#just screaming with your crush that's all

[hrrtshape]

Okay we NEED story time from your vampire dr!❤️🙏

the chronicles of my vampire dr....as a babylonian witchy princess. part one !!!

day 1 . . . i shifted.

i woke up in my chambers and oh my god… it was green. not like. regular green. but lush. enchanting. like i was about to be serenaded by a mythical creature or get sacrificed to an ancient god. no phone. which… rude. but i was too busy inhaling rose oil, myrrh (which, yeah, kind of like a resin??), and jasmine to process my distress.

i let out a few choice curse words (thank god no one heard), and then. it hit me. all my past memories. childhood, teenagehood, all 18 years of my life here just… slotted into place like i had downloaded them off some divine dropbox.

then my attendants. ladies-in-waiting, i guess? appeared, all fluttery and fussing, pulling back my gauzy linen bed drapes like i was the sun incarnate. fresh pomegranate juice in my hand before i even asked. and, look, i wasn’t about to complain. next stop: bathing.

i was led to a private bath, where perfumed water was poured over me from this ridiculously intricate ceramic jug. skin scrubbed with ground barley and honey, then massaged with sesame oil infused with cedarwood and jasmine. so yes. weird. because my dr self is used to it but my cr self was internally screaming. i could do this myself?? but also… why would i??

then. dressing. sheer, gold-threaded linen, draped in jewels. thick gold cuffs, lapis lazuli amulets, gemstone rings. and okay. gold?? not my best colour (thank you, dyed blonde-ish ginger hair). but i had no say. my hair was braided, perfumed, pinned with gold, eyes rimmed in kohl, lips stained red, cheeks dusted with crushed rose petals. i was… presentable.

breakfast ! extravagant but delicate. honeyed flatbreads. dates. figs. apricots in wine (which, yeah, legal drinking age? unheard of). fresh goat’s milk infused with saffron. i was living the dream.

post-breakfast, intellectual pursuits. cuneiform tablets. poetry, legal docs, noble correspondence. astrologers were summoned because, hello, witch. every move, written in the stars. i was also treated to scribes reciting poetry. so, academia? check.

afternoon. time to be seen. temple of ishtar. offerings of honey cakes, incense, perfumed oils. a priestess blessed me, very much reminding everyone i was semi-divine (lowkey, but let’s be real, highkey). generals and noblemen bowed as i passed, because, obviously.

the rest of the afternoon? leisure. lyres and harps. fig wine. my father’s collection of lions, cheetahs, exotic birds. gossiping with noblewomen about husbands in debt, outdated jewellery, who got cursed by a priest. sometimes, diplomat visits. i’d just sit there draped in lapis and pearls, my presence alone a political statement. effortless.

sunset. babylon glowing under torchlight. feast time. figs, meat, dates, pomegranates, deep deep (i mean, deeeep) red wine. but the real game is politics. seduction. social climbing. noblemen desperately trying to impress me. i was internally screaming. externally....effortlessly cool.

then. loml (one of them), lily-rose, and i snuck off to the rooftop gardens. cushions, stars, spiced wine, whispered secrets. cinematic.

before bed, i consulted the stars. omens, incense, prayers. the whole celestial-divine fate thing. and, look, it was weird. because i felt magic in me. but apparently, i needed a grimoire to access it. and that was… off-limits.

finally. my perfumed chambers. attendants massaging my hands and feet with almond oil. then. alone.

or not.

two years ago, i called upon a guardian angel. nosferatu vibes. but instead. i got… him. coriolanus. 3000-year-old vampire. for two years, he’s haunted my dreams. not like. nightmare haunted. no. tender haunted. and tonight? he was here. or. it was a vivid dream.

either way. he told me, in three days, we would be of one body and soul. then he disappeared.

so. yeah. that happened.

day two. . . the script remains unchanged.

bathe, dress in linen that clings like a whisper, let them anoint me with oils that smell of myrrh and something older than time. breakfast is honeycakes and date wine, taken while my attendants spill court secrets in hushed, delighted tones. education follows. sumerian, akkadian, the stars. the babylonians invented horoscopes, did you know? they like to remind me. temple visits, prayers, offerings. gardens. music. poetry. the shape of my life is so symmetrical it could be mapped onto the constellations.

but then. a shift. a thread pulled just slightly out of place. the temple priests are uneasy !!! an eclipse, a dead bird at the ziggurat’s steps, the sacred flames guttering, turning blue. i wake from fevered dreams, my mind still thick with the vision....coryo standing at the edge of my chamber, all shadow and silk. his voice, smooth as oil over marble. two more nights.

meanwhile. my betrothed (because of course i have one. a war general, brutish, dull-eyed, why). he senses something, something wrong. he does not have the words for it, but it slithers into his bones. he grips my wrist too tightly, voice sharp, desperate. an attempt at power. i know the truth. the real power is coming.

day three. . . the script does not change.

bathe, dress, the oils, the honey, the wine. the lessons. the offerings. the songs. the theatre of it all. but outside, the air is taut, wound like a bowstring. war drums murmur in the distance. the wind carries incense and the promise of rain. in the temple, a sacrifice. a blessing for my union, they say, but the blood curdles too fast. the priests turn pale. the gods, it seems, are watching.

and me...... i am unraveling. sleep is a rare visitor. i feel him even when i wake. a shadow in the hallway, a breath against my skin when i am alone. his touch lingers, not quite there, but cold where it was.

my betrothed unravels too. he sees things. flickers at the edge of his vision. his men whisper about curses. one of them dies, suddenly, inexplicably. i do not ask why.

and then, the dream again. tomorrow.

day four. . . the one where i meet him.

same routine. bathe, dress. linen so fine it may as well be woven from moonlight. oils massaged into my skin until i gleam like an offering. breakfast is honeycakes, warm and sticky between my fingers, date wine that makes my lips sweet. the ladies whisper of court scandals, the chamberlains mutter about politics. i nod, pretend to listen. later, lessons. sumerian, akkadian, astrology. i trace constellations in the air, the same stars that have ruled over every king and whatnot before me. temples, if i have the patience. incense curls into the sky. the priests chant. i press my lips together and let them believe i am devout.

poetry in the gardens. lyres and flutes. silks draped over marble benches. the scent of crushed petals. something tugs at me. impatience? anticipation? dread?

by sunset, my fiancé is dead.

poison? an accident in the bathhouse? found in his chamber, white-lipped and hollow-eyed, drained of every last drop? speculation grips the court. the wedding is canceled. condolences pile at my feet like wilted flowers. my mourning dress is laid out.

but i am waiting......

the city quiets. the torches burn low. the palace is vast and empty. and then. then, he comes.

i wear white silk, sheer as mist, the fabric whispering against my skin. flowers in my hair, their fragrance heavy in the heat. i stand at my balcony, hands clasped. i whisper the words, just above a breath. i bid you, come to me.

in the obsidian mirror, my own reflection wavers, shadowed by something else. someone else. his hands find my waist, his fingers cold against the heat of my skin. he brushes my hair aside. a breath, just at my throat.

on the third night, i belong to him.

[scoupsakakitty]

Betrayal Under The Stage Lights pt.2 | Seventeen x 14thMember | fluff

The room remained silent long after Y/N left. The weight of their words, their accusations, lingered in the air like an unshakable storm cloud. No one dared to speak, no one wanted to admit what they all began to realize their mistake.

Mingyu ran a frustrated hand through his hair, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “We messed up, didn’t we?”

Jihoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No, we didn’t just mess up. We completely turned on her without thinking.”

Joshua sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. “We should have listened. We should have trusted her.”

Seungcheol, usually so sure of his decisions, felt a rare sense of self-doubt gnawing at him. His mind replayed the scene over and over Y/N’s devastated expression, her voice laced with desperation as she defended herself. And they had ignored it.

“She must hate us now,” Seokmin mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan, for once, had no witty remark, no clever way to deflect the situation. Instead, he sighed deeply. “We need to fix this.”

Y/N sat alone in her room, the echoes of their accusations still fresh in her mind. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them feel even a fraction of what she had felt. But more than anything, she just felt… tired.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. At first, she ignored it, expecting them to give up. But the knocking persisted. With an annoyed sigh, she stood up and pulled the door open only to find all thirteen members standing outside, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

Mingyu, standing in the front, suddenly dropped to his knees. “Y/N, I was an idiot. No—worse than an idiot. I don’t even have a word for how dumb I was. Please, please forgive me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You’re really kneeling?”

“Yes,” Mingyu said without hesitation. “I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, stepping forward. “We all made a huge mistake. We let frustration cloud our judgment, and we blamed you without any proof. That was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

“We should have believed in you,” Joshua added, his usual warmth returning to his voice. “You’re our family.”

One by one, they all spoke up, each admitting their faults, each apologizing sincerely. Even Jihoon, who rarely showed emotions so openly, muttered, “I was too quick to judge. I’m sorry.”

Y/N took her time, letting them squirm under her scrutiny. She could see the genuine regret on their faces, the desperation in their eyes. And a wicked idea formed in her mind.

She sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “I don’t know… maybe I should just leave the group.”

The reaction was immediate.

“What?!”

“No, no, no!”

“Y/N, please, don’t even joke about that!”

Seungkwan looked ready to burst into tears. “I swear, if this is because of us—”

“I’ll do anything!” Mingyu pleaded. “I’ll cook for you for a year! I’ll do your laundry! I’ll—”

Y/N burst into laughter, unable to hold back any longer. “Relax, I was just messing with you.”

The collective groan that followed was almost comical. Seungcheol placed a hand over his heart, exhaling in relief. “Don’t do that! I nearly had a heart attack.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “You’re evil.”

Y/N smirked. “That’s what you get for doubting me.”

