#when... there was no way for me to learn to read or write?
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annasellheim · 5 hours ago
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So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).
Anyway, the story:
I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.
"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned these techniques, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.
We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. But I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching, overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together. And there were 25 of you in my class, it took me a few years to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom. Again, I'm really sorry for the pain it caused."
I tried to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dish any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons.
The man in front of me was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I might be reading too much into it.
I took a sip of my coffee.
"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"
He looked surprised and snorted.
"What?"
"You swore."
It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.
Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."
"I never thought of it that way..."
"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."
We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.
"Do you still make art?"
"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"
"Your last required art class. Got it."
I gave him a side eyed glance.
"You know you could get back into it at any time, right?"
He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.
I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.
"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.
The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."
I gave him my business card.
"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."
We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.
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Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.
The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy
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covenofagatha · 2 days ago
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I'm a good girl, Detective (Part 3)
Word count: ~2600
Warnings: pure filth, rough sex, strap-on, blowjob, oral, lots of degradation but also softness
A/N: the part 3 no one asked for lol, just wanted a little break from sugar mommy Agatha plot to write some rough sex but part 2 for that story should be up tomorrow. Hope you guys enjoy!
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You can tell by the way that the door to the house slams open that your girlfriend has had a bad day. 
All you were doing was dusting off the countertop and arranging a vase of daisies in one of Agnes’s purple t-shirts when all of a sudden, a sound reverberated through the walls. 
Keys jangle loudly as they’re thrown into the key bowl by the entrance and footstops make their way into the kitchen. You look up and give your girlfriend, who is wearing an angry expression and the pants she always looks so good in, a cheerful smile. 
She doesn’t return it. Your lips drop into a frown. 
You moved in with Agnes only about a week after that fateful night when she had finally given into your flirting and fucked you. It had been a month since then, a month since you had stopped being a prostitute and instead stayed at home while Detective Agnes Harkness went off to work everyday. 
In that month, you had learned a lot about her: favorite foods, favorite movies, how to read her moods, how sometimes she wanted to come home and make out with you for hours with you on her lap, or sometimes she wanted you to eat her out, or she wanted to fuck you roughly in the bed you shared. It depended on how the workday had gone. 
But you’re not sure you’d ever seen her like this. 
She is steaming. She had at least never not smiled back at you. 
“Baby, you okay?” You ask tentatively. Agnes had walked straight past you and grabbed a bottle of beer. She scoffs and turns around to lean against the counter so she’s facing you. You’re distracted for a second by her finger tracing the rim of the bottle but you snap back to focus on her. 
“Work was awful,” she practically growls. “Everyone I work with is completely incompetent and Chief doesn’t give a fuck, just expects me to clean up everyone’s messes.”
“Aw, I’m sorry,” you say and walk over to her. She raises an eyebrow at your proximity and you wrap your arms around her shoulders. She tenses for a moment and then the hand not holding her drink comes around you. The two of you stay like that for a beat before you ask “Is there anything I can do?” The words come out hotly muffled against her neck and you don’t miss the goosebumps that rise. 
“Hmm, that depends,” she muses thoughtfully. Confused, you pick your head out of the crook it was resting in and look at her. For the first time this evening, you see a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Can you be a good toy and let me use you for some stress relief?” 
Dumbfounded (and immediately turned on), you nod eagerly. She cups your chin and tilts it up so she can see you better. 
“I need you to say it, doll.” 
“Fuck, please, Agnes, use me, want you to use me,” you plead frantically. All you need right now is her hands on you. 
Her eyes trace your face, looking for a hint of doubt or hesitation. When they find none, her hand slides down to your throat and she squeezes and drags your mouth to hers. She wastes no time sucking on your tongue and stealing your breath with the filthy and bruising kiss. You don’t even notice that she’s walking you backwards until you hit the wall and she slides a thigh between your legs. 
You’re already so wet – you always are, for you – so you start to grind. She breaks the kiss to lean back as much as she can and watch you move on her. Amusement is written on her face and she takes a sip of the drink still in her hand and then presses the bottle to your lips. 
Not breaking eye contact, she raises it and you open your mouth so the beer can slide down while your hips are still rubbing your cunt against her leg. It’s an act that isn’t sexual in nature, but turns you on even more just the same. You can almost feel the electricity in the air between you and she tips the bottle up even more. 
She laughs when you splutter on the drink and pulls you back in for another kiss. You whine into her mouth, needing more than just her thigh. 
And then her leg between yours is gone. You whimper before you can stop yourself at the loss of the stimulation. 
You’re still aching though. 
She walks back to put the beer bottle on the counter and then back to you, your heart rate climbing drastically. 
Before you can think, she grabs your bicep and whirls you around, shoving you against the wall. She grabs your wrists and holds them together. A moan escapes from your mouth at the roughness, which turns you on more than you thought it would. You hear her fumbling with something and then you feel cold metal click around your right wrist, and then your left. 
You gasp involuntarily. 
She handcuffed you. 
If you weren’t already dripping before, you certainly are now. 
Agnes soothingly runs a hand on your asscheek over your (her) shirt. And then she leans in, presses her body against yours, and you feel a hardness in her pants. 
Your brain short-circuits. 
She must realize you’ve caught on and she moves her hips up, grinding the toy against you. 
“Fuck,” you whisper, already dizzy with pleasure. 
“Do you remember the safe word? Because I’m going to be rough, baby,” she says right into your ear. 
You nod. “It’s ‘cake.’ Please, Agnes, want you to be rough, please use me.” You’re babbling now and you can feel her smiling against your skin. 
“Good girl,” she purrs and spins you back around. “Get on your knees.” 
The tile floor stings on your bare knees but you don’t even wince. You barely even notice it with how needy you are for her. What you do notice is the wet spot that is now on her navy pants from you rubbing yourself on her. 
“Such a desperate slut, aren’t you,” Agnes says fondly, clearly seeing it herself. 
“I am, for you,” you breathe and delight in the way her eyes darken more. 
Your mouth practically waters as she undoes her belt, button, and zipper. She doesn’t even take off her pants, just reaches in and pulls out the purple strap-on that’s come to be your favorite. You prefer it this way; it feels more dirty. 
“Were you wearing this the whole day?” You ask in awe, peering up at her just in time to watch her roll her eyes.
“Shut up and put your mouth to good use,” she snarls, hand fisting your hair and pushing you closer to the toy. 
As if you’d ever say no. You open your mouth and lightly suck on the tip. It’s weird not having the use of your hands to leverage yourself, but you’ll make do. You run your mouth up the length, not taking your eyes off Agnes, who has her head thrown back like she can feel it. You slowly engulf the toy, forcing your mouth further down, and you gag. 
“Such a good whore on her knees for me,” she groans, the hand in your hair urging you on. You can feel your saliva drooling out of your mouth as you move up and down on her, your jaw starting to hurt. “So fucking desperate for anything I give you. Such a perfect toy.” 
You made some garbled noises in agreement, never stopping your administrations. She puts her other hand on your head and starts thrusting hard, your raw throat screaming for air and tears in your eyes. However, you can hear the sounds the toy makes in your mouth and that coupled with Agnes’s moans has your underwear sticking to you and the inside of your thighs soaked. 
When it becomes too much, Agnes pulls out and you gasp for breath. She smears the strap all over your mouth and cheeks, making you more of a mess. She then clasps your cheeks and her thumbs wipe under your eyes, where you’re sure your mascara has started running. 
“Are you alright?” She murmurs. One thing that you love about Agnes is that no matter how rough she is with sex, she always checks on you and makes sure you know how much she adores you. How soft she can get is one of your favorite things about her. 
“I’m good,” you answer, voice hoarse but sincere. She seems to believe you because she hauls you up by the arm and over to the counter and shoves you down. She reaches down to move your underwear to the side and feel your pussy and chuckles meanly when she finds how ruined you are. 
“God, you’re so pathetic, aren’t you? Being on your knees for me makes you this wet, it’s embarrassing. You’re such a slut,” she sneers and slaps your ass. The impact makes you jump with a moan and your hands try and scramble to touch anything but they’re still handcuffed behind you. All you can do is whimper. “What do you want, doll?” 
You try to wiggle your hips against her hand but she pulls away and the air is cold on your cunt lips. “Want you, Aggie,” you mewl. You know what she wants to hear. “Want you to use me like the slut that I am, the slut I am only for you. Just your whore, just want you to fuck me like I need to be fucked.” 
“Good girl, princess,” she purrs and she shoves the toy inside you. You moan louder than you ever have at the stretch and your head drops to the countertop. Her hands grip your hips so hard you can’t wait to see the marks tomorrow. 
“Fuck, Aggie,” you pant and she sets a fast pace, spanking your ass every now and then. 
All you can do is make noises. You try to form words but your brain isn’t working. You get so in your head sometimes, but Agnes always has a way of making you let go. It works so well for both of you.
“God, such a good toy for me, letting me use you whenever I need,” Agnes says. “So desperate to please me, you’d do whatever I wanted, wouldn’t you?” 
You groan in response, the toy hitting every single right place inside you. It drags deliciously against your walls and she’s angling it just perfectly so every stroke has you wanting to scream. You feel so full, so good. 
She pushes the shirt you’re wearing up and begins leaving kisses and sucking marks into your back, never letting up on her bruising pace. 
“Fuck, baby, please, so close,” you say. You don’t think you could form a sentence if you tried. “So good, need more, wanna cum.” 
She reaches one hand around you and rubs your clit in tiny, little circles. You clench around the toy, even more bliss spreading through your body. You can feel the tension building in the cracks and crevices of your body and you know it’s about to snap. 
“Can I cum, please, Aggie, can I cum for you?” It has become an unspoken rule that you need her permission. 
“Cum all over my cock like the slut that you are,” she growls and it takes three more thrusts and a perfectly timed stroke of your clit and you completely come undone. Your gasps turn pitchy and high and you think you almost black out for a second. 
She doesn’t pull out right away when you finally crash back down and she peppers kisses all over your cheeks from behind. 
“How are you doing?” She checks and you smile adoringly and nuzzle your face against hers. 
“That was great, baby,” you say with complete honesty. You wince as she finally pulls out and then digs the key for the handcuffs out of her pockets. You flex your wrists when they’re finally off and she turns you around so she can hug you. 
“My beautiful girl,” she murmurs against your forehead. After staying like that for a few more minutes, just soaking each other in, you head up to the bedroom, stopping for a quick, soft make-out session on the stairs. 
“Do you feel better now, baby?” You ask once you’re both lying in bed, you wrapped in Agnes’s arms again. She had gotten you some new clothes and helped you put stuff on the marks on your wrists from the cuffs so they weren’t as painful tomorrow. 
“I do, doll. Thank you.” 
And then it strikes you that the older woman hasn’t cum yet. 
That won’t do. 
You wiggle out of Agnes’s grasp and make your way under the covers despite her protests and confusion. 
She quickly picks up what you’re trying to do when you tug at the sweatpants that she sleeps in. She raises her hips to help you move them and you let out a gasp when you see how absolutely wet she is. 
“You were going to go to sleep like this?” You say accusingly. She tangles a hand in your hair preemptively, feeling your breath against her mound. She’s so sensitive that her hips are already starting to buck. “What about relieving your stress?” 
“You were my stress release,” she answers through gritted teeth as you run your tongue up her, collecting her wetness. “Fuck, baby.”
You smirk against her and do it again. Agnes likes it slow and dragged out because you usually get her so turned on that it doesn’t take very long for her to cum. 
Her moans grow louder and more frequent as you keep doing what you’re doing, swirling your tongue around her clit and sucking and then dipping inside her pussy. Your hands rest on her thighs, occasionally digging in whenever she makes a noise or says something that turns you on again. 
“Yes, doll, just like that, that’s perfect,” she sighs, starting to ride your face. “Stick out your tongue and just let me grind against you. Let me take what I want.” 
So you do. Using her hands for leverage, Agnes drags her hips up and down your open mouth, picking up her pace. You can feel her about to cum and you moan against her pussy to help her get there. You know how sensitive she gets and you just want her to feel good. 
“Fuck, yes, baby, going to cum,” she says, her breathing becoming short and gaspy. All the tells are there and her voice breaks off as she finally cums all over your face. You lap at her through the aftershocks until she pulls you away after a few moments. She tugs you up by your hair into a long kiss. 
“Do you feel even better now?” You joke and she smiles fondly at you, moving a piece of hair out of your face. 
“I do, princess. You’re perfect.” 
Your nose wrinkles. “No, you are.” 
She chuckles lightly and kisses your lips and then your nose. “Come here, baby. Want to cuddle with you. You were so good for me today.” 
You happily snuggle into her side, content to stay that way forever.
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writetheidea · 3 days ago
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Too Much to Be Enough - part 2
Hi, I wrote the second part of this fanfiction while juggling my thesis, so I apologize if there are any mistakes. Please feel free to point them out in my DMs or asks—I'd really appreciate it. I couldn't bring myself to just write pure fluff without adding a bit of angst. As I mentioned in the story, rebuilding trust isn't a straightforward process. I hope you enjoy it!
Part 1
Pairing: Franco Colapinto x female character
Plot: after deeply hurting his girlfriend, Franco learns how hard it is to rebuild their relationship, learning that trust, once broken, is a delicate and painstaking process to restore.
Tag: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff.
Word count: 3178
Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.
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Franco had always been a man of control. On the racetrack, precision wasn’t just a skill; it was survival. Every turn, every decision, required complete mastery over chaos. Off the track, he wasn’t much different, carrying that same calculated demeanor into his personal life. The way he managed his career, his relationships, even the smallest aspects of his daily routine, all reflected his need to remain unshakable. Control was his armor, his identity. But this—watching the woman he loved drift further away because of his carelessness—was a storm he couldn’t navigate.
He had made a mistake. A single moment of thoughtlessness, a few careless words, the laughter that followed, had been enough to tear open the foundation of trust they had spent years building. The memory replayed endlessly in his mind, gnawing at him like a relentless tide. He could see it all too clearly: the way her face fell, how her voice quivered when she confronted him. She hadn’t screamed or shouted; she hadn’t even cried at first. She had just gone quiet, her silence heavier than any words could have been. It spoke of wounds too deep for words, a disappointment that no apology could touch.
At first, he had thought the tension might dissipate after a day or two. He had underestimated the depth of the wound he had inflicted. What followed was a purgatory of silence. She didn’t leave outright, but her presence was a ghost of what it had been. She avoided his touch, his gaze, even his attempts at conversation. The vibrant, warm woman he loved so fiercely had become a shadow, navigating their shared spaces like a stranger. Franco’s every attempt to bridge the gap between them fell flat—flowers went untouched, her favorite pastries remained uneaten, and the small notes he left for her disappeared without acknowledgment. It was as though she was erasing him piece by piece, and he could do nothing to stop it.
The silence was unbearable. He missed her laughter, the way she would light up when she spoke about her favorite books or dreams for the future. He missed the way she would reach for him instinctively, as though he was her safe harbor. Now, he felt like a trespasser in his own life, each moment with her a painful reminder of what he had broken. 
On the third night after the fight, Franco found himself sitting on their couch, his hands clasped tightly together. The room felt impossibly large, every corner of it carrying memories of better times. He could picture her curled up on the other side of the couch, her laughter filling the space as she recounted some silly anecdote or read him a passage from one of her favorite books. Now, the silence was deafening. He had spent hours going over what he might say to her, how he might begin to repair what he had broken, but words failed him.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I can’t stand this. Tell me what to do—tell me how to make this right.”
