erased them, made them into cautionary tales.

And she’d do the same to you.

But more than that, you’d lose her. She wouldn’t see the circumstances. She wouldn’t see your desperation, your mother, your empty dorm room filled with shadows. She’d only see the crime, the betrayal, the weakness.

The bully’s lips moved to your neck, and you bit your tongue to suppress a gasp. His hands slid lower, possessive and mocking, as if to remind you of the power he held over you.

“Thinking about her again, aren’t you?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and cruel. “Your precious Domo. Wondering what she’d say if she saw you like this.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, you couldn’t let her see. You couldn’t let her know how far you’d fallen, how much you’d compromised. If she knew—if she even suspected—she’d leave you.

And your mother…

The thought of her sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. If Domo’s judgment was cold and calculated, your mother’s was visceral and brutal. She wouldn’t just be disappointed. She’d punish you, grind you down until there was nothing left. You’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her fingers curled into fists, in the way her voice dropped to a low, venomous growl when she was angry.

The money wasn’t just a lifeline—it was the leash she held you on. It was the only thing keeping her rage at bay.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not even here, are you? Too busy thinking about how to keep all your little secrets.”

He kissed you again, his hands tightening their grip, and your mind screamed at you to focus. But all you could think about was Domo’s face—her sharp, piercing eyes, her unwavering sense of right and wrong.

And the cold, hard truth that if she ever knew the real you, she wouldn’t just walk away. She’d destroy you.

Just like he would.

“Go ahead,” he taunted, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His smirk was razor-sharp, his gaze dark with amusement. “Keep pretending you’re innocent. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You’re just as dirty as the rest of us. And the best part? No one’s going to save you.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t.

Because he was right.

———

Your head swam with the weight of his words, the dark intensity behind them burrowing under your skin like thorns. His breath was hot against your lips as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with an almost tender care, a stark contrast to the bruises you knew he’d left on your body before. The room spun with his presence, suffocating, inescapable, and yet something in you was too tired to resist.

“You think anyone else could love you like this?” he whispered, his voice low and raw, each word an anchor pulling you deeper into his orbit. His lips found the corner of your mouth, teasing, brushing, and when you didn’t pull away, he took that as a surrender.

“I see you,” he murmured, his hands trailing down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. “The real you. The one who’s scared, pathetic, desperate. I see it, and I still love you for it. No one else does. Not Domo, not your mother, no one. They only see what you pretend to be.”

He kissed you hard then, his mouth consuming yours, claiming you with a ferocity that left you breathless. The edge of his teeth scraped against your lower lip as he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes sharp and burning with something primal.

“It’s always been the two of us,” he growled, his voice thick with possession as he gripped your hips, grinding against you in slow, deliberate movements that left no room for misinterpretation. “Even when you ran to Domo, even when you tried to leave me behind, you always came back. You’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.”

Your chest tightened as his words drilled into you, his logic cutting through every feeble protest you might have had. No one else cared. Not like this. Not with this twisted, obsessive devotion that terrified you as much as it made you feel alive.

“You think Domo will stay if she finds out who you really are?” he sneered, his lips ghosting over your jawline before nipping at your ear. “She’ll throw you away like everyone else. But me?” His voice softened, his tone almost reverent. “I don’t care what you do. Cheat, lie, betray me—hell, run back to her if you want. I’ll still be here. I’ll always be here.”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Your lips pressed against his, hesitant, shy, but it was enough to spark something dangerous in him. He growled low in his throat, his hands tightening on you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entry, his movements aggressive but laced with a desperate kind of love.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your lips, his hands roaming, gripping, owning. “You’re starting to get it now, aren’t you? You’re mine. No one else gives a shit about you like I do. No one else knows you like I do. And no one else ever will.”

His words were a mantra, a binding spell, as he kissed you again, his love a suffocating force, overwhelming and inescapable. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t kind, but it was real in a way that twisted something deep inside you.

“You and me, baby,” he said, his voice a promise and a threat all at once. “Always.”

———

The hesitation lingered in your body, a faint tremor in your hands, a fleeting flicker in your gaze that he picked up on like a predator scenting blood. His grip on your waist tightened as his lips hovered over yours, smirking just slightly at the way you tensed under his touch.

“Still fighting me, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and rich with amusement, a dangerous edge beneath his tone. “You don’t have to say anything. I know that little head of yours is spinning, trying to figure out what to do. But we both know the truth, don’t we? You can’t afford to push me away.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, deliberate and suffocating, drawing out every second as if savoring his victory. “Not like this is new for us,” he whispered against your lips, his tone almost tender, like a lover’s. “You remember, don’t you? Or are you gonna pretend you don’t? It’s been a while, sure—probably because you’ve been too busy drooling over that bitch Domo. But this? This has always been us.”

The words landed like blows, each one calculated to chip away at your defenses. You stiffened at the mention of Domo, your mind spiraling into the familiar maze of fear and guilt. He laughed softly, sensing your weakness, and tilted your chin up so your eyes met his.

“There it is,” he said, his grin widening as his fingers brushed your cheek with mock tenderness. “That little look of guilt. You don’t want her to know, do you? Don’t want her to see the real you. The one who cheats and lies and does whatever it takes to survive. Guess what? I already know all of that, and I’m still here. Isn’t that funny?”

You stayed silent, your breath shaky as his hands roamed with purpose, drawing you closer, forcing you to feel every inch of his control. “She’d never forgive you,” he continued, his voice a soft hum of poison. “If she found out, she’d drop you like you were nothing. And your mom? Oh, let’s not even start on her.”

He chuckled, low and dark, the vibration of it sinking into your chest. “But me?” he murmured, brushing his lips against the corner of your mouth before stealing another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier. “I don’t care what you do. I don’t care what you are. I’ve always loved you for it. Your pathetic, broken little self is mine.”

You knew he was pushing you, pressing all the right buttons to ensure you bent to his will. Your mind screamed at you to resist, to fight, but the weight of everything he had over you—the photos, the proof, the cruel knowledge of your worst secrets—held you firmly in place.

“That’s right,” he whispered as you finally stopped resisting, your body going limp under his hold. He kissed you again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, possessive and firm. “You’re getting it now. This is where you belong. With me. Submitting to me, just like you always have, just like you always will.”

He didn’t stop, even as your compliance became evident. Instead, he pressed harder, his kisses more demanding, his touch bolder, his words laced with a dangerous, almost intoxicating affection.

“I don’t just own your body,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pulled you even closer. “I own your heart, your mind, your fucking soul. Domo doesn’t get that, and she never will. This? This is ours. Always has been.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight as the reality of his hold on you settled like chains around your chest.

Every word, every touch, every calculated smile of his reminded you of the truth—you were his, and fighting back only tightened his grip.

———

His hands moved with an infuriating blend of precision and fervor, peeling away layers of your clothing as if removing barriers to what he believed was already his. Each brush of his fingers was rough, each kiss an assault, his lips crushing against yours like he was trying to consume you entirely. He growled low in his throat, a predatory sound that sent a shiver of both fear and shameful heat down your spine.

"That’s it," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his pupils blown wide with a dangerous mix of lust and obsession. His breath fanned hot against your skin as his fingers dug into your thighs, pulling you closer. “My little masochist. You like this, don’t you? Pretending to fight me, pretending you have some kind of choice. But deep down, you love it. You love me.”

The words dripped with mockery, but underneath the venom, there was something softer—something that felt almost genuine in its twisted way. He leaned down, his teeth grazing your neck, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. “Yeah, that’s the sound I want. None of that quiet, boring little act you pull for everyone else. Show me what you really are, hmm? Weak, needy, desperate. Mine.”

Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch even as your mind screamed at you to pull away. He noticed, of course he noticed, and his smirk widened, his movements growing bolder. His hands roamed over you with a hunger that bordered on savage, but there was a calculated restraint in his grip, like he was savoring every moment of your submission.

“You know,” he whispered, his voice rough and husky as his fingers slipped beneath the last layer of fabric, “I could ruin you, completely destroy that pathetic little life of yours. But I don’t. You know why?” He kissed you hard, swallowing your unsteady breaths before pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips. “Because I love you. No one else gives a damn about you, not your saintly Domo, not even your precious mother. Just me.”

His movements grew rougher, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he pushed you back onto the bed. He hovered over you, his gaze dark and feral, his smirk curling into something more primal. “You’re so fucking stupid,” he said, his voice almost a growl as he pressed his body against yours. “Careless, weak, a complete mess. But you’re my mess. And no matter how much you screw up, no matter how much you betray me, I’m the one who’s always going to pick you up, fix you, keep you safe.”

Each word came with another bruising kiss, another searing touch that left you reeling. He whispered sweet poison into your ear, promises wrapped in degradation, affection laced with humiliation. “You’ll never find anyone else who loves you like this,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Who knows you like this. You’d be nothing without me, and you know it.”