Despite their moment of panic, the mood shifted almost instantly. Hoshi pulled Y/N into a bone-crushing hug, and soon, the others piled on, a mess of tangled limbs and relieved laughter.

“Still mad at us?” Vernon asked as they finally pulled away.

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “I should be. But I guess I’ll forgive you guys. Just this once.”

They all cheered, and for the first time that night, everything felt right again.

“Well… on one condition,” Y/N added, crossing her arms. “I want my favorite ice cream.”

Without hesitation, Dino shot up. “I got it! I’ll get it right now!” And before anyone could react, he was already sprinting out the door.

The others laughed, shaking their heads as they watched him go. Finally, things were back to normal.

[bird-in-the-space]

The Humble Bar Musician

Imagine being a musician and reincarnated as a transformer on Cybertron.

Warnings: some angst, mentions of having your work stolen, car accident, death, reincarnation, cybertron's caste system, being overworked and then dropped off, and mentions of stalking and attempted assault.

----------------------------------------

- Your death was unexpected.

- After being expelled from the music academy due to false accusations, you walked out with your instrument in hand, crushed by the injustice of it all.

- Your rival, whose skills could never compare to your natural talent, had stolen your work. Yet, they framed you as the thief, claiming your compositions as their own.

- The teachers and the principal believed them without question, never giving you a chance to prove your innocence. Even your own mentor failed to stand up for you.

- There was nothing you could do. No one would listen, no one would defend you. And so, you had no choice but to leave.

- The defeat and misery you felt were beyond words. You had fought to enter the academy, pouring your soul into music—your dream, your purpose. And now, because of someone's jealousy, it had all been taken from you, with no one willing to hear the truth.

- Just why? 

- Why was it so easy for them to believe your rival? 

- Were you that bad that it was easy for them to see you as the villain? 

- Just how will you explain this to your family? 

- You died waiting to cross the road. When the light turned green, you stepped forward.

- But then—out of nowhere—a reckless driver sped through the red light, not even attempting to slow down.

- It happened too fast. One moment, you were walking, the next, you saw the car barreling toward you. Then—impact.

- You lay on the pavement, body broken, staring up at the sky. Distantly, you heard people screaming, cars screeching to a halt.

- The last thing you saw was the sky and the blurred faces of strangers before darkness consumed you.

- And then… you opened your eyes—to a new world. Cybertron. A world of metal and war. And you? No longer human, but something else entirely. A Transformer.

- It was eerie, disorienting—you barely had time to process what had happened. One moment, you were human, the next, you were something else entirely.

- But you adapted. You had to. You took a name for yourself, carving out an identity in this strange new world.

- You soon learned that Cybertron operated under a rigid caste system—and you had been placed in the lower class.

- Your alt-mode determined your job, and luckily, it wasn’t the worst assignment. It was manageable, at least.

- Still, your superiors and the higher-class bots made things difficult. They worked you to exhaustion, piling on tasks until your servos ached.

- But you endured. You had no other choice. Your job provided the credits you needed for sustenance and survival. It wasn’t easy, but it kept you going.

- The work was exhausting, but you weren’t alone. You found solace in the company of other lower-class bots who weren’t as cold or cruel as your superiors.

- As time passed, something inside you began to ache—an emptiness that only music could fill. You missed it. The process of creating, the emotion in every note, the way it could express what words couldn’t.

- Music wasn’t unknown on Cybertron, but it was a privilege of the higher-class bots. It was exclusive, guarded—something you could only catch in fleeting moments from a distance or during rare free concerts for the lower class.

- Cybertronian music was vastly different from what you once knew. It was intricate, mechanical, yet strangely beautiful in its own way. But no matter how fascinating it was, it only deepened your longing for the classical pieces you used to play.

- You still had your memories—your knowledge. The thought crossed your mind: could you play again? Could you bring a piece of your old world into this one?

- Using the skills you had from your past life, you gathered scraps and spare parts to craft an instrument similar to the one you once loved. It took time, patience, and trial and error, but in the end, you succeeded.

- The first note you played filled you with something you hadn’t felt in a long time—peace. A connection to who you once were.

- With no access to Cybertronian musical compositions, you relied on your memory, painstakingly writing down Earth’s classical pieces, effectively reintroducing them into a world that had never known them.

- Music became your solace, though it remained just a hobby. Your job demanded too much of your time, and exhaustion often kept you from playing as much as you wanted.

- Still, you shared your music with your friends, and they adored the strange, emotional sounds unlike anything they’d heard before.

- But then, everything changed. You were laid off, left without work, without stability—without purpose. It seemed like a disaster at first, but in that moment of uncertainty, your music became more than just a hobby. It became your only path forward.

- It was difficult to survive; you sometimes stayed with a friend but couldn't rely on them forever.

- You found work in a bar after the owner’s music box broke.

- Music was rare among lower-class establishments, so music boxes were also considered a rarity.

- With your friend’s encouragement to showcase your musical skills, you spoke to the owner, who initially didn’t believe you knew how to play music.

- However, he agreed to take you in if you played well.

- You took the challenge and, with your instrument in hand, began playing a classical piece you had memorized for the bar’s customers.

- Since you had experience performing for an audience, you did not suffer from stage fright. However, playing what was essentially alien music to an alien race made you feel a bit nervous.

- Your music immediately caught everyone's attention. At first, they were baffled, likely having never heard anything like it before, and intrigued by the fact that you had built your instrument yourself. However, their expressions soon shifted to calm enjoyment.

- Even the bar’s owner was surprised and momentarily distracted by your performance.

- A few outsiders were drawn in by the sound, entering the bar just to listen.

- By the end of your performance, you received a few cheers and even compliments from your new boss.

- You agreed to a fair compensation. Since your boss’s bar was located in a building, he offered to let you stay in one of the apartments as a tenant and provide you with energon in exchange for working as both a waiter and a musician. His bar catered to lower-class bots, so he couldn't pay you much, but you considered it more than enough and gladly accepted the job.

- This arrangement gave you the time to refine your skills, and you decided to use all the musical pieces you had memorized as a set playlist to perform regularly.

- Your performances soon began attracting more customers, much to your boss’s satisfaction. News of a musician playing in a lower-class bar spread, bringing in even more patrons. You found joy in playing freely for miners and those who worked dangerous jobs, offering them a rare moment of solace in their harsh lives.

- Through this, you got to know many bots, most of whom were polite and appreciative. Some even helped you find side jobs, as you still needed extra credits for living essentials.

- It filled you with an unexpected sense of happiness. Reflecting on your past life, where your efforts had been dismissed and stolen, you found comfort in knowing that here, even your small actions were valued.

- With time, you even managed to carve out moments to write and re-compose songs for different occasions, further nurturing your passion for music.

- In a way, you became somewhat famous. Though still timid in social settings, your humble nature made it easier for you to connect with others. Many bots treated you well, and over time, you built genuine friendships.

- Your job unexpectedly came with certain perks.

- One day, a higher-class bot heard about your performances and offered you a chance to showcase your skills before a much larger audience. It could have been a golden opportunity, but you politely declined. Your time among the lower class had taught you how to distinguish between bots who were sincere and those who only sought to exploit others. This one was a rotten apple.

- Your instincts proved correct when, not long after, you found yourself being stalked and nearly attacked. Fortunately, some of your regular customers—larger bots who were no strangers to violence—stepped in, scaring off your would-be attackers before they could harm you.

- Grateful for their help, you showed your appreciation by playing their favorite songs from your playlist. But even after the incident, they remained protective of you, insisting on accompanying you whenever you had to go anywhere.

- Word spread quickly, and soon, others in the community also took it upon themselves to watch over you from a distance.

- It seemed they were not willing to let anyone mess with their local musician.

[kxtsukixoxo]

“sit on my lap” for denkiiii ^_^

authors note - nothing. i have nothing to say.

here’s the valentine’s day event, there’s still prompts available!! ⊹. warnings - nsfw content

“there’s….no space” you muttered as you peeked into the backseat of katsuki’s car, you guys clearly didn’t think this through, squeezing four people in the back really wasn’t going to work out, sero squeezed himself inbetween the door and mina, and a bunch of luggage in the middle, with denki on the other end of the huge wall. eijiro sighed in the front seat as katsuki shook his head, “js make it work will ya?” 

denki looked at you shyly, what was he supposed to do? and the fact he had the fattest crush on you didn’t help one bit. you were supposed to squeeze yourself next to him, your soft sweet skin touching his, giving him a clear view of your cleavage from your low-cut top, the thought of it made him all hot and bothered. 

denki had no idea when his mouth decided to pry open and spit out the words, “sit on my lap” but oh god did he regret it. you were left with no other choice than to sit on denki kaminari’s lap. 

“i’m sorry if i’m hurting you” you turned your head away, avoiding eye contact, 

“n-no you’re not!!” that was the least of denki’s worries right now, he was trying so hard not to focus on how perfect your tits sat, your pudgy thighs peaking out from underneath the skirt you chose to wear today, resting ontop of him, the feral need to grab them and squeeze the life out of them, knead them like dough, oh you were driving so mad. 

“bathroom break!! get the fuck out and refresh your stank asses!” katsuki screamed as he got out of the car himself, eijiro followed suite, sero yawning behind him, mina yawned getting up aswell. 

just as you were about to get up, you felt denki grip onto your hand “stay-“ you were confused, worried, what’s up with him? denki’s breath fanned against your ear as he pulled you closer, his hands rested on your thighs “tell me if you want me to stop” the cool air leaving his mouth, sent shivers down your spine. denki’s fingers reached underneath your skirt, palming your clothed cunt, his fingers teased your slit through your underwear as you covered your mouth in an attempt to bottle any noise that left your lips. 