She didn’t even look at him, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. “What’s the point?” she said quietly. “You’ve already shown me what you think of me. You agreed with them, Franco. You laughed at me like I was a joke.”
Her voice broke on the last word, and Franco felt the full weight of her hurt settle over him. “That’s not true,” he said desperately. “I wasn’t thinking—”
“No,” she interrupted, finally turning to face him, her eyes flashing with rare anger. “You weren’t thinking. But that doesn’t change what you said. Or what you did.” Her voice cracked, and for the first time, Franco could see just how deeply he had hurt her. “Do you even understand how small that made me feel? Like I was some kind of joke? Like I’ll never be enough for you?” 
She paused, her face now showing the pain she had been harboring beneath the surface “What else do you want me to say, Franco? That I’m hurt? That I feel like I’ll never be enough for you now? You already know that”
Her words cut deeper than any insult, the quiet resignation in her voice tearing him apart. “You are enough,” he said fervently, reaching for her hand. “You’ve always been enough. I was stupid, careless—I didn’t mean what I said.”
“But you did,” she replied, pulling her hand away. “Maybe you didn’t mean for me to hear it, but you meant it. And I can’t unhear it, Franco. I can’t forget the way you agreed with them, the way you laughed about me like I was some… inconvenience.”
Her voice broke on the last word, and Franco felt his chest tighten, guilt clawing at him like a relentless tide. “I love you,” he said desperately. “I love everything about you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I can’t lose you.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to find some trace of the man she had once trusted so completely. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “And right now, being with you… it hurts.”
His throat tightened as he searched for words, but there was nothing he could say that would undo the damage. “You are everything to me,” he said finally, his voice raw. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if I have to.”
-----
But words weren’t enough, and he knew it. That night, she moved to the guest room, leaving their bed and a gaping void in his heart. He lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment he had failed her, every time he had taken her love for granted. He thought of her kindness, her patience, the way she had always believed in him, even when he doubted himself. And now, when she needed him most, he had failed to be the man she deserved.
The next morning, he woke to find her gone. A note on the counter said she was staying with a friend for a few days. He stared at the words until they blurred, his chest aching with the realization that she needed space from him—that being near him caused her pain. He couldn’t blame her for that, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.
He threw himself into trying to make amends, even if she wasn’t there to see it. He cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, cooked her favorite meals, and set the table with candles and fresh flowers every day, hoping it might offer a small measure of comfort when she returned. The evening when she finally walked through the door, she paused, her eyes scanning the room before landing on him.
“What’s all this?” she asked, her voice wary.
“I thought we could have dinner together,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I thought… I just wanted to do something for you.”
She hesitated for a moment before sitting down at the table. They ate in near silence, the tension between them almost unbearable. He tried to ask about her day, her friend, anything to fill the void, but her answers were curt, her gaze fixed on her plate. By the time they finished, Franco felt more defeated than ever.
As she stood to leave, he reached for her hand, his grip gentle but firm. “Please. I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said. “Just tell me how to make this better.”
She looked down at him, her eyes filled with exhaustion. “I don’t know if you can,” she said softly. “But if you want to try, then stop looking for shortcuts. This isn’t about flowers or dinners. It’s about showing me that I matter to you—not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard. It’s about showing me—every day—that you love me for who I am, not despite it.”
-----
From that moment on, Franco dedicated himself to proving his love, not through grand gestures but in the quiet, unremarkable moments of daily life. He began paying attention to the things she cared about—remembering the books she mentioned wanting to read, making sure her favorite tea was always stocked in the pantry, and taking over chores she usually handled so she wouldn’t have to. He didn’t push her to talk or try to force her forgiveness; instead, he gave her the space she needed, even when it hurt to keep his distance.
The process was slow and often discouraging. There were days when she barely acknowledged his efforts, her walls still firmly in place. But there were also small victories—like the time she laughed, a soft, unguarded sound that felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Or the day she found a note he had left in her book that simply said, “I see you. And I love you.” She didn’t say anything about it, but later that evening, she made them tea and sat beside him on the couch, the silence between them no longer quite so heavy.
-----
Franco thought he was making progress. Slowly but surely, she was beginning to let him in again. The walls she’d built around herself were still there, but they had started to crack. She smiled a little more often, lingered at the dinner table to talk about her day, and once, when they were watching an old movie on the couch, she leaned into him without pulling away. Each small step felt monumental, and Franco held onto the hope that one day, she might fully trust him again.
But trust, he learned, was fragile.
It happened at a party—a glamorous event hosted by one of Franco’s sponsors. He had been reluctant to go, worried about the strain it might put on their delicate truce, but she had insisted. “You shouldn’t have to give up your life because of me,” she said. He had taken her words as a sign that things were improving between them, a sign that she was ready to be part of his world again.
The evening started well enough. She looked stunning in a sleek, dark dress, her hair framing her face. Franco couldn’t take his eyes off her, and for a moment, he felt like the luckiest man in the room. They mingled with the crowd, exchanging polite pleasantries with sponsors and fellow racers. She held her own beautifully, her sharp wit and quiet confidence earning smiles and laughter from everyone she spoke to.
Then came the moment that undid everything.
Franco had stepped away to get them drinks, and when he returned, he overheard a group of men making crude jokes about her. The words were vile—reducing her to nothing more than a pretty accessory, a trophy to be paraded around. Franco’s blood boiled, but instead of stepping in to defend her, he froze. He laughed awkwardly, muttered something dismissive, and walked away.
What he didn’t realize was that she had overheard, her expression a mask of disbelief and hurt as she stood just out of view.
Later that night, as they drove home, the tension in the car was suffocating. She stared out the window, silent, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Franco tried to fill the void with small talk, but each word felt hollow.
Finally, she turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, though he already knew.
“I heard them, Franco. I heard what they said about me. And I heard you laugh. Again.”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean what? To defend me? To show them that I’m more than the joke they made me out to be?” Her voice cracked, and she turned away, shaking her head. “I thought you were different. I thought you respected me.”
“I do respect you,” he said, his voice rising. “I didn’t know what to say—I panicked.”
“Panicked?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “I was standing there, Franco. Listening to them degrade me, waiting for you to have my back. And you panicked?”
The argument spilled into their apartment, growing louder and more painful with each passing moment. By the time it was over, she was packing a bag, tears streaming down her face as she threw clothes into a suitcase.
“Please don’t do this,” Franco said, his voice raw. “Don’t leave. We can fix this.”
She stopped, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the suitcase. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her voice shaking. “This isn’t just about tonight. It’s about every time you’ve made me feel small, every time you’ve chosen your pride or your reputation over me. I can’t do this anymore.”
And with that, she was gone.
-----
The months that followed were the darkest of Franco’s life. She didn’t answer his calls or texts, and when he went to her friend’s house to see her, he was turned away at the door. For the first time, he had to confront the possibility that he might have lost her for good.
Franco threw himself into therapy, desperate to understand why he kept sabotaging the one thing that mattered most to him. His sessions were grueling, forcing him to confront parts of himself he had long ignored—the insecurities he buried beneath his arrogance, the fear of vulnerability that drove him to push people away.
He also began writing her letters, pouring his heart onto the page in a way he had never been able to do in person. He didn’t know if she would ever read them, but it was the only way he could process his feelings.
Months passed. Slowly, Franco began to change—not for her, but for himself. He realized that he couldn’t ask her to come back if he wasn’t willing to become the man she deserved.
Then, one day, he received an unexpected text.
“Meet me at the park tomorrow at 2.”
His heart leapt, but he forced himself to temper his expectations. When he arrived, she was sitting on a bench, her posture stiff, her expression guarded.
“I got your letters,” she said, her voice quiet.
“And?” he asked, his heart pounding.
“They were… honest,” she admitted. “But honesty doesn’t erase what happened.”
“I know,” he said. “I don’t expect you to forgive me—not yet, maybe not ever. But I want you to know that I’m trying. I’m working on myself, and not just because I want you back. I need to be better, for me. For whoever I become, with or without you.”
She studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. “I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she said finally. “But I’m willing to try. Slowly. On my terms.”
“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”
-----
True to her word, she made Franco work for her trust. There were no shortcuts, no grand declarations that could fix what was broken. If he wanted to be in her life again, he had to earn his place every single day.
Their relationship became a fragile thread, held together by small, cautious interactions. They started meeting once a week for coffee, their conversations polite but distant. She kept him at arm’s length, her walls firmly in place. Franco didn’t push; he simply showed up, week after week, ready to prove himself.
One day, as they walked through the park after coffee, she turned to him abruptly. “Why didn’t you stand up for me?” she asked, her voice trembling.
The question caught him off guard, but he didn’t shy away from it. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid of looking weak, afraid of being judged. But mostly… afraid that if I stood up for you and got it wrong, you’d see me as a failure.”
Her eyes softened, but her expression remained guarded. “And now?”
“Now I realize that failing you is worse than failing in front of anyone else,” he said. “If I ever get the chance again, I promise you, I won’t let you down.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “We’ll see.”
The weeks turned into months, and their connection began to deepen again. She started sharing more of herself, though cautiously, and Franco matched her vulnerability with his own. He told her about the therapy sessions, about the childhood insecurities that had shaped his need for control and approval. It was a side of him she had never seen before, and while it didn’t erase the past, it gave her hope that he was truly changing.
-----
It wasn’t a single moment that brought them back together, but a series of small ones—acts of kindness, vulnerability, and unwavering support. Franco became a man she could rely on, not just in words but in actions. He stood up for her, prioritized her needs, and made her feel seen and valued in every aspect of their lives.
There were moments when he doubted himself, wondering if he was fighting a losing battle. And there were nights when he lay awake, haunted by the memory of her tears, the sound of her voice breaking as she told him how much he had hurt her. Through it all, he held onto the hope that one day, she would see how much he loved her—that she would believe it, not because he said it, but because he showed it in every action, every choice he made.
One rainy afternoon, he decided to try something different. He pulled out a cookbook she had always loved but rarely used and flipped to a page with a recipe for her favorite cake. He was hopeless in the kitchen, but he wanted to try—to show her that he was willing to make an effort, no matter how small. When she came home and found him fumbling with ingredients, the sight stopped her in her tracks.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tinged with incredulity.
“Trying to make your cake,” he said, holding up a whisk like it was a weapon. “It’s probably going to be terrible, but I thought—”
She interrupted him with a soft laugh. “You’re going to burn the kitchen down.”
“Maybe,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “But I figured it was worth the risk.”
She stepped toward him, closing the distance that had felt insurmountable for so long. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her tone was warm, her eyes soft as she reached for the whisk. “Let me help you.”
As they cooked together, bumping elbows and laughing at his mistakes, Franco felt something shift. It wasn’t complete trust—not yet—but it was a beginning. And as he watched her smile, he realized that this was what love was: not grand gestures or perfect moments, but showing up, every day, and choosing each other even when it was hard.
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felassan · 1 day ago
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David Gaider on Zevran, under a cut for length:
"I was going to skip over Zevran, honestly, as I felt like I didn't have a lot to tell in the way of stories about him... but I know he still has some (ardent) fans. Plus, on reflection, I thought maybe I DO have a few things to say. �� Sooo we'll see how this goes. Zevran came along much later in the DAO process, as we were trying to round out the cast of party members. Alistair and Morrigan were well underway (as "main" characters, they were concepted very early) and I'd just started to consider who our Rogue followers might be when... things changed, a bit. See, BioWare had released a game not long beforehand called Jade Empire. It had included some same-sex options in its romances - not obscured like the way Juhani's "romance" had been hinted at in KotOR, but explicit. To this day, I have no idea who on the Jade Empire team was behind it, or why. More to the point, the same-sex options had received a lot of attention and praise - almost universal praise, in fact. In 2005, everyone was just pleasantly surprised. And I don't recall if I went to James and asked about it or if he came to me to suggest DAO should include it. The latter, I think."
"You might ask "Aren't you gay, Dave? Weren't you already pushing for this?" And the answer to that is, emphatically, "no, not at all". It might seem odd looking through the lens of 2024, but there was no talk of 'representation' or 'diversity'. Not at any level where we were aware of it, anyhow. Today, fans argue about how MUCH representation to include and whether it's done well enough... the idea that, less than twenty years ago, it being included *at all* was very much in doubt feels so far away. But, back then, I'd always assumed my private life and my work in games would never meet. So I think it was James who brought it up, because I remember being startled. Pleasantly so, of course. Now I had to look at our two rogues and figure out how this would apply. I sketched out the female of the two (who was taken on by Sheryl Chee) and then looked at the male - he who became Zevran. I'd been reading about the CIA and one thing that stuck with me was how they'd (allegedly) recruit gay men as assassins because they rarely had familial ties. Zevran wasn't going to be gay (bisexuality wasn't a question of representation, but a cost-benefit compromise) but that was the inspiration."
"Then there was the question of how "flamboyantly" I was writing this character, whether that might be too stereotypical? I don't remember how it arose, but I had too many "flamboyant" friends to do anything other than double down. This character was gonna be Zorro the goddamn Gay Blade, that's what. So that's how Zevran happened. Fun, a bit nihilistic, maybe a bit too overtly flirty for today's audience but very confidently *sexual*. Everything I'm not, so I'll admit it was an interesting exploration to dig down and find that voice somewhere inside. He was the anti-Alistair, and I needed that. Casting him was difficult. Caroline always tried to go for authentic accents, when we could, but for some reason this was getting us nowhere. I think back, and I suspect it's because I hadn't yet learned the lesson to not use terms in casting descriptions I thought were universal... but were not. What do I mean by that? Well, there was one write-up that said "drow elf". Now, I know what a drow elf is. It wasn't even important to the description, but the director saw the word "elf", and you know what we got back? A Keebler elf. Like a leprachaun, high and sweet and cutsie. Can you imagine?"
"In this case, I think it was the use of the word "assassin". Combine that with the sorts of roles many Hispanic actors in LA probably are asked to play, and all the auditions we were getting were 150% dark, mean, and gritty. 🫠 So we widened the casting call a bit, and this led us to Jon Curry. I knew Jon wasn't Hispanic, but what I wasn't prepared for when I flew down to meet the DAO actors was that he's this extremely tall, extremely Nordic looking dude who just happened to do the most amazing Antonio Banderas impression. Watching THAT man channel Zevran was... more than a bit surreal. 😅 And he had fun with it. As soon as we gave him the go ahead to play the fun and flirtiness to the hilt, that's exactly what he did. Over the few days where we found Zevran's voice, it totally supplied me with something I could hold in my head when I went back to Edmonton and finished writing him. Zevran was funny enough that the fans liked him. The only part of the reception I thought odd was the occasional comment by a male player who felt "tricked" into having sex with Zevran. "You mean... that part where he invites you to his tent for a sensual massage?" "Yes! I was expecting a massage!" "He literally says the massage is sensual." "Well he wasn't clear enough!" This is where I first came to the conclusion that a certain number of our players just don't know how to people. And that maybe an adjustment to the way we approached the messaging (or massaging lol) of romance was in order. If I could go back, would I change anything? Maybe I'd remind the systems team Zevran should really be able to pick a lock. And maybe not allow him to die. We had no idea we'd need to import these choices into the future - we kinda thought DAO was "one and done". Not so much, as it turned out. 😁"
[source thread]
David Gaider: "there's something to be said about how Zevran flirted and even had sex with you because he thought that's all he had to offer... not just you, but anyone. And when he realized you wanted something deeper, suddenly he was on unsteady ground and it truly unsettled him. It was fun to explore." [source]
User: "So David - besides loving the fact that the third image you picked is a gay sex scene - what happened in DA2(DAE - come on) with Zevrans design?" David Gaider: "Check the ALT text. It wasn’t a custom sculpt, so that’s as close as they could get it. Which… was not close." [source]
User: "Just to make sure I fully understand: the director (was it the voice director?) saw the word "elf" and thought you were looking for someone high, sweet, and cutesie?" David Gaider: "Yeah, this was from back before we managed VO in-house. The voice director in this case just didn’t have an association with “elf” like some familiar with fantasy would." [source]
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iplaywithstring · 2 days ago
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A few years ago, when my then 13 year old came to me and said she thought she had ADHD, I was surprised, but supportive. I didn't know much about ADHD at the time aside from the "hyperactive boy" over-generalization.