His real personality was fully unleashed now—raw, unfiltered, and terrifyingly familiar. The mask of control slipped just enough to reveal the primal, obsessive hunger beneath. Every movement, every word, every calculated act was designed to remind you of one thing: he owned you. Body, mind, and soul.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie , @ne7zach

[allzelemonz]

Just What He’s Looking For: Demon X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 1, Overstimulation and Size Difference Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ and ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Demons, Hoodoo, crossroads deal, anal fingering, anal sex, sex for money, he doesn’t want your soul, unrealistic sex, magic gag, magic restraints Summary: A crossroads deal for money doesn’t cost you your soul, but something much more intimate.

The road is empty. Dirt and gravel long settled as if a car hasn’t passed over it in days. The time on your phone blinks into a new day, midnight coming to glow back at you. The dirt under your shoes starts to feel like something more solid, packed from how long you’ve been waiting in the middle of these roads. The Hoodoo X, the meeting place of devils and demons.

“Welcome, child.”

Your spine stiffens like a steel rod at the impossibly deep voice. It sounds as if bass came to life and learned to speak for itself. Everso slightly, you turn your head. Standing behind you is the man of legend, ‘the black man’. And that he is, pitch black. Like the infinite void of space wrapped itself around a man’s body. He’s impossibly tall with broadness to match, but every other feature is hidden in the black.

“Been a while since I’ve had a deal.” He smiles, his teeth unseen in the black. “What can I do for you, boy?”

You swallow your nerves, turning to face whatever creature it is that’s appeared, be it devil, demon, or something else entirely. “Money. I need money.”

He chuckles, deep and shaking. “Doesn’t everyone now?” He steps closer. “Folks used to ask me for skill. Playing guitars or winning Poker, but the tides are changing. Handsome young men gotta ask me for just plain money now.”

“What does it cost?” You manage to keep the shutter from your voice as he rounds you, his eyes feeling like fire on your form.

“Your soul, usually.” He hums so deep it sounds like music. “But yours doesn’t interest me.”

His hand feels like warm water as it drapes itself around the back of your neck, squeezing just enough to make you feel like a scolded dog. He pushes you down and onto your knees, the dirt immediately dusting onto your pants.

“No, from you I want something else.” He sighs, squeezing lightly at your neck. “It’s been centuries since I’ve had a decent looking man.”

Your mind settles on the implication. “You want--”

“To bed you, yes. Now lie down and take what you're given, money will come.”

It seems a small cost in the grand scheme. Letting a demon fuck you for a lifetime of money and ease. So, without protest, you settle face down in the dirt and let the warm hands position you properly. He pushes your head down, allowing you to turn your face, but props your hips up with some invisible force to hold them there.

The warm feeling of his hand slides through the very fabric of your pants as if they’re not there at all and slips into you unceremoniously. His fingers feel like water, warm and expanding, but you’re unable to make a sound with some unknown silencer muting you entirely. Effectively it all turns you into a living sex doll for the demon to use.

And use you he does.

Unmoving and mute, your mouth open in silent cry, he fills you entirely. Every inch is like warm water, but somehow solid. His massive size takes over your whole body, pressing around your insides until tears stream down your face at the tip peeking through your lips. The demon groans in your ear as his inhumanly large body drapes over you, yet no breath hits your ear. The thrusting feels like an entire digestion, fucking through your whole body as if it was made to be a simple cocksleeve and not an intricate set of organs.

It goes for hours. Hours of use, hours of filling you, hours of invisible hands pumping and palming you to completion after completion. When it finally ends, when the massive length of the demon finally leaves you, your mind is nothing but a cloud and your body nothing but an empty sleeve. The dirt covers your clothes, nestles into your hair, and dusts your lips, but you are unable to care as your eyes fall closed and it feels as though your heart stops.

But then you wake up. A sunny morning in bed, birds chirping, and a bank notification on your phone.

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

"I want you to destroy me so I'll feel better"

Convincing Simon "Ghost" Riley to try something new. Well...not new for either of you, but a first for your relationship.

CW: name calling, degradation, violent choking (all consensual)

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

"You like what?"

Simon stands in front of you, hands in his hoodie pocket.

"I like being choked...until I pass out."

You repeat slowly. You know it was fucked up. You know it was bad. Everytime you did it you could feel your braincells dying. You sit on your hands at the edge of the bed. There's a moment of silence as he stares down at you.

"No."

He gives you that signature cold look of his: reserved for when you're in an argument you can't win. Or one he doesn't want you to win. 'You know this is useless. Give up. Quit while you're ahead.' It's like his voice was in your head.

"Are you afraid you're gonna hurt me?"

You always get your way at the end of the day. You knew it. He knew it.

"It's a stupid idea. Best to get that out of your head. Now."

He adjusts his mask before walking off.

"Please?"

You hug him from behind while he cooks eggs.

"No."

"Please?"

You wrap your arms his neck and lie on top of him while watching TV.

"No. Stop asking."

"Please?"

You're in bed when he goes to turn off the lights.

"..."

He resorts to ignoring you. You're getting closer to cracking him.

It goes on like this for two weeks. Usually he gives in by now, but you're making progress. Instead of engaging, he just leaves the room now.

"How did you even find out you liked that?"

He doesn't look at you while he spoons cereal into his mouth, mask rolled up just enough.

"I think it's something about an abusive ex choking me."

You take a bite of your cereal.

"Something about 'reclaiming your power after past traumas'. At least that's what my therapist said. Not sure if I believe that, but I can't think of any other reason I like it."

You shrug as you chew.

"Hm."

He keeps eating.

Breakfast is silent after that. You always get your way at the end of the day. You knew it. He knew it.

"Can't believe I'm doing this..."

He mumbles, kneeling over you while you lie on the floor.

"C'mon you've done this dozens of times."

You smile up at him.

"That's different and you know that."

He looks down at you, slightly disappointed.

"Sorry."

"It's fine..."

It's quiet. He shifts and the floorboards creak.

"So just until I pass out, then you can stop. I'll wake right up after."

You rub your hands on his knees.

"Mhm. Tap out whenever you want."

His gaze is intense, like he was fighting with himself. He places a hand on your neck gently.

"Can you be a little mean?"

Your heart races.

"Fucks sake, choking ain't enough for you?"

He wraps the other hand around your throat lightly.

"Would it be fucked up if I fought back?"

You flash a cheeky smirk.

"Don't do that."

He rubs his thumbs against your skin.

"Ok. Ready."

You take a deep breath and relax. He clears his throat and puts some pressure on your neck. You nod, looking up at him.

"Hm."

He applies more pressure until you can barely breathe. You take shallow breaths and close your eyes. His grip gets tighter. You can't inhale. You shift your hips under his.

"Don't. Move."

His words send a chill up your spine. He never used this tone with you before. It was terrifying. You try to swallow nervously. The last few exhales you have leave your lungs.

"Look at me."

You keep your eyes closed, a few rough taps to your face snap them open. His eyes are glossed over and dark, a frenzied shark. You find it in your chest to whimper.

"Shut the fuck up."

His hands wrap around you harder. It's starting to hurt. You lift your hands to grab his wrists. He gives a solid shake, banging your head on the floor and making you see stars. He leans down, pressing his masked mouth to your ear.

"Told you. Don't. Move."

Your lips opened and closed like a fish out of water. Swallowing became impossible. Your eyes watered, you could feel Simon's hands shaking. Then, darkness. It's quiet, peaceful, only lasts less than a second. And just like that, you're conscious. A delicious head rush and breath of fresh air leaves a goofy smile on your face.

"Unbelievable..."

Simon shakes his head, leans back on his knees, and huffs. You stare at the ceiling for a moment, catching your breath. Simon scoots back and you watch as he adjusts himself.

"Have fun?"

You tease. Before you can rag on him more, he yanks both your bottoms off and sits you right on his hard dick.

"Fuckin hell. You really do like that shit, huh?"

He grips your ass and glides you up and down as your dripping wetness clamps down on him. You're already drooling from the sensation of him parting you wide open so easily. You always get your way at the end of the day. You knew it. He knew it.

[shaunamilfman]

Being the Captain of the Rival Team HC's

pairing: Jackie Taylor x reader

Jackie hadn't really paid you much attention the first time she saw you. She knew of you, of course, having played your team before, but she'd never really seen you individually. That was, of course, till Shauna fouls you ten minutes into the game and she has to come talk to you. It's love at first sight for Jackie as you lie dazed on the ground with a bloody nose. 

Jackie trying to trash talk you, but being abysmally bad at it. She's not all that skilled at it to begin with, too nice at heart, but she's somehow impossibly worse. She leaves all of those confrontations wincing as she realizes she just showered you in compliments badly disguised as insults. Shauna's in hysterics about it, which certainly doesn't help her mood about it. Huffing all the way back. 

Nearly trips over the ball while warming up because she can't take her eyes off of you. Tai comes marching across the field to yell at her about it and Jackie's just scoffing and glancing around because she can't meet her eyes. 