“we’re back!!!” mina squealed, “we need to get back on the road, we still have another five hours  left” 

denki’s fingers didn’t leave from where they were, instead he continued, the luggage obstructing anyone from seeing the erotic sight, right before their eyes. your head fell back as denki’s fingers slipped past your underwear, running his finger up your slit, collecting your sticky slick with just two fingers, shoving it back into you as he teased your entrance with just the tip of his fingers, your hands travelled underneath your skirt to remove your underwear, denki’s curiosity grew, finally figuring out what you were doing as he watched you stuff your mouth with your slick coated panties, denki worked his fingers slowly into you, your muffled moans drowned by the music mina had playing loudly, everybody was oblivious. 

denki pumped his fingers inside you as you shuffled slowly, about to come undone. the giant surfboard infront of you and denki, obstructing katsuki and eijiros of the both of you in the backseat, “hey you two alright there?” eijiro asked, curious about the shuffling, “yeah!! all good!! (y/n)’s just adjusting!!” denki forced out, “haha, alright!” eijiro gave him a cheery smile, one that he couldn’t see of course. 

 you gripped onto eijiros arm, nailing digging into his skin as you tried not to rock your hips, denki finger-fucked you through your orgasm, his arm

wrapped around your waist, restraining too much movement out of you. pulling his fingers out, licking your fingers clean, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“we’re here!!” 

[midnightsmusings]

I've been gone for years only to come back with this COD Stardew Valley AU and then disappear again. This might be too niche lol

Not exactly akin to Stardew Valley's lore...but Price as Willy & the witch is his Ex wife because Price just screams divorced, Soap is Gus, Ghost is Clint and apart of the hunters guild, Gaz is pretty boy Elliott right? See the vision?? This is so rushed but I'm fixated now

CW: B-word used in Price's (it's a witch joke promise my man would never), me destroying Stardew Valley's lore for my own amusement...

- Eternally tired fisherman Price that runs the shack by the docs, heavy smell of cigar smoke and old coffee permeating in the air of the small shop every time you come in to buy bait. You were always too grossed out to make your own and he was all too happy to have someone finally interested in fishing in this town.

He always patiently stood with an umbrella over you as you worked hard all day to catch the elusive fish that only came out in stormy weather, his rumbling chuckle sounding over the rain each time a hard to reel in fish escaped.

You thought you misheard him the first time he mentioned being married before, that he said his ex-wife was a bitch. You cringed a little but didn't think much of it, the usual bitter ex-husband talk. You'd avoided him a bit that, slightly crushed he would talk about a woman, even an ex, like that.

One day, the tavern owner John--who always seemed to know everything about everyone--righted your spiraling when he casually said "nae his wife was a witch."

- Simon as the blacksmith. He doesn't talk to anyone in town but was partial to the tavern owner John as the man always kept a secluded booth in the corner open for him.

Eventually, the more you came to him for better tools as your farm got larger the more he relaxed around you. Simon started helping you open the odd rocks you found for free, just to see your excitement when it yielded something you'd never seen before.

He often accompanied you to the mines, liked watching you gather the ores you needed while he took care of the various creatures that lurked. Eventually, he let you into the hunter guild he was apart of when he saw you single handedly clear an entire mine filled with those damned flying bugs he detested.

Simon secretly marked up the prices of the guild's armor and weapons so you still had to rely on him to get past the tougher creatures that guarded the rare gems deeper in the mines.

- Kyle who, in the warmer seasons, is always found lounging by his house on the beach. He was the proud torment of the lonely fisherman that glowered at his bare chest. Kyle's caramel skin shining from the pomegranate juice that was dripping on it.

He was fairly reserved, only coming alive on Friday nights when he was a few wine glasses in at John's tavern and would dance with Kate--an equally reserved woman you had yet to really get close to.

Kyle always had an easy smile on his face, words never failing to make you blush however brief the interaction. He was earnest and sweet, different than the other men in town yet still had the air about him that he was hiding something in that beach shack of his.

You haven't been able to get close enough to him yet to see what the inside looked like yet. You hoped with the help of Price teaching you to catch crabs and John's eagerness to teach you to make crab cakes you could win over Kyle's favor.

- John, Johnny as you heard Simon call him once, was a typical welcoming tavern owner. His place sat at the middle of town, always open for anyone who needed a warm meal or John's easy presence.

Like Kyle, he had a wide smile on his face always. The first time you saw a shadow casting over his face as that bright smile faded was when Mayor Graves came around to collect taxes. You had a sneaking suspicion Mayor Graves and that slimy Joja Mart owner Shepherd were both up to something. John's usual warm presence turning icy around them only confirmed it.

You'd gotten close to John fast as you always appeared on busy Friday nights to get more familiar with the town. John made it his personal mission to teach you how to cook everything. At first, your run down farm house didn't have a working kitchen. Sitting empty for so long caused what used to be a stove to become nothing more than a fire hazard.

John let you use his kitchen in the mornings when the tavern was closed. The man full on sulked for weeks when you came in smiling brightly proud to tell him you managed to sell enough crops to buy a better kitchen setup.

[odileeclipse]

Choosing Her

Pure Vanilla X Reader angst (I wanted to hurt my feelings)

And when it’s all said and done, it wasn’t you he skipped class with. His eyes held that softness in them always. But when he looked at her, his eyes were all knowing. The look exchanged between them had always said more than the words exchanged. While you stood at the sidelines hoping that if you stayed just a second longer he’d look at you this time.

“Pure Vanilla, please be careful, you shouldn’t skip out on class so much…I-I can’t keep covering for you. I think the professor is going to find out.” You pleaded with him selfishly. While your reasons for wanting him to not skip, your real motivation was stopping him from being with her. Pure Vanilla looked conflicted. He furrowed his brow but ultimately sighed out and said “Don’t cover for me anymore (y/n) cookie, it’s not fair to ask you to hold my burden I’ll deal with it” He said to you with that compassionate voice. You wanted to scream at him to let him know how selfish he was being to you. But at the end of the day he doesn’t owe you anything, and yet still extends his kindness to you. “Pure Vanilla, please don’t go, we shouldn't go looking for answers that aren’t given to us. Forgive me for crossing a line but don’t you think her hunger for knowledge is insatiable? Once she finds out whatever truth she’s looking for do you think she’ll stop there?” Your words held resentment towards white lily cookie, sure she was a dear friend to you and you’d love and support her. But jealousy is an ugly monster tainting the depths of your heart. Pure Vanilla’s usual serene face faltered. Before he could say anything you spoke up. “I hope you know what you’re getting into, stay safe, Pure Vanilla and please don’t do anything rash.” You said with a soft smile. ”Or I’ll have to come save you and white lily”.

That was the last time you spoke with him in an attempt, to get him to understand. Even after the academy was left behind in its ruins, you still thought him a fool to search for her. But in your heart, he was your fool. When you heard rumors of Pure Vanilla founding a kingdom, you felt relief. Perhaps he and white lily hadn’t settled down and you still had a chance. But again, your hope was crushed in front of you, there she was white Lily standing next to Pure Vanilla as he received his title. You thought about turning around when that familiar comforting voice called to you. “(y/n) cookie! I’m so glad you made it…I thought you were upset with me. I was hoping that by extending my invitation to all my friends you too would be here. My dearest friend, how have you been?” He said clutching your hands together, this made you forget your jealous heart and you smiled radiantly as you used to all those years ago. When you still had the hope he might be yours. Of course, reality hit harder than a derailed train. “You’re being unfair to me again” those words came out as a whisper meant for your ears rather than his. How dare we clasp his hands around yours, when he didn’t belong to you. And if it was kindness he was offering, you didn’t want it. Not like this. “Sorry I didn’t quite catch that, well regardless how have you been holding up, I’ve heard you acquired your own Kingdom.” That’s right in the time away from him, you built a kingdom from nothing making it’s walls tall and high. To hide the love you hold, but those walls crumble fast when you see his gleaming eyes. You acquired the light of patience. A virtue you’ve always held, waiting and waiting hopeful it’ll be you. “Oh yeah my kingdom is my pride and joy, we’ve been able to construct high walls ensuring protection from everything. Of course it’s not without it’s flaws but time will only tell.” You were just rambling, attempting to seem like you had everything in control. “As expected of my dear friend, patient and full of humility” his words only pricked at your heart. A friend is all you’ll be and you’re not sure there’s enough time to heal this wound. “So you and white lily…?” you asked hesitantly. He practically beamed “Actually there is one thing I ask of you, please be at my side when I ask her to be mine. There is no other friend more beloved and fit for the role.” You stared at him with wide eyes feeling tears prick at your eyes. “I-I would love nothing more.” in the stir of emotions you embraced him seeking comfort in the arms that wound you.

A/N Im sorry <3

UPDATE: Pt 2 is up enjoy!!!

[bvrnesher]

Hi! I hope you day is going well, could you do headcanons for Leo Valdez? Like, if he was Spider-Man and he had a crush on the reader please?

sure thing, babe!

SPIDER-MAN ! LEO VALDEZ

cw: none.

ㅤ୨ৎㅤ🌙ㅤ˳ 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐳 ! 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

﹙𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆! ﹚ꪆ

𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓-𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔?

Leo Valdez as spider-man would be chaotic. Chaotic Neighborhood Hero – If anyone thought normal Spider-Man was chaotic, they clearly haven’t seen Leo in action. He’s web-swinging upside down, making fire-powered aerial flips, and cracking way too many jokes mid-fight. Villains either get mad or give up from sheer frustration.

Leo Valdez who Flirts While Crime-Fighting – If you happen to be around when he’s in costume, he’s ten times more dramatic.