Took us a while to get into a psychologist for assessment, and while we waited I read. A lot. Found out a bunch of my friends had ADHD diagnosed as adults. Learned about inattentive type. Realized my husband fit the criteria as well.
It took more than 2 years for my daughter to get treatment. At one point, she had an appointment with a child psychiatrist who confirmed she had ADHD, but refused treatment because she did well in school. He did write a prescription for mood stabilizers though, because she was really sad sometimes (she had just gone through her first break up! we never filled the prescription and never went back to him).
My husband was also able to get diagnosed and get treatment, as well as go off the anxiety meds he had been taking for years. Both of them have had a noticeable improvement in quality of life since starting their meds. They feel better, their relationships are better, they have had the space to learn new ways to manage things etc.
Medication for ADHD is similar to insulin for diabetics. If you don't need it, it can be dangerous, it can be abused. However if you do need it, not having access has horrible consequences. My daughter was worried going to university she would he trouble refilling her medication, but thankfully that hasn't happened. My husband, on the other hand, was reminded by his Dr that it's a controlled substance and needed a letter from the Dr who diagnosed him in order to refill the prescription (even though my husband had the bottle with him).
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I fucking knew it, I SAID it: they're making ADHD people the next culture war targets. They will 'just ask questions' until we lose every scrap of ground we've gained in the last decade and more. We may not quite inspire the same level of hatred as a sexual minority, but we can very easily be made to inspire disdain and that also works.
They will strip us of our accomodations and our medications and try to stifle any sense of shared identity, and if that kills some of us, oh well. So long as it fuels another outrage cycle, fine.
So many of the tropes they've been using on trans people work extremely well on ADHD people too! "There are too many of these people suddenly! It must be a fad! It spreads through friend groups! And online! People are going private for diagnoses and that's bad! They are using pOwERfUl medical interventions and we think it's freaky!"
I saw the first ripples of this in terf circles about two years ago. And of course it's spread.
6% of British ADHD people lost their jobs in the last year thanks to the meds shortage. SIX PER CENT! And that just made these ghouls go "ooh, tasty, what else can we do?"
Recently an 'expert' was on the BBC saying people see ADHD diagnosis as a "golden ticket." Laurence Fox has been ranting that the condition doesn't exist and threatening "'you won't poison my child's body [with ADHD meds] against my consent"
People need to be aware this is going to get worse. Maybe, if we're lucky, it won't get really bad. But it's going to get worse than it is now.
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livingsurreal · 16 hours ago
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More thoughts and theories about our favorite Necromancer
My darlings, I have too many thoughts and my obsession is running wild. (How I missed you, hyperfocus). If you have read my last meta post about our Emmrich, here it is: First Meta Post
That is not a required read however. I am still wondering why anyone is reading my word vomit U_U
Anyway, I love reading other peoples theories, so please, send me yours. <3 And a lot of thanks and love for all you darlings who make this fandom such a beautiful and nice place. Especially to @jaal-ama-daravv - who makes the most beautiful videos, and writes such wonderful character studies.
Warning, from here on there will be spoilers as well as mentions of sex. If you don't want to read about any of that, do not read the rest.
Also pictures and way too many words. This is a ten page word document, save yourself while you can. I tend to go off on a tangent once I start writing. I am also well aware that not everyone will agree. This is just my personal read on Emmrich.
Now, after my first essay I have some more thoughts on Emmrich and Rook and specifically their intimate relationship.
Emmrich is such an interesting and baffling contradiction. On the one hand he is confident, self-assured, all manners and poise. He is smart, and he knows it. He has special gifts, and he knows it.  He is confident without being proud. He likes to teach others without being arrogant. He still likes to learn about new things and is, as far as I’ve seen, never judgmental about different beliefs and ways of life. (Unless someone treats him with disdain or bully him)
He is a man who is confident speaking of his thoughts and feelings and fears. How he just casually drops his thanatophobia is just astonishing. He is honest and open-minded in the best ways.
And then there is the other side of him. The wet kitten side of him. As open and honest as he is about his emotions, when we get to the meat of it, to the scary bit, the real feely bit, he locks up completely. As long as it is surface level (or he can pretend its surface level), everything is up for discussion. But once we reach deeper and touch *love* he gets so scared and refuses to admit and commit to his feelings. And as much *death* scares him, love scares him more.
So how does that influence his intimate relationship with Rook?
According to the banter with Lace “everyone knows about it”. He was rather surprised by that.
That tells us two things:
They were trying to be sneaky or at least keep their private business private.
They failed, massively.
Add to that Laces comment about them moving rather fast (when, where? I would have loved to have seen that. Comments like that just give me the feeling that we should have had some more cutscenes after the dinner date, to show us those two besotted fools).
But back to them moving rather fast. I would guess that they both did a lot of gazing lovingly at each other, blushing, spacing out while watching their darling, stollen kisses in the hallway when they thought no one was watching, stuff like that. Just being to besotted fools.
But moving fast usually includes sex. Lots of needy, sweaty sex. The inability to keep their hands of each other.
That moves us to the question of the day – did they have sex before their coffin time?
Let’s look at what we know about Emmrich. Emmrich is no virgin. That man has experience. He had past lovers. But what he tells us at that sweet diner date – “nothing serious for years.” We know not much else besides his crush on a boy in his youth and his fling with the Orlesian Art Lady. He is not someone to kiss and tell and that is appreciated. That man has class, and we love him for it.
So - nothing SERIOUS for years. If he hadn’t had ANY relationships in the past years, he would have said so. But what he says is that he did, in fact, have UNSERIOUS relationships in the last few years.
I would read that to be somewhere along the “fwb, lovers, affairs, paramours, companions, a fling, a little romance” line. Something not purely, but mainly physically driven. Someone you like and respect, you can go out and have a good time with, have lots of amazing sex with (b/c he is a living being and has his needs). Spending time with people he liked, was sexually attracted too, but nothing as serious as love. A physical relationship. A little thrill, some fluttering, but never that deep.
Not to say that those situationships would not have been romantic. He is (buried under all that resignation) a deeply romantic man. I am pretty sure he went on nice romantic dates with his previous paramours too. That this is something he just enjoys too much. Treating a companion with some quality time, not just in, but also out of the bedroom.
But after he’d given up on his dreams, he did not have any notion of those flings being more than a “enjoy the moment”. There was never the expectation of deeper feelings, beyond friendship, attraction and/or respect. All those romantic gestures were nothing more than a little bit of “play pretend”. To give himself the illusion of true romance, just for a little time.
Take the fact that you can go a “everything you do is creepy but I still flirt with you and I want you to throw me over that tombstone” and his comment on “the attraction of the forbidden”? This is not a relationship born of mutual respect and deeper feelings but out of purely physical attraction. And he is OK with that.
I want to repeat – Emmrich is very much okay with a casual, sexual affair. He does not require love to have a relationship with someone.
And then think about that Johanna calls Rook specifically his “paramour”. Which is a lover, especially an illicit one. This word was very specifically chosen by Johanna. For various reasons, I would think.
For one, I do believe that it is a dig at his dreams of the eternal flame. It’s a dig at him, that Rook is not his love, but his paramour. A lover for a time. To be parted from soon enough. B/c that silly dream of his, as if it ever would become reality.
Second, I think it is a comment on the way his relationships often went, especially in the past years. Those unserious flings of his. Never to amount to anything substantial.
Did he try to have something serious in the past? Oh yes, for sure. But it never worked out. Then he gave up his dream and just let himself have a good time with people he found to be nice and attractive.
To pick up my point of self-sabotage from my last meta post – I’ve come to a point where I believe Emmrich is a kind of chaser. I know someone like that and it’s so fucking tragic.
Emmrich feels deeply and strongly. When he falls in love with someone it’s a lot of emotion. But at that point it’s all dream, want, wish. As soon as someone returns these feelings - those dreams, wants and wishes become reality. And reality is scary. In this wishful dream about the eternal flame, there is no fear. No fights. No loss. But that is not reality. As soon as it becomes reality, he gets scared. Before, his feelings were no threat, because you can’t lose what you don’t have. Once those feelings are returned, there is a clear possibility of losing, of being lost, of being left behind.
Emmrich is not a chaser because he enjoys the hunt. He is a chaser because being loved by someone is scary. So damn scary. So, he starts to pick fights and is looking for excuses. From being the chaser, he becomes the chased. He is hunted by his fears, and his fight or flight instincts go all flight.
After years of this cycle he gives up. Resigns himself to flings and little romances without even thinking of more. Or so he thinks. Dreams like that don’t die, they just get buried.
And I’d think that there was not many, even of those short term flings, lately. His life revolves around work and Manfred.
Now remember he comments on Rook “showing unexpected interest in a new companion”.
First of all – unexpected.
They are a daring adventurer. He thinks of himself clearly as the more boring one, compared to Rook. He never expected any of those flirts. But he is clearly flattered.
Second – companion.
That was such a weird way of saying “hey do you like me?”. This whole “companion” thing does not scream “I have FEELZ for you/you have FEELZ for me” but rather, “I think you might want to spend some quality time with me”.
The possible answers - dashing good looks, kindness, his way of words.
He feels he is fortunate if Rook thinks him good looking. Hallo, Mr. Professor, sir… Have you looked in the mirror lately? Consider that he is meticulously grooming himself, takes his exercises daily in the morning. That man does not like himself aging. I think it is a reminder of how his pending death is a step closer every day. But it shows, to him, that his efforts of taking care of himself are not in vain. Or maybe it shows him that his age does not matter. Rook finds him attractive despite (or because) of his physical age.
Rooks comment on his very charming way of putting things makes him hope his years behind the lectern have proved useful. Hey *years* behind the lectern. Again, this is a way of saying his age is NOT a problem but a benefit.
If Rook remarks his kindness, he answers “you humble me”. It’s the one answer that does not touch his age/experience/looks. It’s a remark on an innate character trait he possesses. Kindness. His whole demeanor in this option shows he is actually touched. And maybe a bit baffled. He did not expect this, at all. Its like he sees his kindness not as an attractive trait. Which he should. He is nice without TM and its sexy as hell.
The next part is his statement “If your attentions go beyond charming flattery… that would interest me, indeed”. This reads to me not necessarily as “do you have feelings for me” but as “do you just enjoy the flirting, or do you want to do more than flirting?”
And oh boy, does he want to do more than flirting. I want to repeat my earlier statement – this man has given up on love. But some little fling with an exiting young adventure who was constantly, awkwardly flirting with him? Hell, yeah.
(I want to remind you that we were able to have mutually enjoyed flirts with Dorian as fem!Inky. You can flirt with someone and still never want to fuck them. And you are also perfectly able to want more than flirting without having deeper feelings. Like sweet, dump Shepaloo said it so eloquently “Lets bang, okay?”)
Again, I want to pick up a point of my last post, that this is all surface level thoughts. I do believe that their emotional attraction and depth of feelings go deeper, from the start. But how often does it take quite a bit of time to realize one’s own feelings. Especially this wonderful, silly man whose modus operandi is running away.
Now, an interested Rook can answer in an open “lets see where this goes” way. Mirroring his rather open idea of a little romance, a fling, some quality time. Something that does not have to end in an eternal flame, but a simple enjoyment and exploration of the moment.
Rook can also reply with a “I think they do.” – What Rook actually says is “I think they already…”
And conveniently Rooks answer here is cut short by our sweet boy Manfred. They get cut short, no matter what answer you choose, but in this specific case, I am convinced this was very much on purpose. What would the whole sentence have been?
“I think they already go way beyond flattery.” (?!?) Something along those lines. But that goes into danger zone. WAY into danger zone.
If Rook had finished that sentence, at that point in their budding romance? It would have been over before is all started. Too much, too soon. Too much for him, period.
Now we have the hard lock – their sweet romantic moment in the Memorial Gardens. And he is smitten. He fell hook, line, and sinker for his own play pretend. Just a little romance, but that man is falling, fast. (Not that he would admit that to himself).
A beautiful date, all arranged by Emmrich, to spend time with Rook. Because a couple should have a quite moment to get to know each other. I mean there were menu cards with gilded edges, ffs. And, oh yes, they were “lets dig into the feelings”, he said couple. He is falling, falling, falling fast. But it still hasn’t hit him, how deep he has fallen for his darling Rook. Poor Emmrich.
Then a fight, where we really see the wet kitten side of him for the first time. A little wet, feral kitten, hissing at the hand that’s trying to feed it.
Emmrich is lashing out for no good reason (or no good reason for anyone but himself). There is no real confidence there but a desperate act of pretending. An iron (slipping) grip, trying to control himself and the narrative. Shoulders squared, back straight, an arrogant stance, raised chin, turned half-away from Rook, and a condescending way of talking to Rook.
Like I said in my last post – he is working his way up to breaking up with them. And he tells himself it’s like ripping off a bandaid. Be strong and confident and say what you have to say, and they will see the wisdom of that.
It’s only that, they don’t. Because there IS NO wisdom in what he is doing right now. They don’t take his bullshit but throw it back at him. They don’t accept his mock excuses.
Look at him here, how he looks down ON them. I can’t recall any other time he looks down on Rook, despite him being a tall king.
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Especially the route where Rook throws it in his face that he DOES in fact love them. Speak what he can’t even think.
“I can’t… At my…”
“I can’t love you. At my age…” Why not? Does he not deserve love, just because he is a bit older? It’s just heartbreaking how he views himself.
And again, he lashes out.
“I am perfectly serious.” So is Rook.
“One of us has to pay attention to these things.” As if Rook is not paying attention. They got to the meat and bones of his problem in just a few seconds.
No matter what route you go here, the gist is the same. He is scared shitless, treats Rook like a child, and goes on how the is the only one thinking the important thoughts.
When Rook in reality way ahead of him. They thought about it and came to the conclusion that being with Emmrich is a really good idea.
Rook knew they were falling for someone older than them. (Even if that age difference is just a decade, with a mid-40s Rook.) They knew it, and still went with it. They are not a child who is too inexperienced and stupid to make decisions about their (love) life.
But now, here, at this moment? Emmrich treats them with disdain. Like a silly little person, who does not think things through. He holds himself above them. Physically and mentally. They are too young, he knows better.
And not once has he done that before. He always treated them as an equal. He follows them into the most dangerous situations ffs. He trusts them with his life in a fight against would-be gods.
All that fear and anger at himself that reaches a new high get redirected at Rook.
The next day they are off to Tearstone Island. That night must have been hell. For both of them. But its going to get much much worse.
In any case, Emmrich seems to have come to some conclusion or realization, because on that island? He apologizes.
They both did react very emotionally, but he came at Rook with superiority and, to a certain degree, dishonesty. All fueled by his fear. So that he is the one to take the first step and apologize to Rook instead of doubling down? An important step. As I said in my last post – he NEEDED to be called out. A sweet and nice counterargument would not have had the impact Rooks raw an honest emotion hat on him.