When it comes to the actual game, trust that she will be playing at absolute peak performance. She's competitive enough as it is before you add in a newly realized desire to impress you. Glances over at you to see how you're reacting every time she makes an impressive play during the game. 

Jackie visibly deflates any time you're substituted out. It's hard to justify staring at you all game if you're not actually on the field, after all. 

Keeps trying to find excuses to linger by your locker room after the game so she can catch you after the game. She walked over with the intention to talk shit, but is too afraid of hurting your feelings after your team loses so badly that she ends up just flirting with you instead. 

Stalking your Instagram during halftime and accidentally likes a picture from two years ago. You just vaguely hear an embarrassed “OH MY GOD!” coming vaguely from the Yellowjacket’s locker room. 

Jackie studies your play style more intensely than anyone else's, telling herself it's just for strategy, but knowing deep down it's because it's you. 

Jackie nearly skipping out of the bus on game day because she knows she gets to see you. Talked Shauna's ear off the whole ride there about how annoying (hot), and irritating (distracting), you are. 

You run into each other at a mutual friends party (Jackie crashed it because she asked around till she found one you'd be at) and finally get to have a real conversation. 

Jackie keeps subtly trying to see what college you're going to because she keeps daydreaming about playing on the same team together. She's put some serious thought into how the two of you could complement each other's play styles, but she mostly just imagines kissing you after a win. 

Shows up at your home games to cheer you on when it doesn't conflict with the Yellowjacket’s own standing. All your teammates are like “isn't that…?” and you just shake your head and turn away. She shows up with a sign with your name on it next time so she can wave it around. World’s biggest fan for your mostly mediocre soccer team. 

Finally asking Jackie to hang out sometime and her ass shows up with a soccer ball. 

Off the field, she's a lot more playful and confident when she talks to you. There's something about the uniform that just makes her so nervous. Jackie keeps teasing you about whatever member of your team is the worst. She's laughing hysterically talking about how one of them had tripped over the bench and brought half your team to the ground. You finally get annoyed and walk off and she's just chasing behind you like “wait!”

Having to deal with Jackie's irrational jealousy when she so much as sees you breathing in the direction of the opposing team captain whenever you play. Huffing and puffing because you had to say “good game” to the pretty captain you've never met before. 

Winning a game against a different team with a patented Jackie Taylor play and she's losing her mind on the bleachers. By the time she finds you after the game, she's practically vibrating with excitement. 

Jackie smiles for almost the entirety of a game because she catches you cheering for her in the bleachers after she scores a goal. She insists that it makes her a better player. 

She makes such a big deal out of choosing between her team and you when really no one even gives her a hard time about it but Tai. The seasons already ended for your team and Jackie's just out here trying to live out her Romeo and Juliet fantasy. 

Jackie insists that you have to kiss her before states or else she's going to lose. It's a good luck charm and not at all an excuse to kiss you, obviously. 

[ellesthots]

drabble ideas

- how bruce would comfort the reader after having a panic attack of some sort (maybe in the universe of ur fic..🤭)

- bruce getting head. that’s it.

- bruce’s goofy side. like maybe him, alfred, and y/n are all playing a board game or something LOL

“breathe”

battinson!bruce wayne x reader

“Focus on the sound of my voice.” Bruce spoke low and slow, gently rubbing his thumbs across your trembling palms. Soon as your breathing leveled, he’d tuck you into his chest and glide his hands over your back as long as you needed.

Your lashes fluttered, shoulders tensing. He squeezed your hands to tether you, drawing your eyes up to his. Saw the panic in them.

“It’ll be over before you know it.” He made his breathing even and deep, and you did your best to match. “Just breathe with me.”

Your shoulders dropped, gradually coming back to the room.

“rematch”

battinson!bruce wayne x reader

“It’s entirely chance.”

Bruce’s proud grin to you sold the lie that he’d already won. “That’s what losers tell themselves.”

Alfred rolled the dice and moved two spaces, knocking one of your players off the board. He sighed as he did it, taking less pleasure in your demise.

Bruce rolled. Six. Diligently moving his last player home, he folded his arms across his chest and smirked. “You two playing for second?”

You fought a smile at his ridiculous level of investment in Trouble, of all games. Your brow cocked. “Rematch?”

He winked and reset the board. “Don’t mind winning again.”

“close”

battinson!bruce wayne x reader

Bruce had to be quiet. No matter how impossible it was with your head between his legs.

With that perfect mouth.

And the fucking noises you were making.

As if you sought to unthread his soul from his body, you gripped his thighs and took all of him. The head of his cock touched the back of your throat and he gasped.

Warm, wet, soft… “Babe,” he gripped the sheets as you sped up. His hips moved involuntarily when you groaned around his aching dick, his abs tensing.

His voice was hoarse. “I’m gonna…”

You paused, only a second. “Cum.”

a/n: these were so fun to write !!! slightly out of order since I wanted to have the lil divider smut warning sksksk. thank you for the prompts!!! all of these prompts made me want to dig into the next chapter of my fic 🤭

[procyonloser]

(orc/elf Adamsapple mini. warning for mentions of childbirth and violence/bloodshed)

Adam was exhausted, his breathing was only now starting to even out, but he couldn't sleep yet. One of the taller elves handed him a round crying bundle, which he pulled up onto his breast.

The infant looked massive in comparison to the elven children that watched on from the entrance of the room - but it was minute compared to any orc children. His eldest child sat beside him on the birthing bed, sucking his thumb, not fully understanding what was going on, but he was just barely walking yet. Like his eldest, this infant had shorter pointed ears, somewhere between elf and orc, and a short tail, which the elven children found wildly hilarious. He knew his children would have a hard time growing up here, already being called names, like piglet. The alternative was impossible, his own village would kill them immediately.

Lucifer leaned in, pressing a kiss upon his brow, and then onto the newborn. A little girl, with a shock of blonde hair, showing she did take after him just as much as she did Adam.

"You've done beautifully, my love." Lucifer said, and Adam wanted to be happy, but the elven wet nurses looked at him with disdain at best, disgust at worst. They weren't supposed to allow orcs into their lands, and Lucifer was far from the most popular elf, even before he brought Adam home.

Maybe they'd find somewhere, someday, for their family - away from all the names and looks.

But how had he even gotten here? Well, it started two years back.

The orc village Adam was from was one of the largest, and Adam was the firstborn son of the current ruler. That, of course, didn't secure his position. He had to fight to keep it, and it was only a matter of time until someone challenged his father, or he was killed out on a raid. His sisters too seemed eager to get rid of him, but Adam wasn't about to let that happen. There were multiple ways to win favor within his village, but capturing an elf was always a big one.

They were fast, they could use magic, they had more advanced weaponry, and they had jewelry. They were always bedecked in things that glimmered, things that Adam's village had little of. Adam needed a wife to secure his own future as well, he needed heirs, and he needed gold to melt down and turn into a marriage dagger for the orc of his choosing. So, Adam needed an elf.

And, he'd just so happened to have spotted one in this area recently, an open glen within the woods. It was very far outside the line of their own territory, which meant the elf was either strong, or incredibly stupid - or as his mother Asherah, would say about Adam, a stunning mix of both.

Adam sat up on a high oak branch, one heavy enough to carry him, watching from above as his target made itself known. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, elves all looked the same to him, but it seemed short, even for their species. It walked around the glen, picking up sticks, bending them like it was testing the brittleness, before throwing them away. Elven bows were one of their worst weapons, the orcs had nothing so long distance besides throwing spears.

Adam waited until it was turned around, before he jumped down from his hiding spot, and swung his club hard into the elven figure with a cackle. It went flying, hitting a rocky outcrop, and collapsing as a cloud of dust rose around it. Adam grinned, resting his club on the ground, and waiting to see if the elf got back up.

"You shouldn't have come out so far, little one. You know, if you're not dead, all you need to do is give me all your jewelry and clothing, and I'll let you live." That was a lie. "You can go home." Adam wanted to see first if it was a male or female, then he'd probably trade them off to the humans.

The elf pushed up onto a hand, and Adam's grin spread. It was stronger than he'd thought. As the dust cleared, the elf got to it's feet, and made eye contact with Adam. Red eyes, that was uncommon.

"Somehow I doubt that," the elf said wryly, in a deeper voice than he'd expected. He had no weapons on him that he could see, not even a knife.

"Are you male?" Adam asked, and the elf gave a small nod. "Well, I have to admit that's less interesting."

Adam raised his club again, ready to finish the job. "Make your choice, elf."

The elf raised an eyebrow, dusting himself off, like he was entirely uninterested in Adam's threats.

Maybe because he was.

With a flick of his wrist, Adam went flying backwards, dropping his club, and falling down the side of a riverbank. Immediately, he knew something was wrong, he'd not expected such powerful magic out of an elf so small. Adam coughed, and coughed until it came up red as he landed, feeling a sharp pain begin to radiate from his center. Adam looked down, and felt cold. He'd landed on a downed tree, and a jagged broken branch had impaled him through his stomach.