“Don’t worry, citizen! Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man has got this.”

“I know I look cool right now, but please, try not to fall for me.” (He totally hopes you do fall for him.)

Leo Valdez is like... Leo vs. His Own Secret Identity – He wants to tell you he’s Spider-Man, but also, he definitely wants to impress you as himself, too.

He’ll do stuff like accidentally mention something Spider-Man did, then awkwardly try to cover it up.

“Oh yeah, Spidey totally took down three guys in an alley yesterday—uh, I mean, I heard about that. From a...news thing. Haha.”

Leo Valdez who swings past your window every single night, even when he has no reason to be there. He’ll make up some excuse like “Just doing my patrol!” but he’s really just hoping to see you.

Leo Valdez who saves you once and is so smug about it.

“No need to thank me, mi amor—wait, actually, do thank me. Maybe with a kiss?”

Leo Valdez who panics every time you mention thinking Spider-Man is cool. Like, “Cool how? Cool in a ‘wow, I wanna date him’ way? Or cool in a ‘he’s a neat guy’ way?” Please clarify. It’s for science.

Leo Valdez who tries to act smooth around you but trips over his own webbing. One second, he’s flirting. The next, he’s flat on the ground, groaning. “You saw nothing.”

Leo Valdez who builds his own web-shooters and casually adds a mini flamethrower just because he can.

Leo Valdez who absolutely shows off whenever you’re around. Swings upside down, does unnecessary flips, probably almost crashes into a building because he’s too busy flirting with you mid-swing.

Leo Valdez who “casually” webs your hand so you have to hold his, and when you call him out, he just grins, “Oops. Guess we’re stuck like this forever.”

Leo Valdez who leaves you dumb, flirty notes written in webbing. You wake up to see “Good morning, beautiful ;)” webbed to your wall, and you have no proof it was him.

Leo Valdez who gets jealous of… himself. If you mention Spider-Man is cool, he plays it off like “Yeah, I mean, he’s alright.” Meanwhile, he’s internally screaming because yes, he is Spider-Man, but you don’t know that and it’s killing him.

Leo Valdez who literally forgets how to speak when you kiss him while he’s still in the mask.

His brain just short-circuits. Stands there, completely frozen, before finally stammering, “…Uh. Can you do that again?”

Leo Valdez and superhero Dates (Without You Knowing) – Since he’s not technically allowed to tell you, he still finds ways to protect and impress you as Spider-Man.

Walks you home while swinging overhead, just to make sure you’re safe.

If it’s raining, he accidentally webs an umbrella to you from above.

You keep getting “lucky” when bad guys show up, because Spidey just so happens to be nearby every time.

Leo Valdez who saves little bits of web fluid so he can make you cute, tiny web sculptures. (They don’t last forever, but he makes you new ones all the time—little hearts, flowers, or tiny robots just for you.)

Leo Valdez who literally melts when you tell him you already knew.

(“WAIT, YOU KNEW?! AND YOU LET ME EMBARRASS MYSELF FOR MONTHS?!”)

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒔.

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙣

Previous__part Next part

Synopsis 💌 playlist- Trapped in Sukuna’s grasp for as long as they can remember, the reader seizes a rare opportunity to escape, only to collapse at the feet of Gojo, Geto, Shoko, Utahime, Nanami.Though suspicion lingers, they slowly become part of the group, finding solace and love especially in Gojo. But freedom is an illusion. Bound by an unbreakable curse known as A Promise, the reader is unknowingly still tied to Sukuna, a contract woven into their very soul. When Sukuna finally comes to reclaim what is his, he forces them into a cruel choice: return willingly, or watch their friends suffer. To protect the people they love, the reader invokes A Promise, binding themselves to Sukuna in exchange for their friends’ safety. As they are dragged back into the Abyss.

Episode 2 Strangers and Ghosts

Pain is the first thing you feel.

Not the dull, lingering kind, but a sharp, searing agony that drags you back into consciousness like a hook lodged in your ribs. Your breath stutters, throat raw, lungs aching. Everything hurts. Your arms, your legs, your very bones like something inside you has been crushed and rearranged in a way that isn't quite right.

The worst part isn't the pain. It's the feeling.

Sukuna is still there.

Not in the flesh, not standing over you with that sickening grin but in the way your skin burns with cursed energy that isn’t yours. It clings to you like invisible chains, pulsing, festering. You’re free, but you’re not. His mark is still on you, a brand that screams ownership.

You pry your eyes open.

The world is blurred, hazy shapes shifting above you. A sky. A real one. Clouded, dimly lit, but endless.

You made it out.

For a moment, all you feel is relief. The forest air is cold, the scent of damp earth grounding you. You're no longer trapped in that suffocating void, in the twisted corridors of his domain where the walls breathed and the shadows whispered.

Then, the voices reach you.

Low, tense murmurs.

You blink hard, trying to focus. There are figures standing around you five of them. Their energy is overwhelming, pressing down on you, heavy with suspicion. They’re on edge. Because of you.

Because you still reek of him.

Your heart slams against your ribs. Panic sets in like ice spreading through your veins. You try to move

But you can’t.

Not because of the pain. Not because your body refuses.

But because something else holds you down.

A force cursed energy.

You don’t need to see to know where it’s coming from.

A presence looms above you, crackling with restrained power. Even without his eyes visible, you feel him watching.

Satoru Gojo.

His cursed energy wraps around you, unseen but suffocating. It isn’t violent, not like Sukuna’s, but it’s overwhelming in its sheer intensity. He isn’t touching you, yet it feels like his hand is pressing against your chest, keeping you pinned.

You’re too weak to fight. Too exhausted to struggle.

So you just lie there, breathing raggedly, waiting for them to decide whether you live or die.

And then

"Oi- who the hell is that?"

Gojo’s voice is sharp, edged with something unreadable. You hear footsteps, slow and deliberate. Someone crouches beside you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of cigarettes.

“You’re awake.”

A female voice. Steady. Assessing.

Your gaze flickers sideways, landing on a girl with short brown hair and tired eyes. She’s watching you like you’re some kind of anomaly.

Shoko Ieiri.

Her hand presses lightly against your shoulder, a silent warning.

“Don’t move.”

You barely hear her. The panic is too loud.

Your eyes dart past her to the others. They stand in a loose semi-circle around you, all radiating restrained hostility.

Nanami Kento arms crossed, expression unreadable but sharp with calculation. Utahime Iori her stance tense, gaze flickering between you and the others, uncertain but wary. Geto Suguru silent, eyes dark with something you can’t quite name.

And Gojo.

Still standing above you, still pressing you down without lifting a finger.

The weight of their stares is suffocating.

And then Gojo speaks again, voice light but laced with something sharp.

“You reek of Sukuna.”

You flinch.

It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact. One that settles over the group like a storm cloud.

Your throat tightens. You want to speak, to explain, but how can you? How do you tell them what happened? That you were his prisoner, his plaything, trapped in his domain for what felt like eternity? That his cursed energy has woven itself into you so deeply you don’t know if you’ll ever be rid of it?

No. You can’t.

Because they don’t trust you.

Because, to them, you might be just another one of his creations.

Your hands clench into fists, dirt pressing into your palms.

You have to say something. Anything.

Your lips part, voice barely a whisper

“…Please.”

It’s all you can manage. Raw. Desperate.

Your vision blurs, exhaustion and fear mixing into something crushing. You force yourself to meet Gojo’s gaze or at least, the blindfold that hides it.

“Don’t send me back.”

Silence.

The tension is thick, suffocating.

No one moves. No one speaks.

Then a shift.

Gojo tilts his head, as if considering. His cursed energy flickers, the pressure on your body easing just slightly.

Shoko’s gaze softens. Just a fraction.

But the others?

Nanami doesn’t look convinced. Utahime’s lips press into a thin line. And Geto,Geto’s stare is unreadable, but the way his fingers twitch at his sides tells you he’s wary.

You swallow hard.

And then Gojo exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well.” His voice is light, almost lazy, but there’s an edge beneath it. “This is a mess, huh?”

No one laughs.

Shoko rolls her eyes. “That’s an understatement.”

Nanami doesn’t relax. “We don’t even know what they are.”

What.

Not who.

You shudder.

Utahime folds her arms. “she could be a trap.”

A muscle in your jaw tightens. “I’m not.”

“Yeah?” Geto speaks for the first time, voice smooth but sharp. “And we’re supposed to believe that just because you say so?”

You grit your teeth.

He’s right.

You wouldn’t trust you either.

Gojo hums, tipping his head back. “Well, there’s one way to find out.”

Your stomach drops.

In the next breath his cursed energy flares.

A surge of overwhelming power, invisible but suffocating. It crashes over you like a tidal wave, pressing into every wound, every nerve.

You choke.

Your body seizes, barely holding together under the sheer weight of it.

He’s testing you.

Pushing, digging, waiting for something to snap.

And inside you something does snap.

Sukuna’s mark flares to life.

His cursed energy surges against Gojo’s, rising like an instinctive defense.

For a split second you swear you hear laughter.

It’s not yours.

Not Gojo’s.

Not anyone’s.

Your breath hitches. Your nails dig into your palms.

Gojo’s energy vanishes in an instant.

The moment it’s gone, you collapse forward, gasping for breath. Cold sweat drips down your spine. Your body trembles, exhaustion consuming you whole.

No one speaks.

Then Gojo lets out a low whistle.

“Well, shit.”

Silence.

Then, Geto sighs, rubbing his temple. “Great. So they are connected to him.”

Nanami’s fingers twitch, like he’s considering drawing his weapon. Utahime doesn’t move, but she’s visibly tense.

You squeeze your eyes shut, throat thick.

They’re going to kill you.

Or worse send you back.