Emmrich “Rook? Darling? I wanted to say-“
Rook “Yeah, about that argument…”
Emmrich “(Sighs) It’s no time to apologize, is it?”
And here we have the most heartbreaking line, in hindsight. “We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”
(Narrator: but they would, in fact, not talk about it back home. Because someone would not go home.)
One fight and weeks of horror later, they find themselves in a private crypt and finally they do more than share a kiss.
Now - to the point I originally wanted to explore with this post – is this in fact their first time? (I am sorry, but my brain is a circle and nothing makes sense)
Let’s look at what evidence we have from the cut-scene.
Rook did not know he is an early riser.
That leaves two possibilities:
They never had sex up until that point.
They did have sex, but never spent the night together.
Now what does that mean?
This depends a lot on your personal Rook and how they feel about sex in general. If Rook wants to wait, or is not ready, he will absolutely accept and respect that.
But for the sake of this analysis lets go with the idea that Rook is not opposed to sex at an earlier date.
They never slept with each other
Why? He clearly was not opposed to casual relationships in the past. What would hold him back now? Especially if you recall Laces comment about them moving fast. Why not jump into the bedroom?
Now my first crack theory is that they get interrupted, like every time. (Rook interrupted The Dread Wolf, and now he cursed them to always be interrupted when they want to have some private time)
But now, in all seriousness, maybe it’s just that part of him DOES realize that this goes beyond a very unserious relationship. That they both have deeper feelings, that spark of something greater, something beautiful.
So, he holds back. He does not give his all. He is charming, he is flirty, he takes Rook on dates. But it’s all very technical. Very performative. Yes, he is a very romantic man, yes he enjoys those moments. But there is always a feeling of control.
Those moments when you see him let go a bit (that kiss beneath the eternal lovers, “I think, sometimes you indulge me”), are so beautiful and you glimpse a bit of the man behind those walls.
He has a tell, you see. (I am telling you about it further down)
But generally, he feels very much in control of himself. And to lie with Rook? To go all the way? Too dangerous. Who knows what happens in that sweet moment after la petit mort? What secrets would his lips spill?
2. They slept together, but did not spent the night together.
They do have sex, but sleep alone in their own beds. Casual sex is fine, but to fall asleep in each other’s arms? Too much. Too real. Sex okay, but sleepy post coitus cuddly? Woah, slow down your horses.
So, they have sex, preferably in Rooks bed. First, does he even have a bed? Second, it’s way easier to leave Rooks bed after the act, than throwing them out afterwards.
Oh, and how many reasons he has. Rook needs their uninterrupted sleep; they are stressed and must have proper rest. He wants to get some reading done before he retires. He needs to look after Manfred.
Oh, he is a bad liar, for sure. He is lying more to himself than to Rook. I would think that (if this is the build up to their fight) Rook realizes that he is giving poor excuses.
And the sex itself? A technical 10/10. He knows his anatomy, after all. But his heart is not really in it. He can’t allow himself to. He holds back, keeps a tight lid on his emotions. They both are well spent afterwards, but like so much else, it’s performative. Technically very well executed, but rarely do you see HIM, the real him, behind all that performance. Whenever something slips through, he reels back and closes up.
And then we are in that crypt. Rook was gone for weeks. The last thing they said that night before were words of anger. Rook called him out on his feelings and from that point on there was no possible way of lying to himself anymore. Those feelings were there. They were real. Rooks feelings were real. And those weeks spent in desperation, trying to  get them back? Those walls came crashing down.
His true face, when all the walls are gone? You see that face when Rook leads him to the coffin. There is no pretense anymore. No performance. Just him, and all his love for Rook. The amount of emotion the animation team packed into those short moments in the cutscene? Mindblowing. Who ever crafted that expression on his face? They are the GOAT. I watch this part of that scene on repeat, and it never gets old.
So, I told you about how he has a tell, yes? Okay, two actually, but we all know surprised pikachu Emmrich. In that last scene it is resolved in the most beautiful way.
He looks down, when something touches him deeply, when he goes into his feels.
A few (way to many) examples:
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And the worst wet kitten look? After the fight, when Rook leaves.
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Its a look of shame. Of hurt. This man is hurting so badly.
Now here at the end we have that moment when Rook leads him to the coffin. His face turns down, like before. But here he looks up at Rook. He does not turn his eyes away but looks directly at them. Ahhh my heart.
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Now, think about the fact that ROOK is leading in that moment?
In those moments where Rook leads or startles him (or is simply annoying enough so that the truth slips out), you see the most emotion from him.
Rooks flirting startles him, and he has a pikachu face reaction every time.
Their first kiss? Rook leans against the monument, and leans up, telling him without words that NOW is the time for a kiss. How can he not go for a second kiss?
That moment when Rook calls Manfred “our son”? He very conveniently ignores the word “OUR” and goes in defense mode over the word “son”. But called out on his feelings for Manfred? How can he deny them? He has tears in his voice when he says how he would not exchange this moment for anything? A real, deep emotion.
In their fight Emmrich is again all technical, all performance, so logical (or what he sells himself as logic). But Rook wrestles that moment from him and takes lead, calls him out on his bullshit.
In the crypt Rook pulls him up into a kiss and then leads him to the coffin, guiding him, taking him with them.
Most of the other times he takes the lead, very much in control. But the most emotions you get from him, are those times Rooks leads, when he lets go of this tight control over himself, or he is startled in to a reaction. For all the age difference that is played up in their relationship, in the important moments Rook is the one who guides. And he follows where they lead.
Those little moans he makes? If they did have sex before, I bet he did not make those sounds then. Where they did have some incredible sex, now they are making love. Open, vulnerable. He gives in.
And then they fall asleep together. Skin to skin, arms and legs intertwined. Their hands caressing, no sound but that of their heartbeats and soft breaths. Pure and utter contentment. In that moment nothing exists but them. Can you imagine that moment he woke up? The amount of emotions he must have felt then? This need to speak those little words? Those huge little words. He does not say them, not yet. But he is almost ready.  
Finally, they stand there, on the battlefield of Elgar’nans madness. And he tells Rook. The last wall falls. Gives the most precious thing he can give to anyone.
“I love you.”
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silcoitus · 3 days ago
Note
Could you write a (young)Silco/Disabled Reader, who for the most part is able to walk just fine with the help of a brace but on bad days they’ll bring out the cane and on really bad days a wheelchair but is still insistent on trying to do things no matter how much they shouldn’t?
I tried to be as sensitive as I could towards reader's disability. I hope it comes across sincere and that I haven't committed any faux pas. If I have, please let me know in the comments and I will happily revise. Like young Silco in this fic, I will quickly apologize and learn if given the opportunity.
A Voice Like Yours
Masterlist | AO3 link
Rating: Mature
Tags: gn!reader x silco; disabled reader; Silco; Felicia; Connol; Vander; Benzo; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort;
Word count: 3.5k
Beta reader: @juniper-sunny
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You would've liked to get to the market sooner, but getting out of bed was particularly hard today. Typically, you're able to handle just fine with only your brace. And when that doesn't work, your cane will usually suffice. But with rough sleep last night and a flare-up this morning, you opt for using your chair today to get to the market. Just until you can get your bearings again.
With your later arrival, you're unable to beat the morning rush, sandwiched between what seems like every citizen of the Undercity. Most give you a wide berth, but others shove past you unceremoniously. You're used to it by now, but your fatigue plasters a permanent scowl on your face as you try to find your usual vendors.
As you make your way through your shopping list, the bag sitting on your lap getting slightly heavier with each new stall you visit, you feel a bit better. (You used to keep your bag slung over the back of your chair, but stopped when some asshole stole it.)
You're on the last item on your list when you get settled in front of one wooden stall and make small talk with the shopkeep. He greets you by name and grabs your usual order, setting it down on the counter before turning his back to fix something. You try to reach for your purchase, but it's just a touch too far. You're about to move your chair closer when a stranger waltzes up and plucks the bag off the counter.
“Hey! That's mine!” you protest, rolling closer to him.
“I know,” he replies, handing it to you. “I was just getting it for you.”
You snatch it and shove it into your canvas bag, still frowning at the tall, slender man with long raven hair. 
“I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own.” You grab your wheels and in one fluid, practiced motion, reposition your chair away from him. You start to leave, but pause, looking over your shoulder. “I don't need your help.”
Out of your periphery, you see him raise both hands in surrender, but from this angle, you can't tell if his expression is sincere or sarcastic. You try to shake it off, ready to go back home and wash your hands of the interaction. 
The Undercity is supposed to be the city of self-reliance.
So why does everyone still treat you like a child?
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The following day fares better. You bring your cane (just in case) for your shift at the shop, settling into your stool at the cash register. You're reading a book during the slower hours when a customer comes in and sets a stack of papers down onto the counter. Your eyebrows furrow at the flyers and you lift your eyes to see a familiar face.
“If it's alright, I'd like to add these to your bulletin board,” the man from yesterday says, not even looking at you. He leans on the counter, looking out the large windows to the street. “Got a meeting coming up and want to get the word out.”
Finally, he turns to you.
You watch as his face cycles from apathy to confusion to recognition. His eyes dart down to your stool and the surrounding area, seemingly looking for your wheelchair. When he comes up empty, he looks back up to your face, head tilting to the side.
“I didn't need it today,” you preemptively answer. “Not that I owe you an explanation.”
“Right, right, sorry,” he's quick to apologize. “I didn't mean to insinuate—”
“That I'm faking?”
“No! Never!” he says, hands coming up in surrender, again. His shoulders sag forward slightly and he runs his fingers through his hair, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “I'm sorry, can we start again?”
He puts his hand out. You eye it warily.
“Hi, I'm Silco.”
Your lips thin, but you take his hand.
“Hi, Silco.” You give him your name.
“I would like to put these up on your bulletin board,” he says, nodding to the corkboard behind you.
You put your hand out.
“Only two,” you instruct. “One here and the one in the back.”
He starts to hand you the flyers, but then pulls back.
“I can put up the one out back,” he offers.
“It's fine,” you say, insisting with a gesture of your hand. “I can do it.”
Silco looks at your hand then up to your face, understanding slowly spreading across his features. He nods, mostly to himself, as he hands you the papers.
“Of course.”
You take one flyer and a thumbtack from the corner of the board, stabbing it in place with a bit more force than necessary.
“You should come,” Silco says from behind you. “We could use a voice like yours in the Children.”
You turn back to him, eyebrows furrowed.
“Just think about it,” he says softly, gathering the pile of papers. With a small, almost apologetic, smile, he leaves.
You lift the remaining flyer, scanning it.
Children of Zaun 
Town Hall
Wednesday 
4pm
The Last Drop 
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“Hey, Monte?” you call out. “If it's okay, I think I'm gonna head out a little early.”
Your boss peeks his head out from one of the aisles, his glasses slightly crooked on his nose.
“That's fine,” he reassures you, calling your name. “We're pretty slow today; I can take it from here.”
You take your cane from behind the counter, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.
“Thanks! I'll see you tomorrow!”
You make your way to The Last Drop, having spent a couple days wrestling internally about whether or not to go. You had heard of the Children of Zaun, but not really given them much thought. From what you'd heard, they were a ragtag group of misfits posing as rebels, claiming to want independence from Piltover. You had rolled your eyes in disbelief at the notion. Besides, you have plenty of your own concerns to worry about; it's not as if you have time to take up some righteous cause.
But Silco's words ring in your ear, propelling you forward.
“We could use a voice like yours in the Children.”
What did he mean by that? “Like yours”—what’s that supposed to mean? So they want some sort of token disabled person on their crew to make them look better or something?
But the sincere remorse on his face and the softness of his tone told you otherwise. 
Maybe he meant it.
Maybe he does actually want to hear what you might have to say.
So you walk up to The Last Drop, hand clutching your cane, holding it less like a walking stick and more like a blunt force weapon (which it has had to be, on occasion). Taking a deep breath, you pull your shoulders back, and push open the door.
You're by no means early, but there's no way this is the entire gang. You can count on exactly one hand the number of people that showed up. There's Silco, standing with his back to you, what looks to be a couple sharing a table, and then two larger men standing by the bar. You're immediately filled with regret and start to turn back around, until you hear someone call your name.
“You came!” Silco says, more excitement in his voice than you'd expect. “Hey, this is who I told you about.”
Four pairs of eyes turn to you and you feel rooted on the spot.
You shoot Silco a look.
He told them about you? What could he possibly have said?
He gestures you forward, leading you to the couple at the table. You take one of the empty seats and Silco sits in the one next to you. He leans forward, one forearm barred along the wooden surface as he addresses the couple.
“I told you we were missing something,” he starts. “That this—” he gestures to the group, forefinger pointed and moving in a circle, “wasn't enough.”
That same forefinger comes down, tapping incessantly on the table.
“If we're to be the voice of Zaun, we need to make sure that everyone has a spot at the table.”
The woman glances at you before turning back to Silco, nodding slightly as she speaks.
“Okay…” she nods a little more, as if the thought is taking root in her head. “Yeah. That makes sense.” She turns toward you. “My name is Felicia and this is Connol,” she says, leaning her head toward the man next to her. 
“Felicia. Connol. Nice to meet you.”
You shake hands with both of them.
“Would you like a drink?”
You pull your lips through your teeth and Felicia is quick to reassure you.
“Don't worry; it's on the house.” She straightens up, calling out to the large man behind the bar. “Vander! Some beer!”
“Get it yourself!” he calls back.
“Fuck you,” she laughs.
“Oy,” the other man says, bringing a tray over. “Watch yer language ‘round the new recruit.”
Felicia laughs.
“They’re an adult, Benzo; they can handle it.”
You look back at her and she offers you a smirk. You take the free mug of beer and Silco raises his up in toast.
“To the Children of Zaun.”
Felicia and Connol mirror the movement.
“The Children of Zaun!”
You lift your glass and say the words, though you don't take them to heart just yet. But as you bring the mug to your lips, you can't help the small smile from creeping onto your face.
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Every Wednesday, you leave the shop to go to the bar. And every Wednesday, you become a little more smitten.
With the cause.
With the man that introduced you to it.
The more you get to know Silco, the more you realize your first impression of him wasn't a good representation of the man he is. 
Or, perhaps, maybe it was the perfect representation.
A man who only wants to help, eager to uplift those around him. So excited to do so that he steps on a few toes in the process. He's stumbling and clumsy with his help, but he's quick to apologize and quick to learn. 
It doesn't take long for you to realize—he’s that way with everyone. It wasn't just you and it wasn't just because you're disabled. He's always on alert for if someone could use a hand, always first to arrive when someone asks for assistance. That's just who he is.
And if this is one of the rebels trying to uplift the Undercity, the Nation of Zaun is in good hands.
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Silco is keeping you company at the shop, following you around as you restock some items. He carries a crate of goods while you arrange them on displays, your discerning eye careful to make them look as appealing as possible.
You drop one of the small boxes and Silco is quick to bend down to grab it.
“Silco,” you warn, “What'd I say about helping without being asked?”
“Sorry, right,” he says, straightening up to let you retrieve it. “Force of habit.”
You grin up at him, chuckling. “I'm just fucking with you.”
With some assistance from him, you get out of your wheelchair and resume your place at the cash register. Silco takes the opportunity to sit in your chair, long fingers fiddling with the wheels. You laugh as he tries to maneuver the chair around the front of the shop.