The elf appeared at the edge of the riverbank, expression going from tired, to shocked. In an instant, he'd silently jumped down beside Adam, looking over the wound. "Oh no...I didn't mean for this to happen..." He whispered to himself, chewing on his lip.

Up close, Adam could see he was very pretty. A small heart shaped face, large eyes, long sharp pointed ears covered in dangling gold and gems. Adam's breathing got more haggard as he watched him move around, as though he was trying to find some angle where Adam wasn't going to die.

"Hey, what's your name?" Adam asked quietly, and the elf looked up, startled.

"Lucifer."

"I'm Adam. Could you do me a last favor? You elves have honor, right?" Lucifer paused, but nodded. "Could you give me one of your necklaces? When my people find my body, I want them to know I fought. I want my mother to have it."

Lucifer watched him, brows knit together as Adam spoke. He looked more pained than Adam felt, because, in truth, he'd started to not feel much of anything. He was cold, that's all he felt.

"This wasn't supposed to happen, why did you have to-" Lucifer shook his head, before he raised a hand, and Adam began to raise off the branch. Blood began to pour out of his open wound, as Lucifer lowered him onto river stones. A golden glow surrounded delicate fingers, and he pressed them against Adam's stomach.

"I'm not going to let you die, Adam. I'm going to heal you, then you can see your mother yourself." Lucifer said, meeting his eyes with resolution on his face. He raised a bloodied hand to Adam's cheek, caressing it just briefly, before returning it to start the healing work. Adam closed his eyes at the soft touch, and waited for death to take him, but it never came.

Adam woke up, who knew how much later, weak, but alive. They were in a cave, illuminated by a soft red glow, and he heard gentle singing, and felt a hand running through his hair. He leaned into the touch.

It was the beginning of their life together.

[sugar-coat-it]

Do you wanna wake up to me every morning?

Little something I wrote for my lovely friend, this takes place right after Touch Tank

Contains: Aftercare, very sappy fluff, possibly corny??, soft Matty, braiding Matty’s hair, taking off his makeup, takeout and relaxing in bed, L word

WC: 1,500

Peace. That's the only word you can use to describe this feeling. He's your peace. You breathe him in deeply: sweat, his cologne, and something distinctly Matty. 

You lean down and bury your face in his muss of dark curls, not caring one bit about the slight dampness against your nose. He hums happily, the sound rumbling in his chest as he stays with his cheek pressed over your heartbeat, feeling the gentle thrum, listening to your lifeline.

“You wanna get cleaned up?” you ask softly, running your hands up and down his spine, your fingertips ghosting over each bone. 

He turns his cheek, pressing little kisses to the swell of your breast, his lips warm against your skin. You feel goosebumps rise on your arms at the sensation. Matty still looks slightly dazed from how overwhelmed he was by the sight of you perched on top of him. 

“What about your girl’s night thing?” he mumbles, lazily mouthing over your chest. 

You’d almost completely forgotten about the girl's night if you were being honest, your plans long lost in the haze of earlier that evening. And if you were really honest, they had been forgotten the moment he’d kneeled to undo your shoes, pleading with you to stay. 

“Not going,” you whisper. 

Honey-colored eyes rimmed with rich, shimmery blue flicker to meet yours. 

“No?” 

“No.”

He can’t lie, he’s pleased. Very pleased. Instead of saying so, he just presses another kiss to your skin, lingering a little longer this time, exhaling slowly against your skin. You feel his lips curve into a smile. 

You thread your fingers into his unruly hair and ruffle it, gazing down at him with tenderness, admiring how he keens into your palm when you touch his hair. Matty’s lashes flutter at the feeling, shifting on top of you to try and get impossibly closer. If he had it his way, you’d be attached like this all of the time.

“Don’t wanna get up yet,” he grumbles, looking up at you with pouty lips, still smeared with the residue of pink lipstick. 

“I know. But you can’t stay like this, baby.” 

He clicks his tongue, knowing he can’t argue with you there, the mess in his pants starting to dry uncomfortably on his thigh. Matty sighs softly, melting as your nails scratch over his scalp just how he likes it, holding you a little tighter. He always gets clingy after letting you take the lead. 

“Let me take care of you, then we can come back to bed,” you whisper, your eyes searching his with fondness. 

He’s still for a moment, listening to your heartbeat, gazing at you with unadulterated affection. Matty nods before pursing his lips. You know exactly what he wants. Affectionately rolling your eyes, you cup his warm cheeks, pressing your lips to his with a peck, just long enough to make butterflies riot in your stomach. Matty grins against your mouth, letting out a happy hum. He’s hardly able to kiss you with how wide his dorky smile is. He always wins. 

You linger together a little longer, basking in what feels like a dream until eventually, you both slide out from your sheet’s grasp despite the way they cling to you, beckoning you to stay. With one last kiss, Matty goes into the bathroom, allowing you to dote on him and gather some clean clothes from his closet. He knows fully well that he could get them himself, but you both get a little kick out of you looking after him, so who was he to deny you?

It’s not long before he’d had a warm washcloth run over his thighs and he’s comfortably sat on the bathroom counter in baggy sweatpants. He toys with a loose thread on his shirt while staring down at his phone to order takeout. 

“What do you feel like?” he murmurs, glancing up at you as you approach, standing between his legs. 

You hum thoughtfully, sliding your hands into his thick hair. The makeup you’d used earlier is still set out on the counter, the remnants of it smudged all over your boyfriend’s pretty face. 

“Sushi?” you suggest. He nods, already tapping away. 

You push his hair away from his face, gathering it into sections to begin tucking the tendrils into a braid. He sacrifices the convenience of having both hands to type so he can place one on your waist, appreciatively thumbing over your hip bone through the fabric of your dress. Carefully, you put strands over strands, weaving them until a neat braid sits atop his head, tied off near the base of his neck. You admire your handiwork, running your fingers over the path of his interwoven hair from his roots to the few stray strands at his nape. 

“Good?” he asks, interrupting your little haze. 

He holds up his phone to you, your favorite roll already customized to your liking and added to the order. He knows your usual by heart. It’s a small thing, some might even say inconsequential, but to you, it’s a different way to say: “I care about you enough to know this”.

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss his forehead. 

With the order placed, he puts his phone face down on the counter, sighing dreamily as he places both hands on your hips now, his fingers tracing little swirls and patterns. You reach for your makeup wipes, pulling one out of the packaging before tilting his chin upward with two gentle fingers. A little cheeky smile pulls at his lips as you begin to wipe away the makeup that had melted down his cheeks, a mixture of blue glitter and black mascara streaking over the wipe. He still squirms a little despite his best efforts to stay still. 

“Bein’ so good to me. You’re spoiling me,” he whispers, closing his eyes before you begin to wipe at his eyelids. 

“You deserve a little spoiling, don’t you think?” 

“Mmm… maybe.” 

“No. You do. I’m telling you you do.” 

He chuckles, raising his hands in playful surrender. 

“Okay. I won’t argue with you, darling. Spoil away.”

You finish with one eye, beginning to carefully repeat the process on the other, watching him tense just slightly at the first touch of the cool wipe. You clean every trace of the night’s passion, leaving you with only the memories of his perfect face graced with streaks of shimmery blue. 

“I’m going to miss looking so foxy,” he sighs, blinking his eyes open again. 

You shoot him an amused look as you toss the used makeup wipes in the trash, finding your place between his legs again so naturally, your hands resting on top of his thighs. 

“Maybe you have to wear makeup more often, then.”

“But I can’t do it as good as you!” he whines, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Then I’ll do it for you!” 

He giggles at that, a little unfiltered, gasping sound of amusement that’s reserved for you and only you. Your heart swells at his laughter, warmth blooming in your chest. 

As promised, once the food arrives it’s shared cozily in bed, his back to your chest, you idly running your fingers over his braid between bites as you watch a movie, Matty occasionally interjecting with some kind of fact or criticism about how it was filmed. You can’t help but just stare a bit, appreciating him. The spattering of freckles and beauty marks on his face, the curve of his pretty nose, the gentleness of his eyes. He catches your gaze, a slow smile spreading across his lips at the realization that you’re staring. 

“What?” he prompts.

“Nothing. You’re pretty.” 

“Mmm. Tell me more,” he grins, tilting his head back against your shoulder. 

You laugh softly, running your finger up the bridge of his nose, back and forth. His lashes flutter with bliss.

“You’re so pretty, Matty. Prettier than most girls, you know that? Nice lips,” you pause, tracing your thumb over his plush bottom lip, “soft skin…” 

You continue to list some of your personal favorite features of his, as it’s far too difficult to pick just one or two. You run your fingers over each as you mention them, fingertips gently running over his face. Matty’s heart flutters at the sincerity of your words, giggling and squirming a little as your fingers ghost over a ticklish spot on his neck, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s never felt so soft before. 

As you gently brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes, he looks like he might just fall asleep. He’s lovelier than words can describe. 