The thought sends a bolt of terror through you.

You force yourself up, barely holding yourself together. You don’t know what else to say, don’t know how to make them believe you.

So you do the only thing you can.

You bow your head.

And you plead.

“…Please.” Your voice wavers, raw with exhaustion. “I don’t care what you do to me. Just just don’t send me back.”

You don’t know how long the silence lasts.

Then Gojo sighs, crouching down.

“Man,” he mutters, scratching his head. “You’re a real pain in the ass.”

For now.

You are not going back.

TO BE CONTINUED

Words count ~ 2340

@idsitonthat

[keouil]

if our demons cannot dance neither can we

when it's time, it's zayne who picks her up. 2k. zayne/mc/caleb. angst. also on ao3.

And dearest, can you tell, I am trying To love you less.

ADA LIMÓN

氷

She stumbles on the first step. 

Zayne acts on instinct, borrowed from a braver version of himself a decade ago, at least he’d like to think: the intuitive way his hand reached out to grasp her elbow—not harsh, just guiding—to help right her back upward. She sputters a little. She blinks. She comes back to herself. She barely registers the touch, he notes; the way her eyes glaze over the autumn leaves peppering the rest of the sidewalk as she stared idly down at her snagged heel she didn't notice walking right into.

They parked his car a few streets away born from her suggestion of walking the rest of the way over and he wonders if she regrets it now. Notes of accusing make it’s way into her voice when she lets out a small noise of indignation, and his heart unsprings a little of the tension inside of it, because if she still had the capacity to be mad: then maybe it can’t be all that bad. She curses down at her heels softly, before seeming to remember her corporeality, before trusting in his hold as she shifts on her feet to try and spring it free. All the while his presence is pliant, stable, and supportive.

Zayne waits.

When she finally manages to unbound herself she coughs once, twice. “Sorry,” she says, a little sheepish, still not looking at him. “I — I guess I’m just not very used to these heels.”

Zayne nods and waits a beat before letting go. “No problem.”

They continue walking in silence the rest of the way. The smell of mildew has unfurled from the earth this late in the afternoon, dousing everything just a touch misty and a little softer than their already quiet footsteps filtering in through the cobblestones. Auburn leaves petal down in their wake, with pale hues of sunlight mellowed out just enough everything is a little more golden than it probably should be. Zayne keeps some distance away, just enough to be able to still grab onto her elbow in case she misstepped again: otherwise just enough of a breath away, just enough not to overstep himself.

It’s only been a month after all.

⊹

Hysteria is something Zayne has been too privy to given his line of work: patients on their death bed screaming bloody murder at his staff in an effort to stave off the immoving crush of the end, soldiers on near-death psychosis bleeding and rambling their throats off at their makeshift medtent at Mt. Eternal; the ravaging cries of the humans turned wanderers he makes nightly visits to in his dreams. 

Zayne is used to—and even expects—the savagery. 

⊹

The day she got the call, however.

That wasn’t hysteria. 

⊹

There are cries that start slow at the eyes, just a pool of never-ending streams quickly trickling it’s way down your face. But it’s not assaulting. It’s not uncomfortable just yet, quiet and somber and non-invasive as it was. There are cries that then grow in crescendo, that marry hiccups and wheezes and the occasional whimper with it. It’s not accosting, too, not just yet: just a very real display of human vulnerability that comes with being confronted of your mortality.

But then—

Then there is a cry so bad that it spikes up the protocore levels in your heart, that it takes a seasoned cardiac surgeon and researcher who has dedicated his entire life’s work to cataloging every minute shift of spike in your energy levels, to throw all of those warning signs away and just hold you: despite and in spite and because of all you are. He lets go of science. He lets go of everything. He had to.

Because her cry then, thought Zayne, was a war cry.

⊹

“...Do you need someone to go with you?” 

A pause. A sniffle. An unanchoring. An orphan only child having to violently confirm her worst nightmare. 

And then: 

“Would you please?” 

⊹

Zayne spots a small line for a flower stall and asks if she’d like to pick some up. Her eyes clear their way through enough haze to get a confirmation out, and when he tries parking her on a bench to wait, she just shrugs him off and insists on coming with to pick out the arrangement herself. He’s never had much practice in telling her no, not a decade or six months or a week or a second ago. 

He wouldn’t start now.

The florist—Jeremiah, the name tag reads—eyes her in a way that had him eye him himself. He looked fresh out of college, painfully young and naive looking, but the familiarity in which he was assessing the way her eyes roamed over the day’s selection spoke of genuine curiosity.

Zayne gets in his line of vision before any of it morphs into interest. “How much for 2 wreaths?”

Jeremiah stares up at him, and he can see the mental gears shifting on his head, noting the fine line of his shoulders that imposed unmoving stability and no room for coercion. The knife-level precision of a surgeon that sharpened when needed.

“If it’s for the miss,” he says instead, surprising Zayne. “It’s on the house.”

⊹

The painter gave her an oil portrait of their last family picture that would never wither, not even if it sunk to the bottom of the ocean. The hunter traveled to another planet to procure especially rare star fragments of their birthdays, it’s luminescence always shining no matter if they were in Linkon or sitting on another fabric of time altogether.

Zayne, though: he could be here. He could happen here. With her, for her, by her. 

⊹

They get to the graveyard to no fanfare. There had been an earlier funeral that day it seemed, the smell of ash in the air and barren soil marrying with the rose beds lining up the path of the entrance. She is quiet. Zayne is, too, but: he’s never known her to be quiet. Her black slip dress wove it’s way with the wind with each step, but it felt papery and wispy, like the rest of her dull eyes going over some of the gravestones they passed by on the way.

He feels—more than sees—each step growing heavier for her. She won’t reach for him, not of her own accord, he’s always known this; and so he has to meet her where she was at. And where she was at right now was someone not in a position to do any of that if it meant complicating things.

The click of her heels and the patter of his shoes stop under the shade of a willow tree. Under it lay two silver-grey tombstones, freshly cleaned and laid out.

Zayne holds his breath. His hold on the wreaths, even tighter. Little autumn leaves drop feather-light kisses on their bodies, and the sun is starting to hide beyond the horizon, but through it all they paid no mind.

She inches a step closer. Then another. Then another. 

Zayne thinks she starts saying something as she carefully kneels over the first grave, but he doesn’t move closer to confirm. Instead he plucks a single rose out of their bouquet and perches it on her tombstone just delicately so. As he does, he feels her eyes on him. The first probably since. He feels her remembering, probably, the mint candy he gave both of them at every check-up and how accustomed—maybe even expectant—they’d both grown to it. 

He remembers more than that though.

A warm meal on sudden nights his parents were called in for emergency surgeries. A warm bed when she refused to make him leave and sleep on the chill of an empty home. Another emergency contact on his file, too, on the off chance neither of his parents could make it to his earlier flare-up episodes at school. A kind compliment thrown his way when he graduated highschool at the top of his class, Caleb grinning ear-to-ear next to her with a camera ready. A stern but firm reminder to not skip his meals when he should be the one doling those out being on the physician's end. A plea this time—real and raw and urgent—to take care of her, once she’s long passed, once she felt her days start getting even more numbered and how she’d trust her life with his and Caleb’s and no one else.

Zayne remembers all that as he deposits the single red rose.

After, he backs away and leans over just enough to ghost a kiss on the top of her head as he says gently, “I’ll just be here,” before giving her all the time in the world.

⊹

Caleb got a hero’s funeral just two days after they confirmed the bodies. 

Zayne was there with her, too, in big and bright and sunlit Skyhaven: he saw the way her eyes walked themselves farther and farther away from her soul as they lit up the jets and blew smoke on his coffin. It was grand and she just needed to be small. Zayne supposes it was hard for her to feel like Caleb was hers when she had to share his last moments with the Fleet, and harder, thinks Zayne: to remember who he was when they insisted on decorating him like a war hero when she just needed her best friend.

During the procession, as his commander doled on and on about his achievements and they had someone named Gideon recount some of his academy days and she wasn’t even processing much of anything, Zayne put a hand to her knee. It never left the entire ceremony, not even when they were flown back into Linkon that same night and he made her warm tea and she asked if he could stay the night and he couldn’t find enough compartmentalization in his heart to say no.

“I do not know,” sighs Zayne, eyes roaming over the next tombstone over, “exactly what to feel now that you have driven her to tears again for probably the last time, Caleb.”

⊹

“I’m sorry.”

When the words tumble themselves out of his mouth, Zayne is surprised to find the tang of it unfamiliar. They’re back in his apartment and he’s fixing her a meal and he wishes they were doing this under different circumstances, and wishes he had her without the doubt of whether her pain was the only thing binding her to him. Belatedly, he realizes he’s never said those words to her. Not when it happened and not during. There’s a bit of bile pooling around the bottom of his stomach, an internal alarm system warning him he was crossing over dangerous and uncharted territory. His relationship with her was a study in boundaries, he the enforcerer even with all her efforts to gun him down. 

She looks at him though, and for a beat, his world just stops. “For what?”

“For losing both of them,” Zayne says. “There is no greater pain.”

The corners of her eyes are an ocean with piranhas. It’s drowning in itself. Only Zayne, Zayne: he thinks he can’t do the saving for her. Not for this. There’s a clear demarcation line between loss and love and he wasn’t sure he was necessarily in a position he wouldn’t be tempted to cross over some of those himself if only to get her to stop crying. She just lost her grandmother and bestfriend and if what she needed of him was to mold himself into insurance, he’d be the best goddamn security blanket there was.

But then—

“Thank you,” she says, and then: “And I’m sorry too.”

Now it was Zayne’s time to look puzzled. “For what?”