“Have you learned any tricks on this thing?” he asks, trying to lean back and balance it so that his feet lift off the ground.
“It's a wheelchair, not a skateboard, you jackass.”
“That's a ‘no’ then,” he says, smirking. But the smirk is wiped clean off his face when the chair tumbles backwards, sending him crashing to the floor.
You let out a bark of a laugh at that, laughing even harder when he starts to groan.
“Serves you right!” You grab your cane, gingerly getting off the stool to help him back up. “If you broke my chair, I swear to Janna… Do you know how hard these are to get? I had to pay so much coin for it.” 
You point your cane at him threateningly, but he wraps his fingers around it and tugs, pulling you forward. A startled squeak at your throat, you fall on top of him, catching yourself just in time so you don't headbutt him.
“Silco—”
“Now we're both down here,” he teases, smirking.
“Wonderful,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “What a masterful plan.”
Something sparks behind Silco's ocean green eyes, something playful, mischievous.
“I'll say it is.”
And with that, he lifts his head, closing the distance between your lips. Your eyebrows lift and your eyes flutter closed, savoring the warmth of his mouth against yours. His hand comes up to tenderly cradle your face and you lean into the kiss, pressing your chest to his so you're flush with him. You don't know how much time has passed, but as you kiss him, you feel as light as a cloud, until—
“Hey!”
You straighten up, face red with blush.
“I don't pay you to swap spit with the customers,” Monte says, but there's no bite to his words. “Get up before someone trips on you.”
You laugh, pressing your forehead to Silco's. 
“Here.” You push yourself up, offering him a hand. “Let me help you.”
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It’s been a while since you’ve had a friend group like this. Ever since the accident that caused your disability, no one seems to have the patience to deal with your rougher days, as if you’re holding them back.
It’s hard to not internalize that feeling.
But with Silco and the rest of the Children of Zaun, you feel different. Whereas before, it felt like your mere presence was a burden, you feel seen and appreciated. You feel heard.
When you tell Vander that the bathroom stalls are too tiny for your chair, he knocks the dividers down to make room.
When you lament about the small step outside the front door, Benzo throws together a small wooden ramp. 
More and more, The Last Drop feels like home, though going to the basement or the upstairs office still eludes you. It’s not that you can’t. It’s more that you’re worried that you’ll have to ask for help to get you back on the ground floor should you get stuck in either place. But, there’s never really been any reason for you to visit either floor, so you’re content to stay in the main bar area, occasionally ducking into the back room when the crowd gets a little too loud.
It’s on one such trip to the storage room that Silco finds you, huddled on the floor, your cane propped up next to you. Your knees are pulled up to your chest and your palms pressed flat against your ears, trying in vain to drown out the sounds of the bar. You had made the mistake of visiting during peak hours and didn’t have the energy to go all the way back home. You thought you could power through it until the customers dwindled, but it became too much. So, you retreated to the back room, holding back tears.
“We have one more!” Silco calls over his shoulder as he opens the door, talking to Vander who tends the bar. “After this, we’ll need to get more.”
He turns over his shoulder to see you on the floor. Immediately, his voice lowers and he crouches down to get eye level, your name a reassuring coo on his throat.
“Hey… are you okay?”
You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut.
“Okay, just… give me a second.”
You hear him pick up a crate of bottles. The door swings open, letting in the raucous noise from outside. You let out a whimper as the door swings closed. After a few tense minutes, the door opens again and you hear footsteps approaching you.
“Hey, I’m back,” Silco coos. There’s shuffling as he moves to sit next to you. “What do you need?”
It’s a sentence you practically trained him to ask. With his tendency to charge forward offering the help he thinks you need, you managed to finally get him to learn to ask you first. 
It’s a small gesture, but at this moment, it’s everything.
“I need…” Your breath is shaky, your eyes holding back tears. “I need quiet. And— And it’s too far to walk home.”
Silco shifts, moving to crouch in front of you, hands on either of your shoulders. He squeezes them and you look up to see a tender expression on his face. Not pity or condescension. Concern. Sincere, genuine concern.
“It’s much quieter upstairs in the office,” he offers. “Do you think you can make it?”
Your lips tighten. It’s hard to think with so much noise; you can barely hear your own thoughts. It doesn’t help that you can feel a flare up coming on, pain shooting through your legs.
“I… I don’t know.”
You watch Silco chew on the inside of his mouth, thinking. 
“I could… carry you.”
You shoot a look at him, equal parts indignation and humiliation.
“I know, I know. It’s not ideal.” He looks around the storage room as if he’ll find an alternative answer. “But the sooner we get you out of here, the sooner you can feel better.”
You bite down on your bottom lip, wrestling internally. The sting behind your eyes is threatening to push past your defenses. Finally, wordlessly, you nod.
“Okay,” he says, tone firm. 
His ocean green eyes dart around your body, trying to figure out how best to pick you up that keeps your dignity intact. But before he can reach a decision, you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him to yourself, holding him in a tight embrace.
“Oh! Hey…” He melts into the hug, bringing both arms around your back, squeezing you gently. “It’s okay.” He rubs your back with one hand, palm warm against your shirt. “It’s okay. We all need help sometimes.”
“I did too much today,” you say into the crook of his neck, tears escaping your eyes. “I should’ve stayed home.”
“Shhhh…” he shushes, shifting his arms as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you along. 
You manage to get to your feet, but your legs feel wobbly and unstable under your weight.
“Here, let me…” Silco bends down and hangs your cane over the crook of his elbow before bringing one arm behind your knees. “On three. One… two… three.”
You lift your legs up and he scoops you up in his arms, straightening to a stand. Instinctively, you wrap both your arms around his neck, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.
“I got you,” he coos. “I’ve got you.” He takes one final look around the room before pushing the door open with his back. “We’ll go behind the bar; no one will even know.”
You nod, tears flowing in earnest now to stain Silco’s shirt.
You press one ear to the crook of his neck, trying to dampen the loud voices of the bar patrons. At that, Silco walks a little faster, making his way up the staircase. In his haste, he drops your cane on the landing.
“Shit! Sorry, I’ll go back for it,” he says, continuing forward.
After opening the door and carefully depositing you onto the plush red cushions of the couch, he darts out the door, returning with your cane in hand. He sets it on the coffee table in front of you before sitting next to you.
“There.” He rubs your hip as you lay on your side. “Is that better?”
You nod, reorienting yourself to rest your head on his lap. Silco settles on the couch, bringing one hand to your head, smoothing down your hair in soft reassuring strokes. His other hand grazes your cheek, wiping away your tears.
It’s finally quiet.
Your legs still ache, but it’s not as bad as it was before. You can feel the rise and fall of Silco’s chest against your back, his breathing a calming rhythm.
“Thank you, Silco,” you whisper.
“Of course,” he whispers back.
After a moment, he shifts, bending down to bring his lips to your temple. You smile at the touch, feeling warmth settle behind your ribs.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” he cuts you off. “I’ve never heard you apologize before and I don’t want to hear it now.”
The firmness in his voice has you turning your face to look up at him. There’s a resoluteness in his expression, a confidence you typically see reserved for Children of Zaun meetings. He looks off into the distance, as if seeing something that’s not there. A vision. A promise.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” he continues. His chin dips and his ocean green eyes find yours. His eyebrows lift and his lips curl into a soft smile, full of pride and affection. “You’re perfect.”
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swaqcenix · 2 days ago
Text
༻ Stardust of your soul | N. Romanoff ༺
Natasha Romanoff x gn!reader
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Summary: Being new to SHIELD and it's agents you'd always kept yourself to yourself & hovered in the background. Yet a new chapter opens up when being invited to the compound for 'team bonding,' and it turns out another star shined just as you did without even knowing. Simply the trust to fall asleep on another's lap really does open up the deepest of souls.
Warnings: None! Just pure fluff & sentiment of how Natasha falls asleep on your lap..
Pairings: Natasha romanoff x gn!reader, sort of black cat x golden retriever (ish?)
Word Count: 3.8K
DC: cafekitsune
AN: I don't know where I got this idea from, but I wanted to get back to writing again, so I figured some soft reading of Natasha falling asleep on the reader's lap by accident would cut it! <3 Might make a P2!
(also if ppl can teach me how to get a sapphic relationship-)
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Walking through the halls of the building always seemed daunting when you worked for SHIELD. It wasn't like you feared anyone there, just everyone was so equipped and skilled- they'd been there for a good chunk of time. Many beginning their journey's with SHIELD years before yourself, forming bonds and friendships.
You were merely a baby taking their first steps within the walls of SHIELD headquarters, simply learning the ropes & where to start. Still, you were eager to always take on a challenge and being accepted as a SHIELD agent wasn't something you'd expect to happen, yet changing that decision to take on the role wasn't even a consideration for you.
A simple few weeks at the headquarters was all it took for you to slowly begin to feel more comfortable with the said environment. You'd spoken to Maria Hill the Deputy Director of SHIELD and while she could be intimidating, she and yourself shared views similar making it easy to get on. Fury was a little more on the complex side but some of the other agents you'd definitely enjoyed bonding with.
You'd been called in to a meeting for god knows what, but that was the generalised idea these days. Most agents yourself included never seemed to be informed prior of your missions only simply assigned upon the day. It did albeit stress you out given your organised schedule and how you felt with being thrown into the deepest ends of the pool was stressful.
However, when you dedicated your time and complete energy and effort within SHIELD's walls and work you had to be prepared for anything, without fail. You'd found yourself being so lost in thought with how you'd ended up in this role and position that you'd realised you'd come to a halt.
Seeing the door to Fury's office was a surprise to your eyes, having not realised you'd walked all that way. Slowly bracing yourself, your hand reached for the door handle before it was pulled open and Nick Fury himself stood there in the flesh.
"Come on in," His voice that always sent chills down your spine seemed warmer than usual today.
It did strike you as odd but you hardly had the time to think more of it. Instead you simply merely nodded entering the room at a gentle pace, before your shoes caused a loud squeak of a sudden stop.
Your eyes glanced around the room to see people you hardly ever thought you'd be in the same room with. The Avengers, the actual known hero's themselves sat around a table as their eyes slowly drifted up to study you.
Tony, Steve, Clint, Thor, Natasha, Bruce, Wanda, Rhodey & Sam. All of them were waiting for your arrival.
Natasha let out a soft smile at you nodding an approving look, which didn't surprise you at all. You'd become accustomed to the redhead while at SHIELD given her status and her ability to train new recruits which yourself was in fact one of them.
You'd never quite been able to read her fully, only knowing she had a closed off position about her, including the past everyone was forbidden to know of. All the recruits and fellow agents knew that it was a road nobody dared cross, including interacting with the redhead outside of working hours.
Standing there waiting for Fury or anyone to say something felt like an agonising amount of time & it was making the clock feeling like minutes were passing by. In reality, it was most likely to be mere seconds before Fury coughed and began to fill the silent room with his voice.
"So Y/N.. There's been some form of talk amongst myself and the Avengers," he began and you felt your body froze.
Without the intention of doing so, you glanced over at Natasha with concern and worry glazed over your eyes. Nobody else would recognise the small but clear look she gave to you, it was something you'd come to somewhat understand. She gave you a curt but firm nod and her eyes softened only for a moment but that moment was enough. It was okay.
You felt your shoulders and body language relax a tad as you nodded towards Director Fury to continue his conversation.
"We feel that.. we need a new member to work with the Avengers. Think of it as a new position a higher role. One that we thought you'd fit most well into. More like a team bonding so you'd say."
You gawked at the older man before shaking your head back to reality as it sunk into your brain and your bones. He thought you were the best for the role? You as in just someone from a town that had nothing now working along side the Avengers, more specifically her.
"M-Me? What, there has to be some sort of mistake. Director I don't know if I-" You began stuttering over your words.
While you did admire your strengths and abilities, it was a big step to be working with the earth's mightiest hero's. You certainly didn't want to make a fool out of yourself, however Fury decided to interrupt you.
"All due respect Y/L/N, it wasn't really a request. We need you on the team. The mission that's required is going to need all the assets and best that we've got. It's important," he stated firmly looking around the room at the Avengers before moving his gaze back to you.
"Director I-"
"They'll be trained and ready. I'll make sure of it," you heard her voice echo through the room with determination.
Your eyes drifted around the room landing onto her, staring at Natasha in pure shock and partial annoyance. You knew your own weaknesses and strengths and didn't need anyone speaking for you.
However, she simply stared back at you with a firm all serious look showing she wasn't backing down. Why was she so fixated on having you on the team? Her eyes changed ever so slightly and only for a moment looking at you with something you couldn't quite place. However, in a small blink just a tiny moment the look disappeared and her normal stoic expression was back.
"Thank you Agent Romanoff. Anything anyone else has to add?" He asked looking around the room with sheer authority.
Nobody seemed to speak, Tony flamboyantly flapping his hands up to speak for them. Clearly they weren't against having you on the team, you must be some important asset they required. With nobody speaking, you were all dismissed and the Avengers all fluttered out of the room.
All except one. Natasha stood leaning against the wall, half slouching her gaze fixated onto you. Head tilted in an almost questioning way towards you. Mirroring the action, you stared at the redhead inquisitive facial expressions painted on both of your faces.
Natasha cracked first, shifting off the wall walking towards you with her hands in her pockets, her signifying black leather jacket around her shoulders.
"You know, you should have more belief in yourself Y/N. We both know your abilities, I've witnessed them myself," she added her eyebrow arching.
"I.. You think so?" You managed to get out slowly.
Without a warning she leaned forward, whispering in your ear causing your body to stiffen. With her being this close you could smell her perfume, invading your senses like a warm blanket alluring you and drawing you in. The proximity of her was sending heat to your face and you knew her voice was sending shivers down your body.
"I know so sweetheart, I know so," she hushed out and if the floor was made of lava you'd melt right through it and into the ground beneath you.
Natasha was like a temptress, a woman who knew how to lull people in just with a few simple words. You knew this but still felt yourself floating towards the singing of the siren.
She stepped back smirking at you sending you a wink causing your heart to hammer against your chest. It was like she was looking into the depths of your soul and you were trying not to give her the key to opening your soul.
Just before she opened the door to exit the room she flung her body around to face you at an angle. The tension in the room was intense, dancing around you in a heavy feeling as she spoke.
"Training starts at 7. Don't be late sweetheart. I don't do late."
With that she left the room without allowing yourself to respond and you felt an internal groan bubbling inside of you. She was seeing into your soul now you needed to try and allow Natasha to let you see her own.
Tossing and turning at night in your bed whilst the minutes passed by seemed to be what was happening for you. The clock was ticking yet you were significantly restless especially knowing training started at 7am with Natasha wouldn't settle your mind to rest.
Her words played over and over again in your head, on a constant never ending loop. 'I know so sweetheart.' You couldn't remember the last time you had that much confidence running within your veins, let alone someone else. Yet, her voice ran through your mind, your soul almost touched by her belief.
Turns out you must have been laying there for that long tossing and turning throughout the night you'd managed to not succumb to a single ounce of sleep. That perhaps would come back to be biting you on the ass at some point today. Especially if you have training with Natasha.
As your head spun to view the clock next to the nightstand, elicting a loud groan from your lips. It read the time of 6:15AM. That's always your luck, never helping with the concept of you being the polar opposite of a morning person. If anyone was grouchy in the morning it would always be yourself.
Flinging the covers off yourself, grudgingly, you found your legs dragging themselves to the bathroom to have a shower, the need to freshen and wake up becoming excruciatingly stronger by the minute.