“Love you,” he murmurs, “you make me feel so much.” 

“I love you too.” 

He pauses, his sleepy eyes drooping slightly as he looks up at you, raising one hand slowly to caress your cheek.

“I think I’ve waited my whole life for you. For this. Every little piece coming together,” he says softly, feeling his heart thrum against his ribs, reminding him that he’s alive, he hasn’t gone to heaven in your arms.

“That’s sweet. Sweet boy.”

He grins lazily at the pet name, blinking slowly as he runs his hand down the side of your face with such tenderness that you think you could burst. 

“You should sit on my face again as soon as fucking possible.” 

“Oh my god, Matty.”

———————————————————————

We’re both kind of obsessed with when Matty’s hair got braided during that one interview so

Yay for touch tank Matty revival, I love him so dearly

[apollosdaydreams]

I would like a request with Max Verstappen and Y/N are siblings. She is his younger sister and she is MotoGP driver and…

Im sorry, I wasn't better.

Max Verstappen x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language 

Author's Note: Sorry if this isn’t 100% accurate. I don’t know much or really anything about MotoGP, but I will try my best. 

Wordcount: 1476 (kinda got carried away) 

DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to hurt Max Verstappen and the Verstappen family! This is just an imagine. Again this is in no way meant to harm the Verstappen family!

Racing. Racing is something that you loved, something you lived for. Your family however always would put Max above you. Their reason to not care about your racing was that you are a girl, and girls don’t belong in racing, girls don’t belong to have a seat. No matter what you did, it wasn’t good enough for Jos, your father. You used to have a great relationship with your other siblings, especially Max. The bond you and Max had was something that couldn’t be explained. You two were closer to each other than you and your twin, Victoria. But as you two both got older, that bond broke. You both started to snap at each other easier, say nasty things to each other and never say sorry. You couldn’t take it anymore. The hate coming from your father, mother and your brother. You left. Moved out, when you turned 18. You cut off contact completely. Blocking their numbers and their social media accounts. You thought you were never going to see them again, oh how wrong you were.

Today was your 24th birthday. Today was also your home race. You were a part of the Red Bull KTM Factory Racing team, ironic. Everyone knew you were a Verstappen, they also knew you didnt talk to your family. People would ask, you wouldn't give them an answer no matter how much they begged. Everyone knew that the Verstappen kids were strong, powerful drivers. You were often being compared to your older brother, Max. When compared to him you would always tell the interviewer that you are your own person and you don't need to be compared to your older brother. 

You quickly pulled on your race suit, shoes and gloves. Trying to shake off the fact that today was your 24th, you haven’t spent a birthday with your family in 6 years. You didn’t care though, they had torn you down, thinking you couldn’t do anything in life. That this dream you had was impossible. Oh how you proved them wrong. You were making history. You were the first female rider in MotoGP, and you were amazing, this was your rookie year and you have already won three races. You dealt with contestant hate, with MotoGP being male dominated. They thought that you definitely had to sleep your way up to the top. Which was something that was just a lie. Something to make them feel better about themselves. 

You walked over to your bike, you shook your hands in a way to calm your nerves. You stretched out one more time. Then you climbed on to your bike. You then drove to your starting point. P3. You stopped your bike and put your feet down beside you. You were taking deep slow breaths to calm your nerves. As this was your home race you had felt a lot of pressure on you. Once you heard the final beep, and the lights turned green you started to move. 

You drove over to the number 1 spot, and got off your bike. You quickly put your hands up in the air and then ran to your team. You quickly hugged your team principal. As you hugged him you quickly thanked him. You then had to run off to the cool down room. Once it was time for you to go on the podium you walked out of the room and walked over to this lift, where they would lift you and your bike on to the podium. As you were being lifted you couldn't contain your smile, this was your first win at your home race. You have won a couple races in this season, but winning at home would always be a different feeling. You felt on top of the world. No one could wipe that smile off your face. Right? Once you got handed your trophy you raised it high in the air, with the biggest smile on your face. Once everyone else got their trophy you all three quickly put them down and grabbed the champagne. You then all started to spray each other, you ran over to your team principal to spray some on him as well. Eventually they stopped spraying. You wiped the champagne off your face and set the bottle down and picked your trophy backup. 

You were now back in your team paddock, you were talking to one of your teammates when you looked up and you saw someone you thought you would never see, see in person ever again. Your father, mother, brother and sister all stood in front of you. Your teammate knew that you didn't have the best relationship with your family. Before he left, he patted your back and told you that he would be over in his room if you needed him. You didn't know what to do so you just nodded. You just stared at them, not knowing what to do or what to say. 

“Y/n, sweety. You did amazing.” Your mother said. 

“Yeah… thank you..” You said. You were starting to feel overwhelmed. 

“Mom, dad, we should let her breathe, let Max talk to her.” Victoria whispered. 

You were starting to tear up, but once the other three left and it was just you and Max you couldn't stop the tears from falling. You were both angry and sad.

“Why are you guys here?” You had asked Max.

“y/n- I, we wanted to apologize.” 

“Well don't you think you are about 6 years too late.” You said. You were starting to get more angry than sad. 

“I know y/n and I'm sorry, we shouldn't have ever treated you like that. We should have apologized years ago.” he said while taking a few steps closer to you. You didn't move.

“Why?! Max, why?” you said. “I wanted a family, a brother who loved me, but all you guys did was tear me down.” You started to cry even more. Your anger is now turning into sadness. “What did I do to make you guys hate me so much?” 

Max’s heart broke at what you were saying. He quickly moved over to you and hugged you. He was expecting you to push him back or hit him. He wasn't expecting you to hug him back. “I'm so sorry y/n I'm so sorry.” He kept repeating. You started to take a deep breath. Trying to calm yourself down.

“Max, I want to forgive you guys, or at least you and Victoria.” You started to say. “You guys were also just kids, mom and dad on the other hand, i think it's going to take a while to forgive them.” 

This was the last thing Max had expected. He was not expecting you to forgive him so easily. “I promise y/n I’ll do better, I'm the big brother. I'm sorry I wasn't better at it until now.” He told you, tears now falling down his face. You smiled up at him and wiped his tears away. “It's ok, I trust you to change Max.” He smiled back at you.

“Can you bring in Victoria? I want to be able to talk to her as well.” He told Max. He quickly nodded and ran to go get Victoria. Once you saw her you both ran to each other and gave each other a hug. You couldn't remember the last time you two have hugged, all you knew is that it's been way too long.  

“Y/n im so sorry, I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you, i'm your big sister that's my job.” She told you. You couldn't help yourself. “You are only 7 minutes older than me V.” You had told her. She couldn't help but smile more, and she hugged you tighter. You saw Max standing awkwardly at the door. You motioned for him to come closer. You then all hugged each other. After a few minutes of silence you started to speak.

“I think I'm ready to talk to mom and dad.” You said. “But I want both of you to be here.” They both looked at each other and nodded. Max then went to get your parents. You then saw both your parents walk through the door. You didn't know what to do. You haven't seen or spoke to your parents in years. Victoria sat down on the couch with you, you heard hushed whispers behind the door. The door then opened, Max was at the front and you could see your mom, Sophie and your dad, Jos standing behind Max. You didn't know what to do, your parents stood in front of you. They tore you down, made you believe you aren't worth anything, that women couldn't be in moto sports. You saw your mom walk towards you. You didn't know what to do, you didn't know what she was going to do. Your dad stayed a few steps behind her. Max was on the side waiting just in case anything would happen. 

“Oh sweety, you look amazing. You did a great job on the race! I'm so proud.” You never thought that you would hear those words come out of her mouth. All you wanted as a little girl was to hear that your parents were proud of you. She went to sit down next to you, but you moved away. You weren't ready to be this close to her yet. Your father looked like he didn't want to be here, that he would rather be somewhere else. Typical Jos. You thought to yourself. Sophie understood why you wouldn't want to be close to her, that it would be hard for you to forgive her and Jos. 

“Mom, dad….. I don’t think I'm ready to forgive you just yet. I think that you have to prove that you changed, or are willing to change.” You said, while looking down at your hands picking at your nails. 

‘Of course honey, I promise that we have changed.” Your mother quickly said. Jos was still standing, with his arms crossed over his chest. “Can we go to dinner tonight?” she suggested. 

“We can do that.” you said, while looking up at Jos, waiting for what he would say. 

“I would love to.” Jos said. You looked next to you at Victoria and then up at Max and smiled. Maybe they were going to change. Maybe now my family is going to be my safe place. 

I hoped you guys liked this! If you did please let me know! Sorry if everything doesn't make sense. I don’t know much about MotoGp, but I tried my best!!

It would be greatly appreciated if you would like, comment and repost!! 

© 2023 on tumblr apollosdaydreams do not translate/remake/repost my works in any platform without authorized permission.

[thelemonsofpink]

random modern newsies head cannons (with absolutely no evidence or reason) pt. 2

more bc i can!!