She looks at him—properly looks at him—with the predators in her eyes and the toxic waste in his stomach that had him realize maybe she wanted some lines crossed herself. “I’m sorry because you lost them, too.”

[parkerloves]

FINALLY || JMM21 x GN!Reader

paring: pepe marti x partner!reader

type: smut

request?: yess based on this one

summary: Pepe had a lifelong crush on you, he wanted you to be the person he started it all with, and when you two finally started dating, you decided to make sure it was the perfect first time.

word count: 1.8 K

fc; n/a

warnings: reader is wearing a dress,+ 18, sub!pepe, virgin!pepe, soft!dom!reader?, dry humping, porn with almost no plot, protected penetration, teasing, dirty talk¿ and pet names (baby & pretty boy)

[masterlist]

You had been waiting a few weeks to make everything happen in the way he deserved, after all your boyfriend deserved something special considering that he had saved even his first kiss for you, and it wasn't that you didn't want to touch him from the first moment, it was just that you wanted it to be something special for him.

So you waited for the summer break, knowing that much of it would be spent with you because it was the little quality time you got to spent together, and on one of those days while he was at the gym you took it upon yourself to put your little plan into action.

You had decided to go out to eat, and you decided to put on that dress that he had confessed to you that drove him crazy and left everything at home ready to only have to leave the house when your boyfriend had already changed from the gym.

“Wow… yeah I will never get tired of this dress” he said giving you a little spin and kissing you.

The rest of the night was as amazing as ever, him being first and foremost the reason you couldn't stop smiling and you being the person he had wanted for as long as he could remember.

As always the ride back to your house was by uber, and his lips were glued to yours as soon as you got in the car, because although Pepe respected above all that you wanted to be something private it seemed impossible for him not to be able to kiss you all day.

His hand went to your waist as soon as you gently opened your mouth to let his tongue enter your mouth, something you didn't always allow but he never stopped to wonder why, he just accepted it.

When you two arrived at your house between kisses and small touches, your hand soon went to the collar of his shirt to pull him towards the inside of your house.

“Please” Was the only thing you could hear coming out of the boy's mouth when you were finally inside and he pressed his body to yours with an air of need "I want to- fuck" He murmured against your skin with a moan at the slightest contact he had at that moment "Please I need you"

You smiled against his lips at his words, knowing that he had been trying to get to anything for a few weeks now and he was finally going to get what his body was screaming for.

“Someone has no patience huh?” you smiled before leading him to your room amidst more kisses and inexperienced touches from Pepe, as this was the first time you were letting him go through with it all, but he was too into the moment to wonder why.

A smell that he did not usually identify with your house reached the boy's nose, causing his lips to part from yours for a moment, looking for the origin of that change, and it was then when his gaze came to your room, seeing what you had prepared just for him.

You took very seriously the fact of making that special for him, leaving the room illuminated and scented by some candles (which he himself had chosen without noticing it) plus some flower petals from the flowers that he had been giving you and had fallen over time.

“Glad you like it” You chuckled softly as you noticed how the grip he had on your waist tightened gently and his face went back to hiding in your neck.

“You didn't have to do this.”

“But i wanted to” You kissed his cheek before grabbing his chin to make him look at your face, noticing a soft blush on his cheeks "Now, relax… Let me take care of you" You kissed his cheek again as you led him to the bed.

When he was seated and you were on his lap, it was a matter of a few seconds before his lips met yours again, slipping his arms around your waist to keep you close to him.

Though he didn't put up any kind of resistance when you gently pulled away, as it didn't take him long to notice how one of your hands slipped under his shirt, causing a faint moan to escape his mouth, which got lost in the kiss he was still holding almost desperately.

But Pepe's attempts to keep the volume low began to fail as your lips moved to his neck and your hands began to unbutton his shirt, as there was no longer anything with which he could silence his little sounds no matter how much his lip was caught by his teeth to create a barrier of sorts.

“Don't be shy baby, i want to hear you” You said gently biting his neck, which caused just what you were looking for a whine to come out of his mouth ‘There it is, just like that’ You murmured moving your hands up to his chest to lay him down on the bed.

“Don't be a tease” He practically begged you as instinctively his hips lifted, seeking contact with yours.

“But you look so so cute like this” You replied as you began to unbutton his shirt at a pace that was killing him at that moment.

Pepe's hips rose against yours again, seeking even a little more contact, and this time just to make his situation worse, you moved yours in time with him.

Your hands finished unbuttoning his shirt, leaving his chest in your view, which although it was something you had already seen countless times the view improved when you had him under you with his eyes closed and his mouth ajar.

“Such in a rush, pretty boy?” you said running your hands down his torso knowing that whatever he was doing you were provoking it.

“Stop- joder- the teasing” He asked opening his eyes softly to put them on you although they soon closed again when your hand rested on his erection "No no no no, please, I need you, need to feel you" His words were cut off by the whimpers that came out of his mouth every time he received any kind of contact from you.

“My baby needs to feel me around him so bad huh?”

“Yes, please, plea-, please, please, I've waited enough” He pleaded with a higher pitched tone of voice than usual and pressing his erection against your body "let me be inside you".

You decided without giving him what he was looking for, getting rid of his pants and underwear before doing exactly the same with your clothes, although in a much slower way, being able to notice Pepe's pleading gaze running over your body.

Finishing with that little torture you returned to the bed, sitting on his lap and causing for the first time your naked bodies to touch, which made you both moan at the contact before bringing your lips together in a kiss.

“Let me put on this first” You murmured into the kiss as you put on a condom you had left on the bedside table in your room on purpose before bringing your lips together again.

You brought Pepe's hands to your waist as you moved your hips up so that you were finally over his cock, letting him get the slightest bit of contact with your entrance that was already begging for attention as well.

You broke away from the kiss long enough to be able to look at him, you wanted to see his face at the same time as you began to lower your hips on him, causing his moans and grunts to join yours.

“That's it, you're filling me up so good” You said once you were fully seated in his lap and he threw his head back again in pleasure, causing you to have to grab his chin to bring his eyes back to you.

“M-move? Por favor?” his head was already starting to go fuzzy and when that happened the two languages he spoke the most would come together in his head, luckily you had known him for long enough to know what he was saying at the time

For once you decided to heed what he was asking the first time around, bringing your hips back up before dropping them against his, a gesture he reciprocated as soon as he understood what was going on.

“God, you feel so- joder, too good” He sat up just enough so he could hide in your neck, but since you didn't want to lose eye contact you grabbed his chin to make him look at you while you kept moving your hips.

It seemed impossible for Pepe's mouth to close at that moment, it was always between open and little sounds that tried to be words came out of his mouth.

To avoid being so loud, his lips stuck to your skin, softly kissing your shoulder and collarbone while his eyes tried to stay on you despite the over stimulating sensations he was feeling at that moment.

“te quiero- i love you, please no pares, don't stop” Your eyes had closed for a moment so you could immerse yourself in the sensation, but you couldn't help but open them again as a smile graced your face as you listened to you

“i love you too baby, you're doing so good.”

You knew it wouldn't last too long as it was his first time, so when after a minute you felt him tighten inside you, you decided to speed up your movements a little.

“hold it for me pretty boy, let me cum with you” You whispered looking down at him from above, winning for a moment his gaze, which was pleading and above all full of pleasure.

He nodded softly before moaning at the intensity of your movements, wrapping a little tighter around your hips and letting you move at whatever pace you wanted, now focusing all his strength on doing what you had asked him to do.

It was costing him hell to do as you asked, as it was not only what he was feeling, but every moan that came out of your mouth knowing that he had provoked it drove him crazy, every time he heard how his hips bumped against yours he knew he wouldn't hesitate much longer.

“I-I'm close, estoy muy cerca, are-are you close?” he asked almost in a stammer as he kept kissing your skin, but he didn't even need a verbal response when without warning your hands went up to his cheeks so you could kiss him again.

That was the last thing he could take before he cummed, letting a little cry choke in your mouth as you slowly slowed your movements, always leaving little kisses on his mouth.

“That was- It was- god, i love you so much” He murmured against your lips as he wrapped his arms around you and lay back down on the bed with you on top of him, pulling out then inside of you.

“I love you too baby”

[yurisblooming]

♡₊✧. The Boy Next Door ♡₊˚✧. —008. Waiting for me?

♡₊✧. Sypnosis: Transferring universities meant a fresh start. You’d finally reunite with your friends, have your own space, and meet new people. That included your neighbors: Riwoo, who you barely saw, Taesan, who you found yourself crushing on cute, calm, and collected, and lastly, Woonhak… outgoing, lively, friendly, and most of all, really loud. He was nice, yeah but you couldn’t ignore his late-night gaming screams, cursing his teammates and ruining your sleep. Yet, every time you knocked on his door, his stupid, apologetic smile made you forget why, maybe even feel… butterflies?

not like it mattered, he was just your neighbor. and you only cared about his roommate… right?

a/n: sad moment... a bit of angst? I don't know... word count 505! I promise to post an update before wednesday to make up for this written chapter TT^TT

It was 9:30 p.m. You sat in the middle of a luxurious Italian restaurant, one Sunghoon had insisted on taking you to. He’d noticed you acting a little off since he picked you up, but he didn’t say anything, just focused on ordering food for both of you—along with the wine you insisted on having. The night dragged on with small talk about class, his modeling career, and campus life.

A silence settled between you as you looked around, mentally preparing yourself.

"So... are you gonna tell me what we need to talk about, or do you need more wine?" he asked, his voice serious. Your brain froze for a few seconds before you took a deep breath, avoiding his gaze.

"Do you like me?" The words tumbled out too fast, and your cheeks burned. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, caught off guard.