The water cascaded down your body, a soft sigh leaving your lips. It warmed you up within the speed of light, relaxing your current running thoughts, muscles relaxing slightly. Taking a shower has always reassured your senses with its water-hug, warm and cozy.
As you dressed for the training, you slipped out of the room deciding to take a small detour around the compound. The passing of Agents in the corridor, seemingly more professional and adjusted to the surroundings of the compound than yourself.
It almost made you shrink into yourself, wanting to knock your confidence. However, Natasha's words from the previous day replayed in your head on repeat, warning your insides for reasons unexplained.
Almost as if by sheer luck you'd past the main lounge of the compound where a few of the known Avengers seemed to be sitting around. That included, Tony, Steve, Wanda and Clint. As if your presence was like a dark shadow lingering into the room, all of their heads seemed to twist into your direction.
One thing you despised being more than anything is being the centre of all attention, eyes gazing on you like you'd become to be on a stage you weren't supposed to take. It bought bile rising from the depths of your stomach up at the mere concept of it.
Yet, their gazes lingered in a none judgmental way, almost like the comfort of understanding, an overwhelming sense but peaceful. Steve was the first to speak up, nodding at you firmly but not with an intensity of malice.
"If you're after the training room, it's just down the hall. Natasha's waiting for you there. Good luck, just believe in yourself."
With a curt, but gentle nod you headed to the training room giving your best definition of a half smile. Though, it probably looked more like a grimace, unintentionally of course.
As you entered the training room, Natasha was working on her punching exercises. Each one better than the last. The glimmer of sweat trickling down her cheeks and side of her hair, shone like water in the moonlight. For a moment you almost stopped to admire her.
However, you'd clearly being staring too long considering, when you came out of your dazed trance, Natasha stood smirking at you. Her head was now tilted to the side, her crimson hair braided and cascading down her shoulders. Immediately you flushed, a sudden realisation you'd been watching her working out, like some puppy in awe of the smallest of things.
"See something that you like?" Her voice carried huskily, but with a hint of a smirk lingering causing your knees to weaken.
Why she was having this effect on you, you'd never know. Part of yourself wished the feeling would vanish, disappearing like particles of atoms into the air. Dust vanishing away, yet another piece of you thrilled for the unknown drawn, the tranquility you felt. It felt exhilarating, the need for an escape.
As your eyes drifted around the room you realised just how much equipment had been invested within the 4 walls. Several different types of equipment were laid out in different selections, ranging from treadmills to yoga mats, leg presser's, even a shooting target range.
"N-No sorry I-" You stuttered still trying to distract your gaze to anything but at the redhead whose smirk had now grown wider.
The pair of you trained for a while, Natasha teaching you combat, which albeit you weren't as talented as herself. Several times she's managed to knock you down and pin you to the ground. Which, just happened to always end up with you looking up at her both your bodies in an extraordinary comprising position.
Natasha, on the other hand never judged you. Her skills and assets were on a scale of unbelievable, making you feel as tiny as an ant. Yet, the redhead never made you feel smaller than herself. She always seemed to root for the best in you, causing you to admire her as the minutes passed on.
"You've got more talent than you know," her voice whispered during the last training session.
Her voice sent a small shiver through your body shooting down your spine, as though a melody yet to be sang was ready to be heard. A soft nod a content true smile painted your lips setting a thousand suns alight.
"Thank you, Romanoff," your voice responded a little stronger than prior.
"Hey to you, it's Natasha."
A soft giggle passed your lips and she smiled, a rare one you could have sworn in the short time including familiarities of SHIELD, had never seen cross her lips before.
"it's like before when you were training me isn't it?" You asked your mouth speaking before your brain.
She simply nodded with a hum, putting herself once again in a position of combat causing you to follow suit. Her hair was now slick with sweat, but yours was drenched. Almost as if you'd been training the whole day, yet in reality it was a simple couple of hours.
"Exactly like before. Just harder and with stronger combat skills and assets."
Before you knew it, the pair of you were back at it. Training like you'd done the several times previously. Your skills had improved remarkably. How you didn't know, perhaps it was her words and further encouragement. Her sense of purpose that brought tranquility to you an ideology of lack of judgment.
One minute you were slightly stumbling and within the blink of an eye, you had her pinned. It was like the world had stopped, her own eyes had widened in shock, your body freezing as though ice had embedded itself within your veins, shocking every atom inside you.
The Natasha Romanoff, had been pinned down onto the floor with you hovering over her. A huge sense of achievement fell over you, a joyful relief that you had finally believed something within your bones for so long.
She felt it too, winking with no insult or any sort of ruined pride. Natasha merely looked and presented herself in a way that ran through to the pit of your stomach.
You scrambled off her slightly embarrassed as reality began to hit you, considering the positions you were currently in. Helping her up, Natasha stood there hands on her hips for a moment analysing you, but for once no feeling of unease overcame you.
"Told you could do it sweetheart," she said wiping her head with a towel.
If words could make your body melt into a puddle, like snow in the winter. You would have right there. Like an icicle on a tree branch waiting for its calling of life that's how you felt. Glistening but melting into bliss.
Natasha headed towards the door, her black tank top sticking to her in a way that was sheer attractive to practically everyone undeniably. Her abs could practically be seen through the material, causing your eyes to look up towards the ceiling scolding every part of your brain.
"Oh and, same time tomorrow," Natasha stated her voice carrying a tinge of something unplaced that caused you to look up at her. Yet she's disappeared through the door before anything more could be thought of it.
That's how it continued. The form of relationship building between yourselves, training continuing everyday. Your combat becoming stronger, fighting harder each time, not only did your skills improve but also your mindset. It began to light up your moments like a firefly, shining thousands of miles into you lighting up a hope in the sky.
There were times Natasha beat you, earning a playful comment from her lips.
"Gotta be faster than that honey," she'd husk out in that voice of hers.
Yet, you never stopped enjoying your training moments, the building of an established unknown. The way you and Natasha formed was rare, unseen and unbecoming, but there was no regret. No simple doubt that you enjoyed the form of relationship the pair of you had formed.
One morning your alarm clock went off once more, 6:15AM on the dot. Making no time to convince yourself to fall back into a peaceful depth of slumber you headed to the shower. Getting ready fast in the morning had become the new norm for you.
You'd managed to get changed at the speed of light hopping around to get into your gym wear. Just as you were about to leave F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke up warning you.
"Excuse me Y/N, I was informed to let you know most of the Avengers got called out for an emergency mission. You were called to go on it but, Miss Romanoff debated otherwise."
Your heart sank, upset slightly about the lack of training. You'd become quite accustomed to the way of life in the morning, training with Natasha before amusing yourself for the remainder of the day. However, it sank further when she mentioned Natasha stated she didn't want you there.
Were you not qualified enough? Would you ever be? Your mind spiralled around with overwhelming and overthinking thoughts, like a tornado sweeping through miles of countryside. No, you couldn't do this to yourself again.
The entire day became yourself training practically with little to no breaks, until the very darkness of night emerged the atmosphere, clicking your brain into knowledge.
Taking your last shower felt less like a privilege and more like a burden. Something undeserving, especially when you're clearly not welcome on missions. However, you knew you needed it.
Eventually you'd changed into some warmer fuzzier lounge wear, settling on some grey jumpsuit. It allowed you to feel more relaxed. The feeling sent you into a deep slumber, curled into the couch in a content creation.
A form half leaning on your body caused you to almost jolt awake, but you heard a whisper next to you. For a mere few seconds your surroundings became an enemy, training become reality. Yet, as your eyes adjusted to the light around you an awareness grew within you.
The Avengers were sat down around you, watching some random Christmas film you presumed Sam chose considering the choice. Clint was sat a few feet away glancing at you contently.
"You'll wake her," he mumbled his voice lower than usual that caused an unprovoked raised eyebrow from yourself.
Following his gaze, your heart pounded harder, eyes widening in a sudden surprise. Natasha was lying on your shoulder, her body almost slipping towards your lap. She seemed more at ease than Natasha ever had before.
Like the weight of a thousand worlds, a thousand men had been lifted by one single sleep. No, a single person. You. Her hair was now loose, drifting down her shoulders, making her look almost incredibly soft and it melted every aspect of you.
"She seems exhausted," you murmured without thinking.
"She took the most hits. I know what you were thinking. Natasha she.. She didn't want you on that mission, because she didn't want you hurt. Not because she doubts your capabilities. All I could see was her guilt and want to be back training with you."
Clint's confession and confirmation sent a warmth unexplainable feeling through you. Looking deeper at Natasha, you noticed the cuts and bruises. The winces when the redhead shifted in her sleep. A shatter through your heart came hard, one you had no idea was possible as you glanced softly at the older woman.
She cared. Natasha stirred slightly her eyes fluttering glancing up at you. Her eyes met yours and in that moment it unlocked everything and anything possible. It's said eyes are window's to one's soul. The key to unlocking everything about a person there was to be done.
Glancing at her emerald eyes all you saw was stardust, the pain of stars shimmering thousands of light years away trying to find their way back. She smiled weakly, trying to pull away. However, instead you adjusted Natasha to rest her head on your lap.
A frozen form hit your lap, tense in shock before fully relaxing into your hold. A soft hum left her lips and without thinking you began to caress her hair, bringing her to a warmth blanket of safety.
"She's never like that, looks like you're something," Clint mumbled smirking causing you to roll your eyes.
Natasha wasn't just an assassin, nor an Avenger. Sure you had no doubt words would be interestingly mentioned later when she awoke. Yet for now, as you had previously gazed into her eyes, all you saw was the stars of light wanting a home. Stroking her hair was like touching the star's of the soul itself, no matter the distance they'd always have somewhere or someone to go to.
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ilikeyoshi · 18 hours ago
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"#yes yes yes!!!! #and ngl it makes me want to read or engage with it more too!"
i hope it's ok to point out these tags bc this is SUCH a huge mood i think deserves a little more explanation!!!! (at least from my perspective as both a creator (writer) and fan (of artists))
i used to have a ton of anxiety when creating and especially sharing my works, and my impulse was always to talk down on it, because a) i* (*my anxiety) believed it to be bad, and b) because i had this idea in my head that if i lowered people's expectations, they wouldn't be as disappointed when reading it.
i want to tell you what i've learned in my years of both being a writer and being a fan of artists, and it's that this is a terrible, terrible anxiety fallacy (like so many ideas/misconceptions borne of anxiety are) that ONLY hurts you, your work, and your potential readers(/fans/etc). it SOUNDS like a good idea when you have really bad anxiety, i know, i used to DEPEND upon this idea just to have the courage to SHARE my writing—and i want to emphasize that it's OKAY if you've done this before, it's an easy, easy trap to fall into, but i also want you to try and stop doing it because there are a lot of reasons you would feel better and do better for doing so.
you are what you practice! if you only ever focus on or speak about the flaws in your art, you WILL feel negatively about your art. my very first therapist explained it in a way that still really resonates with me: you have created a well-beaten, highly trafficked "road" in your brain. it is very easy to take this road because even though it's longer to your destination, it winds and bends, it's walked on so much it's flat and easy to traverse. when you try to build a NEW path—in this case, a path where you focus on what you like about your art—you're starting with no path at all. it's all undergrowth and vines and thorns and it hurts and it's tiring and you feel like this will NEVER be easier or feel better than the old path. but you have to keep taking the new one. you have to beat down the undergrowth until it recedes, cut down the low-hanging branches until you can walk with your back straight, and if you keep at it, if you keep at this thing that feels so pointless and stupid and hard, eventually, the path will be clear, and easy to walk, and you'll make great time getting to your destination because it cuts straight through; no winding or bending. and the old path? it will overgrow, and it will become hard and stupid to take. you have to beat the new path because once it's beaten, it'll be the far superior path in every way, including ways the old path was never superior even when it WAS the one you were always taking.
further—as these tags point out, and as i agree with wholeheartedly—by disparaging your art, you DO lower people's expectations. people don't want to be sad, frustrated, disappointed when they look at art—at least, not unless the art itself is trying to tell a story about that. you get what i mean, i hope—they don't want to go INTO something they already HAVE negative reviews on—your reviews! you, the creator, have already told this person the story/art/whatever is going to be bad, and i know, i KNOW it's not your intention, you're hoping someone will see through what you can't and tell you no, no, this is good, i liked this! and some people do! but you make it a lot harder for them TO do that when you tell them right at the beginning, "this is going to be bad, i don't like it," because what you're unintentionally telling them is, "and you probably won't like it either." the first way i learned this was in people always saying in their fanfic summaries, before you even open the fic, "the summary is bad, i'm bad at writing summaries, the story is better trust me bro." because what this does—again, so unintentionally, i KNOW what you're trying to do because i've been you—is you're telling the reader, "here's my pitch, here's the hook to my entire story, it's the worst part, it's bad, but the rest will be better," and what they KNOW is they've already put the time in reading the summary, and it's hard to commit MORE time to something when you've already told them it's bad, even if you promise the rest is better. it's like biting into a fruit and you hate the taste of the skin; it's harder to try the rest of the fruit when, so far, it's been bad (or you've been made to believe it's bad).
so what's the solution? how do you begin beating that new path? well, it depends on you. everyone's a little different in how they navigate stuff like this. but what worked for me, and what might be a good place to start (and by all means adapt as you figure out what works and what doesn't), is start by just NOT saying anything negative. no, "i don't like this," or "the summary's bad, sorry," or anything. write your artist's comment, author's note, whatever as normal, and REMOVE anything that depicts your art/writing/etc in a bad light. just don't give people any opinion whatsoever on what experiencing your creation is going to be like. this, for me, was easier than jumping straight to, "i'm pretty proud of this," or "i enjoyed working on this," because it wasn't withholding AND replacing, it was JUST withholding. going back to the roads and paths metaphor, i think of this part as the "taking a breather before i get to work on this monumental task of beating this new path" stage.
then, overtime, i started "stretching" my positive comments about my works. if i liked, say, TWO LINES out of a whole piece of writing, i'd say, "i'm really proud of this work!" because i AM proud of ANYTHING AT ALL, NO MATTER HOW SMALL, within the work. it's not a LIE, to anyone including yourself, but it is, perhaps, an EXAGGERATION. that's OKAY. we're trying to teach our brain to look on the bright side, to take the new path, and i've found that treating it a little bit like a dog—giving it a treat for ANY TINY BIT OF PROGRESS, was a good way to encourage myself to start making MORE progress. ESPECIALLY because the tags i reposted above are RIGHT: LOTS of people are MORE interested in a work when their very first impression (YOUR impression!!!) is positive. 'the artist/writer/etc is proud of this? oh, i'm so glad they had a good time creating, let's take a look!" it probably sounds too easy if you're still taking that anxiety-beaten road, i know, but try to think of how you've felt when someone disparages their creations versus uplifts them. were you put off by the negativity? were you sad that your friend worked so hard on something and didn't even like it? conversely, doesn't it make you a little excited when an artist says they really feel good about something they made, especially in a world where so many artists ARE feeling inadequate? i hope you see what i mean.
it's not an overnight thing, of course, this took me YEARS. this took a miracle that doesn't happen to most people: i wrote something i felt SO TERRIFIED people wouldn't like, even though i was secretly very proud of it (but too scared to dare suggest i was proud of it), so i indicated all kinds of things like "i hope you like it, i dunno if it's any good, it's just a little thing i'm chipping away at in my spare time" (it was not, it was a full-blown passion project) and, against the odds, a LOT OF PEOPLE told me they really really really liked it. a couple of friends who were decently popular in the fandom it was for liked and shared it and i got A LOT of encouragement. i basically got to beat my new path with a HORDE of helpers, and it was more like THEY beat the path for me and i chased along like, "what is happening, oh my god, what are you doing???"
i got really lucky. that doesn't always, or even usually happen. in most other areas of my life, i've had to beat the path myself. and it takes a long time if you're doing it on your own. but you should anyway, because it's so fucking worth it dude. yeah, it was awesome to get so much help with my writing confidence specifically, but it's been just as worth it every time i've had to do it alone too. and i have good news! there ARE ways to tell people you're on this journey of making yourself a new path. here are some suggestions:
"i'm new/rusty at this, so please let me know what you think!" - informs potential readers/viewers/etc you are learning and gives them an opportunity to HELP you learn. this is a positive interaction! this allows people to find a GOOD experience EVEN if they didn't enjoy the story much, because they can help, and people DO, MOSTLY, like to help.