Race:

The most aggressive, reckless driver, but is dangerously good at it. Will cut across multiple lanes but has never even scratched a car.

Lied to everyone in his first week of college about his entire life (different lie per person) just for fun. He finally started telling the truth but nobody believes him.

Started a school poker club and promptly got kicked out of it for betting too much, and then winning it every time. (He just wanted a way to make money. The school did not like that).

STEM major. His work is impossible but he never complains about it. Also a dancer (not my hc). He complains about that a lot.

Has worked almost every retail job under the sun. Also complains about that.

Carries around cigarettes for the vibe but rarely smokes them. Just in case anyone else wants one. Has made friends with many random people this way.

Spot:

Brooklyn baby. Cannot drive. Is terrified of it but, when Race tried to teach him, he yelled at everyone and blamed other people for what was definitely his fault. Refuses to admit that.

Played football but seriously injured his knee (explanation for the cane) but doesn't talk about it much. Always comes up with a new reason for the injury that is entirely ridiculous, but since he delivers it with a straight face everybody believes him.

Absolutely no rhythm. Never goes to parties, even though he is in a fraternity (a very chill one, thank you very much). If he's ever at a party, it's because he's a sober contact, and he is the most unsympathetic person when it comes to taking care of drunk people unless it's Race.

Insists on sitting alone in the back of the lecture hall, even if he has friends in his class.

Crutchie:

Also an incredibly reckless driver but HAS gotten into accidents before. (Only twice, both times because he was racing a friend on the highway. Never serious but always stupid).

Very fidgety and usually making noises under his breath/drumming on shit. Drives everybody around him crazy.

The kind of guy to argue with a professor in a lecture, but only when he's sure he's right (which is always).

So many illegal things in his dorm: candles, toaster, air fryer, multiple animals.

Double majoring in a STEM and humanities field, always references one when in classes for the other and confuses everybody, but he sees a connection between them.

I like the idea that he goes to the gym with Albert a lot. (U wld never catch me taking away his disability so in my head he loveeees to bench and is so buff).

Albert:

(a lot of driving hcs. i wrote this in a car). gets so violently carsick. everyone thought he was saying that so he could ride shotgun; they made him ride in the back once and he made them pull over after ten minutes cause he almost hurled. safe to say he is now always shotgun and always playing the worst music.

Played too many sports, got too many concussions, and now is a crazy gym bro.

Peanut allergy. Would rather die than admit this. Has almost died because he forgets to tell servers at restaurants.

Finch:

his shoes are never tied. he never trips over them and refuses to tie them.

has a million weird, artsy minors that sound and should be fake.

floor sitter. is never in a chair.

JoJo:

his shoes are also never tied. he ALWAYS trips over them.

drank coffee, had a panic attack, thought it was a heart attack, and spent an hour in the ER.

also had the same reaction when trying weed for the first time.

Mush:

RIPPING up the dance floor at a party, fully sober too

Everybody's favorite frat bro; super great energy and incredibly respectful

Volunteers at local elementary schools; talks to young children like they're frat bros too.

Blink:

Dorm recluse. His suite mates have called Mush many times just to check that he's still alive in there.

Has no license and hates public transit, so he walks literally everywhere.

[dancingdonatello]

Hello! I love your work! I was wondering if you could possibly do an au for a girl being the human sister of the turtles, and since Splinter wants her to learn and be around her own kind a little more he has her go to high school, (against all four brothers wishes) so the go out to spy in her to make sure everything is alright and at the end of the day she meets a guy who ask her out and they all fume over it? It’s fine if you don’t want to! No pressure. ❤️

rottmnt x sister reader

“It’s time,” Splinter announced.

Everyone froze.

It had been a chill day in the lair. Everyone was hanging out in the living room. Splinter had been watching his commercials, Leo reading his comics, Raph watching football on his phone, so everyone was doing their own thing.

So it was very abrupt and frightening for Splinter to speak up and randomly say that.

“What?” Raph finally spoke up for all of you. Mikey slid into your side nervously. “What are ya talkin’ about, pops?”

“What we’ve been discussing for the past year.”

“You mean arguing about?” Donnie asked dryly.

“Tomato, tomato, Purple.” Splinter looked at you and you slid down against the couch nervously. “It’s time for you to go to High School.”

“No!” Leo wailed, throwing his arms around you. “I won’t let you take her!” He started to hiss at Splinter who looked at him with an unamused look.

“If she gets to go to school, then I should be able to, too!” Donnie complained, clearly more upset about a different aspect to this than what his brothers were upset about.

“You can’t!” Raph nervously waved his hands around. “Think of all the thugs in there! Is a public school? A private school? Where? What’s the crime rate in the area?! We won’t be there to protect her!”

“It’s safer to be in a school than a sewer,” Splinter rolled his eyes. “Think of all the diseases down here.”

“Hey! I keep it clean!” Donnie argued.

“No, you don’t. Your robots do.”

“Shut up, Leo—”

“Anyways. Your opinions don’t matter. Only mine does,” Splinter announced, ignoring how the shouting of his sons only grew louder at that. “In two weeks is the first day of school.”

You swallowed nervously.

Donnie had kept you up to what your age should know. Math, science, etc. So you would be fine with that. But you wouldn’t know anyone. Not a single person there, except for April. And everyone already knew everyone.

You were nervous. This made your brothers nervous.

For two weeks, the nervous energy built up.

When you went to school you were shaking.

You went through most of your classes barely speaking. You felt as if shadows were following you and you kept thinking people were whispering your name. But nobody knew it, so that was impossible, right?

Leaving your second to last class, in a isolated part of the school, you were quickly stopped by someone grabbing your arm.

“Hey…” You jumped and the ceiling creaked above you ominously. “Are you new?”

You turned to see a guy, maybe one from your class you just came from. You two were alone in the hall and you grew nervous.

“Uh, yeah!” Cute boy. Cute boy. Cute boy. You panicked. Oh god. “Uh. Yeah.” You were an idiot.

“Kinda rough how he’s already giving us a test, right? Did you study?”

“No,” you lied. Why did you lie?

“Me neither!” He laughed. What a win. “Wanna go study with me while eating some icecream?”

Your eyes widened. “Yes—”

Raph’s claws punctured the ceiling tile. What had been barely holding his weight snapped, sending all four turtles crashing through the ceiling, crushing the guy underneath the rubble.

You stared at your brothers and they stared back.

“Oh my god,” Mikey breathed out. “We killed him.”

“No, we didn’t. We likely concussed him and knocked him out.” Donnie rolled his eyes. “He deserves it anyways.”

“How about instead of chatting and standing there, get off of him!” you screamed at them. They scrambled off of him and Raph picked the poor guy up. He limply flopped like a wet noodle. “Guys?!”

“I’ll leave him outside there nurse’s office…” Leo reluctantly sighed, opening a portal. Raph carelessly threw the boys through the portal.

“Raph?!”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“Get out of my school!”

They ‘left’ and continued to watch you from the ceiling.

At least no school day could be worse than this one. It could only be uphill from there.

[nokillbananashelter]

There is so much implied narrative in breath of the wild that adds richness to what is shown and what isnt.

Like let’s focus on link and his experiences for a second. This link is the most equipped link has ever been. He has the full support of hundreds of people who are teaching and training him prior to the calamity. No link has been raised into being prepared for the journey ahead quite like this one. Link is an impossible flip wizard capable of reflecting lasers as a child. He is a superhero. He can slow down time, either through magic or his own honed perceptions. He has the master sword basically handed to him. He had a family and a community from the jump and is inherently driven to want to protect the Zelda. They have the equivalent of 4 other links who are not only bonded through destiny, but through friendship, and on top of this, it’s clear that no matter how you view their relationship, Link and Zelda have a connection that is cosmically desirous of each others company. On top of this, its somewhat implied that this zelda was BORN into having the triforce. This link was privileged as fuck.

The whole point to all of that is not just to highlight your ability to beat Ganon from the jump if you know how to tap your inner resources, but to absolutely highlight the horrendous power of calamity ganon and how deep the failure goes when link is taken down.

It is catastrophic and absolute. No ganon has been shown to crush link, zelda or hyrule like that. Ever. Like. Calamity is quite literally a force of nature. They gave us on screen proof that link is not always safe or guaranteed to win. That is meteorically unprecedented for a Zelda game sans gameover screens. Majoras mask is the closest we’ve come to this elsewhere. And this failure is directly correlated to the desire to prevent failure by coddling zelda and link and by extension the player.

From there, you spend the entire game dealing with the sense of loss, a melancholy over a dead civilization that is haunted by ghosts, touched with sweetness and fragility. You need to grapple with nature and resolve unfinished business on your own terms and time in order to beat an enemy that is effectively a form of nature.