"Why?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You hesitated, worried about his answer. "Just... the way you acted around Woonhak, how you always make clothing pieces just for me, how you're always there, taking care of me, never getting mad. You're not like this with the other girls, so why me?"

He sighed, taking a sip of his cola. "I don’t know," he admitted. "I did like you at first, when we met. I didn’t want to just be your friend, so I treated you differently from Wonyoung and Winter, hoping you’d notice. But as we got closer and I realized you only saw me as a friend, I buried those feelings. I don’t like you like that anymore, but there were romantic feelings at some point. If I suddenly started treating you the same as the others, I knew you’d overthink it and come crying, asking if I hated you." He let out a small chuckle. "So yeah, it just became natural."

You listened, feeling a tightness in your chest. "I'm sorry, Sunghoon."

He laughed softly. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Y/N. I never told you—I just expected you to notice, but I should’ve known you weren’t the smartest." His teasing tone lightened the moment. "And it’s fine. I really don’t like you like that anymore. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with Woonhak. I don’t know what came over me."

"It’s okay, don’t worry about it," you whispered, reaching across the table to gently caress his hand, offering him a small smile.

Dinner continued at its slow but steady pace. After Sunghoon paid, you offered to buy him coffee the next day, which he agreed to. He drove you home, and as you stepped out, you said, "I’ll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah yeah" he replied as you shut the door.

You entered the building, taking the elevator up. As you stepped out and walked down the hallway, you spotted Woonhak standing outside his dorm, gazing at the city lights. He looked nervous, even stressed. You let out a small laugh, deciding to tease him.

"Waiting for me?" you asked playfully.

He looked at you slightly surprised before nodding. "Yeah."

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[cozmowrites]

It'll Pass

The sky was heavy with the threat of rain, clouds swirling in muted gray. It felt fitting, almost poetic, for the storm that churned inside you. The words you’d been holding back for months now weighed heavily on your chest, threatening to choke you if they didn’t come out. Your hands were clammy, clutching the hem of your sweater as you stood just a few feet away from Bakugou Katsuki.

He looked so serene, leaning against the wall of the empty training hall. His crimson eyes, sharp and alert, stared out into the open courtyard. The harshness that usually defined him seemed to soften in the pale light. For a moment, you let yourself believe he could be yours.

“Katsuki,” you finally said, the tremor in your voice betraying your inner turmoil.

He turned his head toward you, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “What?” His tone was casual but tinged with impatience. He’d always been like this—biting his words—but that didn’t make you love him any less.

“I...” The lump in your throat grew as you struggled to form the words. Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest, a frantic rhythm that screamed for release. “I need to tell you something.”

“Then spit it out already, I'm waiting.” His arms crossed over his chest, a gesture that was so classically Bakugou. You hated how your heart skipped a beat at how effortlessly cool he looked.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his piercing gaze. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you like a fragile thread, delicate and easily broken. The weight of your confession pressed down on you, and you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t anticipated. For a fleeting moment, his eyes widened in surprise, but the expression was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

He didn’t say anything right away, and the silence was deafening. Your heart sank further with each passing second, dread pooling in your stomach. You had hoped—no, prayed—that he might feel the same. That maybe he’d say the words back or at least give you something to hold onto.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, almost detached. “It’ll pass.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you wondered if you had misheard him. “What?” You whispered, barely able to get the word out.

Bakugou sighed, running a hand through his ash-blond hair. “You’ll get over it,” he said, his tone dismissive. “It’s just some stupid crush or whatever. It’s not a big deal. You're probably feeling that dumb way because we've been training a lot lately.”

Your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here, not now. “It’s not a crush,” you said, your voice cracking. “I’ve been in love with you for months. This isn’t just something I’ll ‘get over.’”

He frowned, his expression unreadable. “Look, I’m not good at this shit, okay? I don’t—” He paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “I don’t do love." He said it like it was a disease. "I’ve got too much to focus on to be dealing with.. whatever this is.” He looked disgusted.

Whatever this is. His words cut deeper than you thought possible. You had bared your heart to him, and he had brushed it aside like it was nothing. Like you were nothing.

“I see,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. You took a step back, putting more distance between you. “I guess I was stupid for thinking you might care.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything to contradict you. He just stood there, watching as you crumbled before him. You wanted to scream, to demand why he was so cruel, but you couldn’t find the strength. All you could do was turn and walk away, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The rain finally began to fall as you stepped outside, the cold droplets mixing with the tears streaming down your face. You didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. There was no point. You had given him everything—your heart, your soul—and he had tossed it aside like it was nothing.

You should have known better. Bakugou Katsuki was a force of nature, a hurricane that left destruction in its wake. You had gotten too close, thinking you could weather the storm, but now you were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart.

As you disappeared into the rain, Bakugou stayed where he was, staring at the spot where you had just stood. His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to call out to you, to take back what he had said, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t know how to handle feelings like this—messy, complicated, and terrifying.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. He knew he’d hurt you, and the realization twisted something deep inside him. But instead of chasing after you, he stayed rooted in place, letting the moment slip through his fingers.

After all, he was Bakugou Katsuki. And he didn’t deserve love.

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[multiversefanfics]

Kissy Kissy

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader Summary: Sam wants to kiss you, you want to kiss Sam, but neither of you will make the first move. Warnings: cussing, mention of sex

You've known the Winchester boys for a very long time, they were like brothers to you, well Dean was. You had a huge crush on Sam, but it doesn't seem like he's interested in you, Dean doesn't know either even though he suspects things but will never say anything because he doesn't know for sure.

The boys were on a job, and you waited patiently for them to return. Usually, you went with them, but this time, you chose to stay back and clean up a bit. The house wasn't dirty because you were barely in it, but you needed to keep busy. You danced around while you swept up the kitchen, singing along to the song playing.

You were so focused on dancing and cleaning you didn't hear the front door open until you turned around and were surprised by them, you screamed and threw the broom at Dean who quickly caught it with one hand "A little warning next time would be great." You rolled your eyes clutching your chest "Sorry, Sweetheart thought you heard us." Dean chuckled and handed the broom back to you.

You smiled up at Sam who came over giving you a big bear hug. "Someone missed me." You giggled, hugging him back "Of course I missed you. What's not to miss." Sam cleared his throat and put you down "I mean, you know uh never mind." Sam shuffled away into the kitchen. You looked over at Dean, who ignored the little interaction between you and Sam and went straight to the TV

"So, Dean." You strolled over, sat down beside him, rested your feet on his lap, looking over at him, he sighed and looked over at you "Yes, Y/N." You loved bothering Dean more than anything "Did you miss me as much as Sammy did?" Dean rolled his eyes and moved your feet off of him "One, only I get to call him Sammy; two, no, I didn't." You heard Sam walk up behind you guys "She can call me Sammy." You looked up at Sam, who stood there smiling like an idiot.

"You guys make me sick." Dean stood up and walked to his room you giggled and watched Sam walk around the couch and sit down "I'm assuming he got beat up on the job." Sam nodded and turned the channel on the TV. You watched as Sam flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch you couldn't help but admire his focused face. "You know, if you took a picture, it might last longer." Sam uttered, not taking his eyes off the screen you felt your cheeks heat up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." You looked down at your hands sheepishly "I didn't say I didn't like it." He looked over at you and smiled, you met his gaze and smiled back at him soon; you were both staring at each other, and just like in the movies, the two of you slowly leaned into each other as if a magnet was pulling you both in. Your eyes flickered from his lips to his eyes basically begging him to kiss you.

Suddenly, he pulls back "Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." You sighed and sat back against the couch "It's okay, I don't know what I was thinking, uh, I'm going to go lay down." You quickly got up from the couch and headed toward your room. You looked at Dean's door, and before you knew it, you were knocking on it. You earned a 'come in' and you quickly walked in leaning against the now shut door.

Dean looked at you and furrowed his eyebrows, followed by an eye roll when he saw the look on your face "What's wrong?" You slowly slid down the door, groaning on the way down. "Sam and I almost kissed, but he pulled back and apologized and said he didn't mean to. Dean, all I wanted these past few months was to kiss Sam, and each time we got close, he backs away or you walk in, and he gets all scared." You took a deep breath and looked up at Dean.

He rolled his eyes and walked over, picking you up off the floor, his hands on your shoulders he looks you dead in the eyes and smirked "It sounds like you both need to grow a pair." You pouted and leaned your forehead on his chest, he kissed the top of your head and let out a deep breath "I'm sorry, sweetheart why don't you lay down in here and I'll go get you some cold water." You nodded against his chest and walked over to his bed still pouting

He shook his head at you and went downstairs to get you water, where he found Sam pacing back and forth in the kitchen "Whoa there, flash, what's up your ass?" Dean already knew, but he needed to hear it from Sam. He stopped pacing and looked at Dean "I almost kissed Y/N, but I pulled back and now I think she hates me." Dean chuckled and grabbed a bottle of water

"What's funny?" Dean shook his head looking back at Sam "You both need to grow a pair; I have an idea why don't you take this water to my room and give it to her and then just kiss her." Sam took the water bottle and paused "Why is she in your room?" Dean could see how mad Sam was getting, Sam liked you a lot and the thought of losing you to Dean sent him into a frenzy, seething with jealousy.

"Relax, Hulk. She came up there to talk to me after you pussied out, go kiss her so we can all move on." Sam walked up the stairs without another word and into Dean's room "Sorry, Dean, I hope you don't mind I borrowed a pair of your sweat- You're not Dean." You sat up on Dean's bed, looking at Sam "Yeah, I need to talk to you." Sam sat down in front of you, handing you the water bottle, you took the bottle from him, drinking some of it.