"i want to improve at [dialogue]" or "i'd appreciate advice on [lighting]." - similar to the first example, but does 2 things: gives viewers specific instructions that can be really helpful for those that aren't sure how/what to critique (surprisingly common thing; the more specific you are about what you want advice on, the more likely you are to GET advice), AND allows you to, neutrally and non-disparagingly, ask for help in areas you don't feel confident about.
"leave a comment if you liked it!" or "let me know what you liked best!" - listen. i don't think 'fishing for compliments' is bad as long as you're not being manipulative about it. these examples are very clear in what they're asking for, which is compliments, positive reviews, etc. and that's okay!!! first of all, lots of people LOVE praising works they like, i promise, and asking them to DOES make them feel like they have "permission" to (i know that sounds silly but i also know if you have anxiety about creating, you have anxiety about commenting, i see you, i was you). secondly, i have gotten the MOST encouraging, confidence-boosting comments this way, especially with the latter example. there is NOTHING more immediately anxiety-curing than a comment that says "i liked [scene/dialogue/character/etc] specifically." it's AMAZING. (also, if you're looking for advice on commenting, this is a GREAT thing to do. imo, this and "speculating/interpreting the work" are the two coolest comments i get they make me feel AWESOME.)
remind yourself, as many times as you have to, CONSTANTLY if you have to: likes/kudos mean someone enjoyed your work enough to press a button. views mean someone liked your work enough to click through for more. these are POSITIVE interactions, they are not "less positive" than comments or reblogs/reshares. i know those last two things are more obviously gratifying, and depending on if you NEED your work to spread (for exposure/commision prospects/etc), very good, awesome ways to support you, and i don't mean to say you shouldn't WANT comments and reblogs/reshares. but for me, it's helped me a lot to recognize that any bit of effort whatsoever means someone LIKED my work. it's also helped me to think of all the times i've shared a link to an artwork in a discord or something, and know that there is an entire, untangible metric i can't and will never see that, sure, i can choose to believe doesn't exist or isn't very high, but i can ALSO choose to believe it happens quite a lot, and the latter makes me FEEL better about my work and makes me want to create MORE, so i think that's the more productive mindset personally. it doesn't matter what the truth is, you know? we'll never know it and it doesn't harm us to never know it. but it DOES harm us to assume no one quietly, unseen by us, likes our work, and it DOES ENCOURAGE US to assume lots of people do.
here's the thing: anxiety disorders fuck you up by making you believe extremely negative, scary, depressing things. the disorder gets worse the more you allow it to make you believe these things, and the only way out, as stupid and hard and at times impossible as it feels, is to say, "no, i don't like that interpretation, i'm going to replace it with a positive one." anxiety is making paths all throughout your brain, and you have to just, make paths too. anxiety needs YOU to make paths, but YOU don't need anxiety to make paths. your paths WILL be better, safer, easier and happier. you just—and i know that is the biggest "just" ever—have to make them.
but i believe in you. i don't need to know you or your circumstances to believe in you. i believe in the sheer amount of control you have over how you face the world. and it's so much more than anxiety would lead you to believe.
i looooove seeing artists & writers proud of their work!!!!! i looooove captions & authors notes that say things like “i’m quite happy with this” “i love how this turned out” “i had so much fun making this”!!!!!! i loooooove when the act of creation is joyful & we take pride in what we make!!!!!!!!!!
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dissapointu · 2 days ago
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Hey, i love your work and i think that your writing is beautiful
Can i request the ladies of Arcane with a imortal fem s/o? Like, she's about their age and cannot die from things that aren't time itself, their s/o can only die when her time comes, until then, no matter how much anyone tries to kill her, she will simply regenerate
Sorry for the long text and english errors, it's not my native linguage. Also, thank you for reading it :)
Thank you so much for your kind words! Your English is amazing, and I’m honored to bring your idea to life.
Jinx
Jinx would think your immortality is the coolest thing EVER.
• When she finds out, her immediate reaction is pure excitement. “Wait, so you’re, like, INVINCIBLE? That’s AWESOME!”
• She’d probably test your ability at first—nothing too serious, but you’d definitely have to talk her out of throwing you into something reckless. “What? You’d heal, right? No big deal!”
• Over time, though, it would hit her: if you’re immortal, she’s the fragile one in the relationship. It’s a bittersweet realization for her.
• “Promise me something, okay? That you’ll remember me… even when I’m gone.” She’d cope with humor most of the time but get quietly sentimental when she thinks too hard about it.
• Jinx would also LOVE showing off your ability. “This is my girlfriend—she’s totally unkillable. Jealous much?”
Vi
Vi would be lowkey awestruck by your immortality, but she wouldn’t show it at first.
• When she first sees you regenerate from a life-threatening wound, she’d be wide-eyed for a second before shaking it off like, “Okay, that’s a neat trick. Care to explain?”
• Once she understands the full extent of your ability, she’d be deeply relieved. “That’s one less thing I have to worry about… but damn, does it still freak me out.”
• She’d be protective of you, even though you don’t technically need it. “Immortal or not, nobody gets to hurt you on my watch.”
• The thought of growing old while you stay the same might weigh on her sometimes, but she’d push those feelings aside to make the most of the time she has with you.
• “Guess that just means I have to make every day count, huh? You’ll remember me when I’m gone.”
Sevika
Sevika would be skeptical at first but ultimately find your immortality fascinating—and useful.
• When she sees you regenerate after a near-fatal injury, she’d be stunned for a moment before muttering, “Well, that’s one hell of an advantage.”
• She wouldn’t coddle you, knowing you can take care of yourself, but she’d still have your back in fights. “Just because you can’t die doesn’t mean I’m letting anyone get a hit in.”
• Your ability would earn her respect, especially in the rough-and-tumble world of Zaun. “You’re tougher than anyone I know. Guess that’s why we work.”
• She might joke about your immortality, saying stuff like, “Good thing you’re stuck with me—nobody else could keep up with you for that long.”
Caitlyn
Caitlyn would be both amazed and worried about your immortality.
• When you reveal your ability, she’d be quiet for a moment, processing what it means. “So… no matter what happens, you’ll always come back? That’s incredible, but… also terrifying.”
• She’d admire your strength but still feel protective. “Just because you can’t die doesn’t mean I want to see you hurt.”
• Your immortality would make her think deeply about her own mortality, but she’d value the time you spend together even more. “It doesn’t matter how long we have. Every moment with you is worth it.”
• Caitlyn would support you in every way, helping you navigate the emotional weight of your immortality. “You’ve seen so much, but I hope I can give you memories worth holding onto.”
Mel Medarda
Mel would see your immortality as both a gift and a burden.
• When she learns about your ability, she’d be intrigued and ask thoughtful questions. “How long have you carried this? How does it feel, knowing time is your only limit?”
• She’d admire your resilience and strength, seeing you as a kindred spirit in navigating a world that often demands too much.
• Mel would be deeply aware of her own mortality, but she wouldn’t let it hold her back. “If I only have a fraction of your time, I’ll make it unforgettable.”
• She’d also be fascinated by the strategic advantages of your ability, often thinking about how you could use it to shape the world. “With your gift and my vision, we could change everything.”
Ambessa Medarda
Ambessa would be incredibly impressed by your immortality and see it as a rare, invaluable strength.
• When you reveal your ability, she’d smile knowingly. “I had a feeling there was more to you than met the eye.”
• She’d appreciate your ability from a pragmatic perspective, understanding how it could turn the tide in dangerous situations. “Immortality is a weapon. Wield it wisely.”
• Ambessa would admire your determination and experience, often asking for your insights. “Someone who has seen so much must have a wealth of wisdom. Share it with me.”
• She’d be confident in your ability to protect yourself but still fiercely protective of you. “Immortal or not, you’re still mine to protect.”
Maddie Nolen
Maddie would be in awe of your immortality but also concerned for how it affects you emotionally.
• When she finds out, she’d be both amazed and worried. “You can survive anything? That’s incredible… but it must be so hard, too.”
• She’d do her best to support you emotionally, always checking in to make sure you’re okay. “You don’t have to carry this alone. I’m here for as long as I can be.”
• Maddie would focus on creating meaningful, happy memories with you, knowing that her time with you is finite. “Every moment we share is precious to me.”
• She’d admire your ability to keep going despite everything you’ve experienced, often telling you, “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Lest
Lest would have a unique perspective on your immortality.
• When she finds out, she’d tilt her head curiously and ask, “Does it hurt, coming back? Or is it like waking up from a long nap?”
• She’d be fascinated by your ability and how it shapes your perspective on life, often asking you questions about your experiences.
• Lest would be quietly protective, always by your side even if you don’t technically need her help. “Just because you can’t die doesn’t mean you should face everything alone.”
• She’d enjoy your company immensely, seeing your immortality as an opportunity to build an enduring bond. “If I stay by your side, will you tell me your stories? I want to be part of them.”
TL;DR: Each character would be amazed by your immortality, but their reactions would be shaped by their personalities. Whether it’s Jinx hyping you up, Caitlyn worrying about you, or Mel pondering how to use your gift to shape the world, they’d all admire your strength and resilience while cherishing the time they have with you. You might be immortal, but their love and devotion would still feel infinite.
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officialmissamericana · 3 days ago
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MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE | headcanons
summary: some headcanons that i have about the drivers
warnings: suggestive content
drivers included: oscar piastri, charles leclerc, george russell, max verstappen, carlos sainz jr.
♡ story starts here!
oscar piastri:
-definitely calls you baby and sweetheart
-“i love you” “would you choose me over timtams?” “hm… not sure if i love you that much.”
-is soft and sweet until you start acting out, and then he reminds you who is actually in charge
-love language is acts of service so he buys you lots of presents even though you don’t need it, his company is enough
-the listener to your yapper
charles leclerc:
-lots of pet names and dirty talks in french, which drives you crazy (in a good way)
-waves his arms a lot like a conductor when he gets angry
-says he can cook but cannot to save his life
-bought leo a bow so you could make him coquette because he saw how obsessed you were with that trend
george russell:
-massively sassy diva
-half of your chats are just memes and roasts
-models his clothes and asks you to rate them
-made you dress up as rapunzel so he could be flynn rider; attempted to do the flynn rider smolder and failed miserably
max verstappen:
-wore matching pajama sets with you (he was batman and you were hello kitty)
-the big spoon to your little spoon
-despite all your pleas, he never degrades you
-bought you a red bull racing jacket with his name on it after you wore a mclaren jersey (“you’re mine, and only mine”)
carlos sainz jr:
-tries to teach you how to golf but gives up when you whack him in the face and almost break his nose
-when you learn to speak spanish he gently corrects you if you mispronounce something
-does the mr darcy hand flex when you touch for the first time
-asked you what you were reading and regretted it when you went in detail about the anatomically impossible sex positions that were in your book
the end!
note: ahh, hope you all enjoyed this! getting in the groove of writing short fics. please please please give me suggestions :) i’m also working on making a list that you can “order” tropes from that i can write a story about! have a great day/night <3
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lunaatthezoo · 3 days ago
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Introducing: What None Saw
As I'm finished writing and now just in the editing stage of the final chapters of She'll Wait No Longer, I have begun work on its prologue: What None Saw. This will be a dual-POV mostly canon-compliant multi-chapter Elriel fic leading up to ACOSF Solstice. I wanted to explore interactions with them that we didn't get to see in the first four books, and I've been having so much fun writing it. It's unfortunately not smutty, but a whole lot of mutual pining, angst, and fluff. We're talking a WHOLE lot of soooooooft Azriel and blushing Elain. Preview below ;)
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🎨: padawan.carol, commissioned by stephdaydreams
“Another question?” Azriel asked her, as if he could sense that void still pulling on her. Elain nodded again.
Azriel considered for a few moments.
“What did you dream of becoming, when you were a child?”
Elain blinked. She gazed down into her tea again. 
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “When my mother was still alive, she expected me to marry and unburden the family of my care, I suppose. Or perhaps bring them further fortune. I was only ever encouraged to think, act, and look like a highborn lady. I played the pianoforte, I learned to read and write with my tutors, and I attended society events. I was never told I could be anything other than a wife and mother.” 
A pang of guilt swept through Elain at the thought that Feyre did not get that chance to learn to read and write, and that she and Nesta had done nothing to teach her. 
Azriel only watched her, impassive, so she continued. 
“When we lost our fortune, I had no time to dream. I became quite skilled with sewing, as we could not often afford new clothes and ours always needed repairs. I gardened seldomly, only when I could afford seeds and had the time to. I helped keep our cottage in working repair and cooked in my father’s stead, because he was injured. The only thing I ever allowed myself to dream about was falling in love and marrying. Partially because it was something I desired, but also because it was a way out.”
Elain had never admitted any of this to another before, and she didn’t know why she did now.
But Azriel just listened, so quietly and thoughtfully, and the words falling from her felt like…a relief. A grounding. He listened to her without judgment or concern, only honest curiosity.
“What did you dream of becoming as a boy?” She asked him.
Azriel kept his cool, collected mask on his face, even as Elain swore she saw something flicker through his eyes.
“I had no dreams as a child.” 
Shame flooded Elain at what an insensitive question it was. Azriel had just told her he was locked in a dungeon for eleven years. Of course he wasn't thinking about becoming a warrior or a courtier or an artist. He was just trying to survive. 
Azriel must have seen the guilt on her face because he considered. 
“I suppose I dreamed of freedom.” 
Elain let out a breath. 
“As did I,” she answered. 
Their gazes locked and they simply stared at each other for long moments. 
“What is your favorite dessert?” Azriel asked her. Elain felt the smallest semblance of a smile tug at her mouth. 
“Do you enjoy sweet things, Azriel?” She asked him, surprised once again by his question. She couldn't imagine the warrior eating a slice of chocolate cake or lemon tart. 
Azriel grinned a bit, too. “I do enjoy sweet things, Elain,” he answered, holding her gaze with intensity. 
And despite everything, despite her doomed engagement and the unfolding war and her stolen life and her daunting mating bond, Elain felt a blush kiss her cheeks. 
She looked down, feeling bashful. 
“Strawberry shortcake,” she told him. 
Azriel grinned a bit broader at that. 
“Strawberry shortcake,” he repeated, nodding thoughtfully. “I have never had that.”
“Really?” Elain asked. “Is it not eaten here?”
Azriel shook his head. “No, I have never heard of it.” After a few seconds he added, “Perhaps I can try it one day with you.” 
Elain fought a blush once more.
“And you?” She asked, curious now. 
Azriel leaned back, considering. 
“Honey biscuits.” 
And despite herself yet again, Elain swallowed a laugh. Azriel raised a brow at her reaction, which made a true giggle escape her lips. 