Just like zelda, This link was too domesticated. He needed time to experience joy and nature and fun and AGENCY. The memories and journal entries speak to links stoicism, while the gameplay highlights what a goofy lil guy he is naturally. This link is supposed to be distracted with whimsy and childlike wonder. This link is supposed to play golf with Gorons. The shieldsurfing for fun is character development for link. He is supposed to connect to the land and love it and see it with gentle eyes and a sense of tenderness. This link needed in time to connect to roots, quite literally. His survival and connection to the wild is the secret sauce other links had that he didn’t. He is supposed to come to his destiny on his own terms- which is also a gift he is given that other links often do not have!

The player learning about nature is parallel to links own learning about nature. Your gameplay is links story to becoming a more complete person on your own terms. That fucking rules and the fact that it doesn’t outright tell you that shows they respect the audience’s intelligence.

And the secrets to beating Ganon don’t lie within temples and dungeons or people telling you what to do. There is no dungeon items in this world- calamity ganon destroyed them. You can search high and low for the old world, and all you’ll find is bones and unanswerable questions. You are supposed to feel sad and horrified when you come upon ruins. You are supposed to feel like something is missing. Link shares your sadness and your disappointment when they do not aid in his journey. There is something about exploring in this world that keeps reminding you that Ganon took so much away from the world, and it’s not right! You find motivation to beat the man every time you stumble upon something empty that used to be full. That realization is only more powerful if you have experienced other Zelda games- which this game is in constant conversation about. This ganon has robbed you of a traditional zelda experience. You need to beat him another way.

But the answer you’re supposed to come to is that you’ve had the power within you all along. The shrines in both botw and totk teach link how to use what he already has. The mechanics link possesses are already there, you just need to experience and discover it.

This ganon took everything but the leaves in the wind and the snow on the mountains. And those are the things this link needed most to tap into his inner resources. He didn’t need someone holding his hand and giving him things. He needed to explore and experience and learn from his own mistakes and find something unkillable & courageous from within.

And the more you/link look at the ruins, the more you realize that there’s a lot of things that have been happening for eons and eons and eons, and the calamity is not the first cataclysm. This is a war that has been waged for time immemorial. The more you stare at the landscapes, the more you realize the sands of time will strip all institutions away, but nature endures. And its worth protecting and still needs someone to fight for it because despite it’s endurance, its not invincible. It needs to be tended to and respected. There is a sense of loving caring sweetness within that lesson of nature’s fragility we don’t often see directly with link. And wrapped up in the middle of that is a lil pissman who wants to ruin everything even worse than that. It makes you want to save the world for nature sake.

And I do think there is something to be said about the fact that a lot of people don’t even ever fight Ganon in their save files. It’s not necessary to get the experience the game wants to give you. You can beat ganon whenever you want to, if you put your mind to it, if youre ready for it, if you even want to at all. It’s not necessary to get the lesson that this game is trying to show you. The choice is yours. The agency is yours. The moment that you feel prepared and wanting to stop him is entirely up to your own inner drive and that catharsis is there for you whenever/ifever you want to experience it. You beat ganon on your own terms.

If you don’t think that that is disgustingly beautiful, deeply tender, and poetically charged, i don’t know what is. And though getting the memories expands on this, the environmental storytelling in this game is strong enough that you can tell that this world was destroyed without a single cut scene. The music describes the emotions it wants you to feel as you pass through this landscape. The broken melodies highlight the fragments and essences that remain despite the damage done. Every lesson you learn as a player is a lesson this link is owning and waking up to as well. The memories do not tell you that. The gameplay does. Every time your eyes rest as you gaze upon the gorgeous vistas is shared with this link.

There are so many wordless things that speak volumes in this game.

[blacksupremacy86]

Lovers A Film Noir

This is completely beautiful,a totally vintage experience because I am literally in a Hotel chain named in Hollywood Experience Hotel chain and now I might add I am riding up the hotel elevator. At last we are stepping off of the elevator on to the main hallway walking down in sleepy haze wiping my eyes for a bit of a reprieve and reaching for my keys just slip it in to the doors key hole. The door swings open but the minute I step in one foot at a time immediately something is off, because I feel a my eyes being altered with some sort of contacts that act like a film filter.Everything in my world now here is a far too obvious now an exceptional black and white early Hollywood film and television I can tell the smell it is the smell of boiling or burnt film and sounds of crackles can be heard. I am a bit frightened and frustrated at my own experiences because I can sense it a lone figure looming through the room as it shines so brightly without any questions The room grows darker the anything I have ever seen or thought possible but a hand is now laying on to my shoulders holding on to me tight and embracing my back with his body. His palms starts to slip down from the shoulders down to my hands holding on to them I can feel him move slowly closer to undo my shirt. I use my hands to shove him back serving to the side to see this weird, pretty white boi about my age or so in this typing 1930’s or 1940’s clothes and also in black and white. He shooks his head at me as he burst out loudly laughing so hard as he looks up at me then checking me before he licks his lips. One deep breath before he is strolling to both window shades undoing them just a tiny bit and allowing the light in with such gorgeous illumination spilling in to it. He spins swiftly about to me making eye contact with me as it burns through my soul sweeping me in to his own orbit he begins to kissing me. I remain in full control of the situation once again in an utter state of excitement he calls me by tenderly placing his hands on a shirt button and walks closer to me.

Hello Master Lawrence!”

“What the hell is this?”

“Our realm “

“A time in between space “

“One of my own”

“I am yours “

“You created me”

“I couldn’t have”

“This hotel creates Ai based on you”

“Did you read my bio rhythms?”

“Correct!”

“What is the outcome?”

“You can save me?”

“Save you “

“Your will alone can make me”

“Real?”

“Impossible “

“You are doing it right now”

“I am your dream man”

“Is that not so?”

“No!”

“Don’t lie”

“You are my everything “

“Simply give in”

“I never do that “

“Kiss me and win me Sire”

“Let me be the only one worthy of you “

“I love you”

“Ugh! I love you too”

“I am alive Master Lawrence “

The end

Grant’s Possession

Grant Gustin laying in a hotel room after a very long day ending a FaceTime call with his wife and his kid is ambushed by some strange force cutting the call off as every thing in the room shook.The lights fluttering on and off blinding him on and off blinking like crazy driving himself in a jolt and jump upward in to the air propel even harder and he falls onto the bed in a deep a haze.He has a overly exaggerated sigh as he falls yet again flat on the bed exacerbated by the day’s events and goes into a deep slumber for the longterm unaware of the spirit about to inhabit his mind forever. Midnight hits as he squirms in bed rolls from one side to the other on his hotel sleeping in to the night as the hour takes a lifetime to end and the nights event have barely begun to occur.His eyes flutter open, close, in a deep heat as the sweat consumes him rolling down his face and he is completely overheated in his body dripping down his body wetting his bed up. A thin large white figure floating high above his massive queens size body imploding in a burst of energy shooting through the hotel room and lifts his body off in to the air cools it in a span of time.This Ghostly figure encircling him descends in to his body shivering with compulsion out of nowhere and Grants eyes flitting once more as he struggles to regain controls over himself. Suddenly! Grants life surrenders to him as he sunk in to unknown levels from his real consciousness, reveling in to subconscious throughout Grant is to suddenly find whohe is.Watching his authentic shadow bounce wall to wall he is forced to see it step in to a gold mirror and it become his reflection shining so bright with a golden ray of light booming on to him.

“Who on this God flourish earth are you ?”

“The new owner of this body “

“Why do you have my image?”

“I just explained it “

“You know full well”

“Fuck you! Set me free”

“Unfortunately! I can’t let you “

“Why not you freak?”

“Asshole”

“You will get use to it “

“Absolutely not! It’s my body “

“It’s my property “

“My life “

“No! My will”

“People will know “

“I will take care of that “

“You have a answer for everything “

“No duh!”

“I am not some dumb jock”

“You assume so”

“You will be soon enough”

“I won’t allow it “

“Oh please! Your mind is reassembling at this point.”

“You will see things my way”

“Take a nap”

“No! I refuse…I “

“A long slumber “

“No I….aaaahhhhh”

“Close your eyes, hit the bed “

“Succumb to my will”

The end

[smolandweirdwriter]

Hi I just think you're really cool so I have this suggestion for you

Adaine with POTS.

ok hear me out this isn't just "giving the character I'm obsessing over my chronic illness" I have a cool idea

adaine and ailwyn are fighting and adaine's feeling really shitty, like her hands are feeling limp and she knows shes gonna pass out, but she keeps fighting because she can't just give up and let her sister win.

she passes out, and wakes up laying on the floor, ailwyn gone. she reaches for the bottle of water and chips she keeps on her bedside table but she cant move enough to get them.

an unseen servant joins her in her room, and it looks different to the ones she normally has in her room. it gets the water for her, and helps her recover.

later when she goes into ailwyns room, she finds her book open to the chapter for summoning an unseen servant.

sorry if I phrased this really wrong I just don't really know how to get words onto a page

Adaine knows she passed out and wakes up with a jolt. She gasps, jarred; there are no hard tiles beneath her, no cold air against her body, she has not been left on the floor. She is... in her bed.