Sam took a deep breath, cupped your cheeks, and pressed his lips to yours; you gladly kissed him back. You crawled into his lap and straddled it. The kiss deepened, not wanting it to end, but something about needing to breathe got in the way of that. The two of you slowly pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. "I've been wanting to do that for years!" Sam uttered breathlessly.

Just then, someone cleared their throat behind Sam "Now that you two love birds finally kissed, can you get off my bed before you end up having sex on it." Sam rolled his eyes and lifted you off the bed, you squealed and wrapped your legs around his waist, as you passed Dean, you had Sam stop walking "Might want to get some ear plugs, it's going to be a wild ride." You winked at Dean, and Sam continued to his room.

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Main Masterlist - Sam Winchester Masterlist

[savagewildnerness]

You could literally never talk too much about Nicolas for me! Never fear! In fact, it will be you asking me to be quiet and me saying too much! Apologies. My reply here is long!

I have never heard of "cyclothymia" before. The name sounds so poetic, so already I like it, hehe. I know that shouldn't be the point! I can see this, because were it more severe, even in this era I imagine people would speak in a different way about Nicolas. Probably not Lestat. But other people likely would. Even though they wouldn't have this terminology. Nicolas struggles, but he is able to hide it enough to function in a way that appears as though he is OK from the perspective of others. Thank you for teaching me my new word and fact of the day here too!

So, while I agree that how Armand tortures Nicolas fully breaks his final shreds of reason, personally I think the point of no return for Nicolas is earlier than Armand's abduction.

I think Nicolas' mind is broken beyond repair the night Lestat has his on-stage breakdown at Renaud's and then Nicolas watches him be shot dead, but survive.

Lestat writes:

"Nicki had raced up the stairs and was now rushing into the box. A low hysterical murmuring was issuing from him. He thought he was witnessing my death. And I stood still hearkening to my body in that terrible solitude that had been mine since Magnus made me the vampire. And I knew the wounds were no longer there. The blood was drying on the silk vest, drying on the back of my torn coat. My body throbbed where the bullet had passed through me and my veins were alive with the same pulling, but the injury was no more. And Nicolas, coming to his senses as he looked at me, realised I was unharmed, though his reason told him it couldn't be true. I pushed past him and made for the stairs. He flung himself against me and I threw him off. I couldn't stand the sight of him, the smell of him. "Get away from me!" I said. But he came back again and he locked his arm around my neck. His face was bloated and there was an awful sound coming out of him. "Let go of me. Nicki!" I threatened him. If I shoved him off too roughly, I'd tear his arms out of the sockets, break his back. Break his back . . . He moaned, stuttered. And for one harrowing split second the sounds he made were as terrible as the sound that had come from my dying animal on the mountain, my horse, crushed like an insect into the snow. I scarcely knew what I was doing when I pried loose his hands. The crowd broke, screaming, when I walked out onto the boulevard. Renaud ran forward, in spite of those trying to restrain him. "Monsieur!" He grabbed my hand to kiss it and stopped, staring at the blood. "Nothing, my dear Renaud," I said to him, quite surprised at the steadiness of my voice and its softness. But something distracted me as I started to speak again, something I should hearken to, I thought vaguely, yet I went on. "Don't give it a thought, my dear Renaud," I said. "Stage blood, nothing but an illusion. It was all an illusion. A new kind of theatrical. Drama of the grotesque, yes, the grotesque." But again came that distraction, something I was sensing in the melee around me, people shuffling and pushing to get close but not too close, Nicolas stunned and staring. "Go on with your plays," I was saying, almost unable to concentrate on my own words, "Your acrobats, your tragedies, your more civilized theatricals, if you like." I pulled the bank notes out of my pocket and put them in his unsteady hand. I spilled gold coins onto the pavement. The actors darted forward fearfully to gather them up. I scanned the crowd around for the source of this strange distraction, what was it, not Nicolas in the door of the deserted theatre, watching me with a broken soul."

Lestat compares Nicki to his dying mare here and I think from this point on, Nicolas, just like Lestat's mare will die. The only hope, I think would have been if Lestat had taken Nicki with him this night and at least told him some thing he could understand (Tell some lie! Anything! He needed some understanding. But Lestat couldn't have done this as the state of mind and lack of physical control he was in, he would more likely have killed Nicki that night, no matter what he might have intended.)

Anyway, Nicolas leaves Renaud's and never goes back. He leaves his violin locked in the dressing room and never plays it again as a mortal, until Lestat retrieves it once he is a vampire. He stops eating, drinks as if actively trying to die, spends existence wandering in the worst and most dangerous places, fully believes Lestat must have never loved him now because his mind has no other way he can comprehend what he experienced this night other than that Lestat is part of some secret sorcery society which he considers Nicolas too lowly in status to be let in on the knowledge himself. Nicolas must think now that he has been stupid and naive and that actually Lestat never loved him and he didn't know him the way he had thought.

And as I write this I realise that at this point, Nicolas has become the exact type of mortal Armand seeks for his victims. Nicolas is actively inviting death. And Armand is death. I can only imagine the kind of things Armand must have said to Nicolas in his mind. Armand, also religious understands Nicolas' religious upbringing in a way Lestat cannot truly as well. And Armand can use both his understanding of Nicolas' religion as well as all of Nicolas' deepest fears about Lestat that he can read in Nicki's mind against Nicki to further disintegrate Nicolas' last shreds of reason. As if the torture by an entire coven of monstrous vampires, alongside discovering your love is one such creature wasn't enough for his already shattered soul to fully dissolve.

But I think even if Armand had not abducted Nicolas, Nicolas was already just as much at the point of no hope and no return by this point, as I see it.

In terms of the violin virtuoso Nicolas heard... I'm going to say that if Anne Rice had intended a specific virtuoso she would have named them. After all, she names Mozart as teaching Nicolas. I also am not sure how deeply she considered every aspect around Nicolas and his music. For example, there is no way in reality that Nicolas could have picked up the violin having never played before and reached the standard he does in... well it cannot have been more than a year Nicki has played for, right? Doesn't Gabrielle say he doesn't begin playing till he is 20 and he is made a vampire at 21. Nicolas might bemoan that he can never be as good as he would like on violin, but the reality is he'd have to be an actual savant to get to the skill level he does in so short a time. It's miraculous! Even if he'd been playing 2, 3 years - it's impossible he's so good as he is. And I know Mozart was strapped for cash, but I find it hard to believe he'd have taken on absolute beginners as students...? Unless the children of someone very important...? But then, I guess if Nicolas progressed at this genius level, that's no issue as he wouldn't be a beginner presumably by the time Mozart taught him.

Anyway, Tartini is a good call as inspiration... and maybe even more I'd say as inspiration for Nicolas himself. As Tartini studied divinity and law. How Nicolas can you get?! And of course, The Devil's Violinist himself, Paganini has to be an inspiration for Anne - for Nicolas and for the violinist he heard. Tartini is a little too early for Nicolas to have heard him and Paganini too late. But there must have been so many violin virtuosos of the time.

If we want to think of actual possibilities though, a pupil of Tartini's school seems likely to me: Pietro Nardini is a possibility, a friend of Mozart's Father, or Gaetano Pugnani however, I imagine Nicolas being astonished by someone closer to his own age, so I look at Pugnani's pupil, Giovanni Battista Viotti. Viotti made his debut in Paris in 1782, so it's slightly too late, but I think it's asking a lot to find a virtuoso exactly as Anne describes on exactly the right date (I presume around 1778/1779.)

I think there's zero chance we'll see Nicki's inspiration on TV... which is a shame, as although not Italian as Anne describes, wouldn't Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint-Georges have been a great inspiration for the virtuoso TV-Nicolas heard? Anyway... I'm very much in danger of losing myself in a 18th century violin virtuoso deep dive, so I'll end there...!!

"The glaze over his eyes broke instantly into tears. His face knotted. Unspoken words coming from him of love". This is what Lestat read in the mind of the mortal Nicki before making him a vampire, and thoughts cannot be faked. The mortal Nicki loved Lestat until his last breath.

Yes! I love this moment. Just moments before Lestat turns Nicolas, and Nicolas still loves Lestat.

As a vampire, the main feeling is heated hatred from both Nicolas and Lestat towards each other. But for me, even then it doesn't mean the end of love. Rather it is borne of love. And love does still exist. Lestat cannot bear the dight of Nicolas now. And yet he also cannot bear the thought of him not existing. Nicki cannot bear to look upon Lestat now. And yet, I fancy part of why is that Nicki himself knows clearly he's headed to death once he is a vampire and now he surely wouldn't want to drag Lestat there too. Much as Lestat cannot stand the sight of vampire Nicolas, I do not think Lestat would have left him, had Nicki not so forcefully pushed Lestat to leave. So Lestat and we should thank Nicki for it. It's far from certain there's any love at all left in Nicki at this time. But I'm just saying, it could still be one motivation, amid Nicolas' hatred, beyond Nicki's mania. In Nicki's final cruelty towards Lestat, he actually enables Lestat to live his immortal life.

Even years on, Lestat goes Into The Earth when Nicki dies. Of course, Lestat suffers many other losses at this time too. But would a Lestat himself only 30 in mortal years have survived watching Nicolas suffer in that decade and eventually go into the fire in an exact recreation of The Witches' Place. I do not think Lestat's heart could have withstood that. Even as things are, Gabrielle worries Lestat might end himself when leaving him.

Yeah. Nicolas, always destined to end in tragedy.

[little-chaos-arts]

Was reminded of my Degrassi phase today and had to finally gush about how these two scenes reminded me of one another (technically only the jatp one since Degrassi came first)

I don't have much to say except that I regularly think about this parallel since jatp came out....

I love both their dynamics and both scenes are just so.....Ahhhhh (pun intended)

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.