Alright, she reasons, she passed out and Aelwyn told Mother and Father who had Unseen Servants take care of her.

She blinks hard, expecting a headache, a bruise from having hit the floor. Nothing. There's no way Aelwyn could've summoned an Unseen Servant in time to catch her--and no way she would, either.

None of her family have healing magic.

It feels impossible, but she has the slightest sensation, maybe a flashing memory before she passed out, of Aelwyn lunging for her. Catching her. If she had the breath to do so, Adaine might have laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

Adaine's gaze catches on the clock across the room. Her mother has a conference and her father has meetings with the Council of Chosen. They won't be back until dinnertime.

That leaves...

An Unseen Servant slips into the room, holding a tray laden with a tall glass of water and pitcher, as well as salt tablets and some crisps. The servant is brusque, forces her to drink two glasses of water and take the tablets with sharp, condescending motions that Adaine recognizes so very well. The servant leaves the chips on her table and disappears.

Adaine wants to speak, but her blankets are comfortable, and she's tired, and, well... She fades back to sleep.

When she awakes hours later, she hears her family beginning down the stairs for dinner and rushes to join them.

She arrives in time to hear Aelwyn sneering, "--still asleep I think. She's been dawdling around in her room all day."

Adaine freezes on the landing.

Angwyn spots her and says, "Adaine. I hear you had a relaxing evening."

Adaine stammers, "No, I wasn't, I-I didn't, she- I'm- I'm not- I--"

"Very eloquent, little sister," Aelwyn purrs. "Truly, the benefits of being raised by a trained politician have not been wasted on you."

"First off, politicians aren't eloquent just because they lie convincingly," Adaine snaps.

"So you admit you're trying to lie?" Aelwyn raises a brow.

Bitch. Bitch, bitch, you fucking bitch, choruses in Adaine's head, drowning out any memory of her sister's Unseen Servant or kindness, squashing it down into nothing.

"No, I--"

"Girls," Arianwen breaks in from the table. "Sit and be civil. That means you, Adaine."

Adaine glowers at everything in her vicinity and slumps into her seat. Aelwyn does not look at her for the rest of the meal.

[wesleysniperking]

Usopp Rant 😡 TL:DR

It pains me…

“If Usopp doesn’t do anything in Elbaf, I’m giving up on him. I love Usopp. I do. But if he’s useless in Elbaf, I’m letting him go.”

Or better yet…

“Even if Oda were to throw Usopp a bone, it won’t make up for 10 years of uselessness.”

Heck, this takes the cake…

“When Usopp told Nami to lie that’s when I lost all respect for him. The crew should have left his lowsy a** back in Water 7. He became what he was so afraid of.”

Nah. I was wrong…

“If Van Augur loses to this useless bum, it’ll ruin all of One Piece for me. It’ll be a major a** pull.”

Regardless of wherever and whatever direction Oda goes in with Usopp, I’ll always stand behind Usopp. No doubt about it. It honestly gets my goat when people in snark threads or even official One Piece pages (*cough cough* Reddit, YouTube, Worstgen) continue to criticize Usopp for small things, like they just really want him to lose (nitpick the h*ll outta him). Like, no kidding. But there’s one thing that really bugged me about Wano….

And what that was—was in a famous scene when Nami’s about to get annihilated by Ulti, and Ulti tries to force Nami into denouncing Luffy’s dream, and Nami remains firm by opposing the villainess…and Usopp wants Nami to lie and say Luffy will not become pirate king. He thinks this and urges for this to happen. For her to do so.

Now, I do honestly understand why he said that, and why he did it. If people had good reading comprehension and knew how to pick up on context clues this wouldn’t have to be brought up in anything regarding “Usopp’s bum-a**”.

Point blank, Usopp didn’t want Nami to die.

Lying means nothing to him. They both know Luffy is going to become Pirate King. They’ve seen their captain make the impossible happen!

Ergo, my main gripe is that it seems what Oda did is that he had to paint Usopp in a bad light in order for another character to look good. Nami is awesome. Kudos to her for staying head-strong. But in the same breath I stand by Usopp’s actions and see nothing wrong in them. Luffy wouldn’t look at Usopp badly if he found out what he did, because as the strawhat himself said, there’s no such thing as playing fair in a pirate fight (I may have paraphrased this), and what’s important is Nami making it out alive.

A dead navigator? How else are they getting to Laughtale. F*ck winning the raid/battle when the Strawhats are down a member. It was already looking rough with Luffy…

So, the misconception that Luffy would be mad at Usopp for saying that to Nami is illogical. Besides, how can Usopp force his ideals onto others? Yes, if he’d been in Nami’s same exact situation, he would’ve done what she did. But the point in that scene FOR HIM was about wanting to protect a friend. He loves Luffy, and has already defended his dream (e.g. Arabasta). The first one to do so! But for Usopp, what’s important in that moment is Nami making it out alive. He CAN’T watch a friend die. He can’t watch a friend die in the hands of some b*tch with a power trip; trying to force Nami’s hand. And sure, Nami remained head strong, and she did the d@mn thing. But when other people and fans decide to commend Nami for that moment while also putting Usopp down, things get really ugly for me. Nami fans and Usopp fans should be allies. But it doesn’t happen because they praise Nami and kick Usopp down to the ground.

No, this doesn’t go for EVERY Nami fan, and I’m not saying Usopp fans aren’t guilty of this.

So, I don’t criticize Usopp for his actions. Nor do I criticize Nami for her actions. What I’m trying to come to terms with is how it seems like it’s the whole classic case of painting one character in a very bad light in order to paint another character in a very good light.

Very SEEMINGLY so, Usopp regresses (no he did not regress!), and Nami progresses (cheers! 🥳😕…haters ruin it).

It’s a bit disheartening to have to defend Usopp over such pettiness. But I’ll continue to trust in the process. It just seems like Usopp fans are running on switchblade faith. And sometimes that faith isn’t enough.

But there’s indeed a beauty in the whole concept of retrospect, and at this point, it really does appear that in the overall One Piece narrative, in the overall grand scheme of things, Usopp is the true underdog.

And if people are so certain that Usopp doesn’t a stand a chance against Van Augur then why even entertain the idea? People always maintain (and it STRONGLY appears) that outside of Luffy vs Blackbeard, Usopp vs Van Augur is the most anticipated duel in the Blackbeard Pirates vs Strawhats battle.

Again, why even insult Usopp, if y’all are associating this “sniper with the ice cold drip” with “bum Usopp”? And if Usopp winning would be such an a**pull, will that keep y’all from watching? Will y’all not stop and look? Y’all low key have some big expectations for Usopp (who y’all consider fodder).

The fight might not even happen, yet haters are still looking forward to it. The speculation is strong with this one.

I honestly don’t understand it when people say Usopp is holding the crew back. How??? If that was the case Usopp would be given more focus. The camera would stay on him a little longer.

It’s like Usopp can never win.

Like this BS…

“Yeah, but Luffy and Law wouldn’t have been turned into toys because Haki can counteract DF powers. So, they would’ve been able to successfully mitigate the situation without Usopp’s help.”

Why???

“No. Usopp is still useless. Perona could’ve been defeated by Robin if she were there. Strawhats can make it without Bum Usopp.”

But in all seriousness, I think most of the hate is honestly just bitterness and impatience. And overall, misguided expectations. But people just don’t know how to articulate stuff proficiently in a debate (the comment section) without hate.

If you’re going to like a character, you have to know what you’re getting yourself into. And if you don’t want to do the research, then just pick up on the fine details and know what you want (know who you are). Usopp has flaws, but to just straight up say “I wish he could f*ckin die” and some other hot mess? No dice! If you don’t like him, move on. If you like him, but can’t love him at his “lowest” then get to steppin’.

There are a lot of bitter fans who’ve been unimpressed with Usopp post time skip. But there are even some far more bitter enough to the point to say that whatever he accomplished pre-timeskip was his peak, and that the whole fight with Perona was Oda “just throwing him a bone”. Some aren’t even satisfied with Enies Lobby Usopp, because he didn’t get a decent 1 v 1. “He should’ve had Sanji’s fight”. Typical shonen fan, I guess.

Yet, this bitterness also stems from the upset of Water 7’s narrative working in favor of Luffy instead of Usopp (apparently Longnose was the bad guy here 😒).

Ugh…The Sniper King joke isn’t fun anymore…

“Yeah. I truly just separate Sniper King and Usopp now. Meme aside. They really are separate people, and Usopp is just a bum.” [Proceeds to show panel of when Usopp was on the ground, heavily injured after the Franky family “dealt with him”. And the crew found him. And other racial slurs follow…]

Final + Conclusion

Usopp is still my favorite One Piece character (unconditionally), and I hope he’s given the justice he deserves. I love Sniper King, but I don’t want him to comeback because of the haters.

Usopp needs to get the last laugh.

His fans deserve the last laugh.

We will get the last laugh.

Just wait and see, he’ll come in clutch again.