“I'm sorry,” Elain laughed. 
Azriel's mouth twitched at her amusement. “What is it?” He asked her.
“It’s just,” she chuckled. “Honey biscuits are rather a…a youngling snack, are they not? A snack for a hungry toddler stomping his feet?”
Azriel chuckled a bit himself then, smiling truly. Shadows flitted around his head as if in response to his laughter.
"Yes," he answered, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I suppose they are."
Elain giggled once more. She imagined Azriel munching on honey biscuits in a secret Spymaster lair and laughed harder still.
"But can you deny their perfection?" Azriel asked her with an amused smile.
"No," Elain answered, shaking her head with a smile. "No, I cannot."
Azriel's smile seemed to falter as he gazed at Elain's face.
"That's the first time I've heard your laugh," he noted.
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livingmeatloaf · 18 hours ago
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The tags from @perpetualstateofcrying are so good, I'm putting them on the main post!
#amen to all the above! #and i'm just gonna add on some of the wisdom that one of my fave profs instilled in all of us abt texts/ learning/understanding #his main point was this: understanding will almost always come /after/ learning something #understanding usually comes at the absolute earliest while you're in the middle of actively learning it; it may not come for a While after #and when coming up against something new for the first time no one's gonna get it at first blush - and that's/fine/ #it usually takes being exposed to something multiple times before your conscious brain can actually comprehend it
#so the approach he taught us when reading anything (esp academic texts bc college) is that you just plan to read it multiple times #read it once (relatively quickly) to get a sense of the writer's style and vocabulary and the general gist of the topic at hand #(don't spend time rereading sections to try and understand what they're saying - that's not the point of reading it at this stage!) #then read it a second time to get a sense of the general structure of the arguments/evidence/etc (make some notes if smth pops out) #then read it a third time to start identifying and digesting the arguments being made (Really start taking notes here) #and take breaks between readings! let your brain recover and percolate! #it was way more helpful for me to take 20 minutes to read through a dense academic article then go make dinner before coming back to spend
#30 minutes reading it again while taking some notes and setting it aside for an hour to come back to it instead of trying to slog through i #all in one go and being miserable at the end of 3 hours feeling stupider than when i started bc i still didn't Get It
#and like this professor was explicit in teaching this bc his main goal was us learning how to learn first; #us learning the material content of his course was a secondary goal bc it would follow once we started hitting the first one #and i know this isn't gonna solve any and all issues with accessibility (op points out several - academia is Rife with plain bad writing) #but this was incredibly helpful in giving me a concrete method to approach academic texts that Wasn't an exercise in frustration/futility
#so like. if anyone else finds this helpful then i'm glad!
I was never taught to learn like this, and now I want to try it.
i genuinely have no animosity towards ppl who get upset abt not being able to read academic texts + i do think we need to expand the pathways/methods of being exposed to critical concepts so that "sit + read for 2 hours" is not the only option.
however, as someone dx with adhd + incapable of sitting still for even a minute (actually right at this moment i am writing this instead of reading the book sitting open in front of me), i do feel like a lot of ppl do not realize that not all readings are designed to be read like a novel.
as in, it's ok + normal + good to need to reread a paragraph several times, to only read part of a book, to have to research or reference words or concepts in order to grasp the reading, to skip over large chunks of text which are not relevant to your expertise, to continue reading despite not understanding a concept. this is something 'neurotypical' academics do frequently + many of these texts, especially contemporary ones, were designed with this in mind.
there are many ppl with accessibility needs that are not being met by academic texts at this time! many texts (in my humble opinion) are unnecessarily complex in order to show off or hide the fact that they have no idea what they're talking about.
i still feel like many of the kneejerk reactions on this site are based on the assumption that their experience reading academic texts should be similar to their experiences reading a nyt bestseller, rather than a process of thinking, analyzing, researching, processing, returning. some of u are telling yourself that any challenges u face while reading are a result of some internal fault u have + not an expected + precious part of the experience.
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killerelysia · 11 hours ago
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Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader! (Part 4!)
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The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!
Words: 10276
Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)
(Reader is G.N)
Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You're his and he's yours...
Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.
Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.
Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.
Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.
Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.
Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.
Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.
EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, The relationship presented here between sol and reader is extremely toxic!! In no way, Just because I'm writing doesn't mean I support this kind of toxicity. Note, It's okay to like sol if you know the flaws and don't be a blind eye on them! Again, I don't support his actions etc! If you hate sol ignore this.
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Than to love and be loved by me.
The one who loves.
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
I was a child she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea.
DAY 2: THE KINGDOM
The next day, Your usual seat at the front wasn’t even a consideration today; you made a beeline for the back corner, far from prying eyes—and far from Crowe. Your heart sank when you saw him glance up from his seat, his expression brightening momentarily at the sight of you.
But you didn’t meet his gaze.
You sat down quietly, pulling out your sketchbook and notebook, placing them on the desk like a shield. Your hands trembled slightly as you flipped to a blank page, picking up your pencil to sketch. The familiar motions grounded you, the lines and curves forming shapes, the gentle pressure of graphite against paper drowning out the world....
Crowe stood a few desks away, watching you with furrowed brows. He hesitated, then started toward you. His voice was soft, careful. “Y/n…”
You didn’t respond. Instead, you pretended to be engrossed in your notebook, scribbling down the professor’s words as the lecture began. Your focus was split between the notes and the growing sketch in your sketchbook—a vague outline of Sol’s silhouette, his familiar posture, his distinct, sharp features.
Crowe lingered near your desk, shuffling awkwardly. "Hey, can we—"
You turned a page in your notebook with a deliberate flick, effectively cutting him off without a word. He exhaled sharply, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.
“Y/n, please, just—”
Still nothing.
The room began to fill with whispers as students noticed the exchange. Embarrassed, Crowe finally moved back to his seat. But even as he sat down, you could feel his eyes on you, a weight pressing on your shoulders. You swallowed hard, your pencil pausing mid-stroke.
You were sorry.
Sorry for ignoring him, for pushing him away, for the cold shoulder and the distance you’d built brick by brick. But it had to be this way. It had to. Crowe didn’t belong in this part of your life, in the chaos you were creating for yourself. He deserved better—better than being tangled in the web of your obsession with Sol.
You kept your head down for the rest of the lecture, focusing solely on your sketch and notes. You poured your feelings into the page, the drawing of Sol becoming more vivid, more alive with every stroke. It was as if he were there with you, his gaze pulling you in, his lips curved in that faint, elusive smile that haunted your dreams.
The professor dismissed the class, and students began to file out. You stayed in your seat, pretending to organize your things. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Crowe hesitate near the door, glancing back at you one last time. His expression was a mix of worry and resignation.
Your chest tightened painfully. You wanted to look at him, to say something, to explain. But you didn’t.
Instead, you kept your eyes on your sketchbook, shading in the smallest details, your lips pressing into a thin line. You heard his footsteps fade away, and the classroom grew silent. Only then did you let out a shaky breath, your fingers trembling as they gripped your pencil.
"I'm sorry, Crowe," you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible.
But you didn’t stop drawing. You couldn’t. Sol’s face stared back at you from the page, his crimson-orange eyes boring into yours. You smiled faintly, brushing your fingers over the drawing.
For now, this was enough.
The words echoed in your head as you stirred awake, the remnants of an uneasy dream slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.
"If you don't pay up, we will have to take your land."
It was a haunting phrase, one tied to memories you didn’t care to revisit.
You felt someone shaking you gently, pulling you back to the present. Bleary-eyed, you blinked up at the figure looming over you.
“Does that mean we can talk now?”
The voice was unmistakable. Your vision cleared, revealing Crowe's concerned face staring back at you. For the love of everything, him again.
“No,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. You sat up fully, brushing off his presence like an unwanted pest. “Leave me alone.”
“Why are you—”
You didn’t give him a chance to finish. Pushing past him with enough force to make him stumble, you stormed off.
The hall was already bustling with students, and you moved through the crowd with purpose. Brittney and Deryl stood near the lockers, their animated chatter ceasing as you passed. Geo, leaning against the wall, caught your gaze with a sneer. His lips curled into a silent judgment, his expression screaming disgust.
You paused for the briefest moment, flashing him a sharp smile. And just for good measure, you stuck out your tongue before continuing down the hallway. You didn’t care what they thought—not Geo, not Brittney, not Deryl. Not even Crowe.
Except… Crowe was still following.
You glanced over your shoulder. His pace was slower now, his shoulders slumped, his expression weighed down by something you didn’t want to name.
Why won’t he stop?
You reached your destination, you slowed your steps and pulled out your phone, pretending to be engrossed in the screen. In truth, you weren’t checking messages or scrolling through feeds. You were just avoiding the noise—the whispers, the stares, the weight of Crowe’s gaze.
Lunch.
Your stomach twisted as you realized you hadn’t brought anything to eat. Of course, you hadn’t. You never did anymore, not since you left your lunch box at the vent.
You tensed, gripping your phone tighter. The vent was closed now. There was no way to check out Sol anymore.
No way to be near him without making it obvious.
You stood frozen for a moment, debating your next move. You couldn’t go back to the cafeteria, not with those faces staring at you. And you certainly couldn’t go to Crowe.
You took a shaky breath and turned, heading toward an empty corner of the school. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but them.
You didn’t care. No, you really didn’t. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you moved through the hall like a ghost, your thoughts fragmented and chaotic.
Join Sol
Call Sol over
Stay with the fucking group
And then you saw him.
Sol.
He was stepping out of a classroom, his silhouette catching the dim light like it was crafted to stop your heart. For a second, you were frozen. But then you noticed someone trailing after him—a familiar face.
Hyugo.
That rascal. The carefree little mischief who somehow always seemed to be hanging around Sol like a bored puppy. Hyugo looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else, his hands in his pockets, expression betraying his boredom.
You couldn’t help it; your gaze locked onto Sol, and your heart practically burst with excitement. It was too much—your steps quickened, and for a second, an impulse hit you like a lightning strike:
Run. Hug him. Surprise him.
But reality hit harder.
That’s fucking creepy! What the hell is wrong with you?!
Your pace slowed, and you adjusted course, pretending to act casual. A flood of emotions hit you as you walked closer to Sol: adoration, longing, frustration. You were caught between running away and running straight to him, but there was no stopping now.
Sol’s eyes shifted, catching sight of you. He stopped mid-conversation, his focus zeroing in on you like a heat-seeking missile. His expression remained calm, unreadable as always, but you knew he’d noticed you.
Beside him, Hyugo also turned, noticing Sol’s distraction. His gaze followed, landing on you. For a brief second, his eyes were dark, calculating. But then, his lips curled into a smile. A smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.
Threatening.
The moment replayed in your mind —his voice, the subtle threat, the tension crackling like static in the air. You ignored it.
“Hello! Did Sol teach you a lesson yet?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended.
Hyugo’s bored demeanor dropped instantly. His eyes narrowed, and his lips formed a pout, an exaggerated expression of mock offense.
“Hmph! You told him?! Why would you do that?” he said, huffing like a sulking child.
You smirked. “You and George of the Jungle have the exact same baby face,” you shot back, tilting your head.
Hyugo’s faux anger morphed into surprise. His mouth opened slightly in an “O” shape. “You know him?”
You nodded smugly. “Yeah. I like to piss him off. He torments me constantly, so I’ve made it my mission to get justice for the—uh—life he’s made miserable for me.”
Hyugo raised a brow, clearly unconvinced.
“And while we’re on the topic,” you continued, pointing at him, “tell your brother to stop being such a Pinocchio and sticking his big nose in other people’s business!”
Hyugo blinked. “Okay! He won't listen!"
“And you!” you turned your attention back to him, your eyes narrowing, “you threatened me yesterday! For what? What did I even do to deserve that?!”
Hyugo crossed his arms, a smirk curling on his lips. “Me? Threaten you? I would never,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Don’t act innocent,” you shot back.
Sol, who had remained silent during your exchange, finally spoke. His voice was calm, cutting through the tension. “Hyugo, stop messing around. Didn't we talk about it?"
Hyugo sighed dramatically, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. Geez, Y/N, you’ve got sharp teeth for such a cute face.”
You glared at him, though your heart skipped a beat at Sol’s intervention.
Sol glanced at you, his usual composed demeanor softening into a rare, gentle smile. “Hyugo won’t do it again,” he assured you, his voice calm but with an edge that hinted at unspoken consequences.
You tilted your head, curiosity bubbling up. “And if he does?” you asked, teasingly but genuinely curious.
Before Sol could answer, Hyugo spoke up, his grin wide and playful. “Break my nose, for sure,” he said with a dramatic shrug, as if the idea didn’t faze him in the slightest.
You blinked, caught off guard by his nonchalance. For a moment, you were tempted to laugh, but something about the way Hyugo carried himself made you hesitate. He wasn’t someone to underestimate, and the playful glint in his eyes told you he knew it too.
Still, you forced a smile and decided to shift the mood. In your best attempt at Japanese, you bowed your head slightly and said, “ごめんなさい。” (Gomen’nasai.)
Hyugo’s eyes widened in surprise, his usual teasing smirk replaced by something more genuine—a bright smile that seemed to light up his face. But just as quickly, his expression shifted into something more thoughtful, his brows furrowing slightly.
He was thinking.
Perhaps too deeply for someone like Hyugo.
You could almost see the gears turning in his head. Did he suspect something? Could he tell you weren’t just throwing out random words? Maybe he’d pieced together that you actually understood bits of what he was saying when he switched to Japanese.
Sol, however, just looked at you, his crimson-and-orange gaze filled with quiet confusion. “What… are you doing?”
You grinned cheekily, shrugging it off as if it were nothing. “It was a one-day course I did,” you explained casually, “figured I’d try it out. Plus, I wanted to use it to piss off Geo.”
Sol’s expression didn’t change, but you swore you caught the faintest twitch of amusement in the corner of his lips.
Hyugo, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes at you, his arms crossing as he tilted his head. “Geo, huh? So you’re learning languages just to mess with him?”
“Exactly,” you replied with a playful smile.
Hyugo shook his head, a chuckle escaping him. “You’re something else. My brother never was silent!”
You hissed under your breath, the tension building inside you, threatening to spill over. Hyugo, that damn shit, was trying to divert the conversation again, and you could feel your frustration boiling over. But before you could say anything, he chimed in with a grin.
"But hey there! Thanks again for taking care of my buddy ol' pal here!"
You clenched your fists, the words on the tip of your tongue. No! Don't say it. Don’t fucking say it, Y/n. The voice in your head screamed, but you couldn’t help it.
"You’re an idiot," you said, the words coming out more harsh than you intended. "Ditching your friend like that. You know Sol gets bullied a lot. What if someone—"
You caught yourself too late. The words hung in the air, and you immediately regretted speaking them. Shut up, you fucking idiot! The self-loathing crashed down on you like a wave. You had to hold back the urge to slap yourself for speaking without thinking.
Hyugo, to his credit, just let out an awkward chuckle and winked at you, clearly unfazed. “Well, you were there for this handsome face fully yesterday, so I wasn’t worried.” He teased, grabbing Sol’s jaw and holding it up for display, causing an irritated groan to escape from the usually composed taller male.
“You. Are. Embarrassing. Me.” Sol’s voice was low, almost embarrassed as he tried to swat Hyugo’s hand away from his face, but Hyugo didn’t budge, instead grinning like the fool he was.
You felt a pit in your stomach. They were so easy with each other, too easy. You hadn’t been in a friendship like this, a closeness that felt so…natural. But that didn’t mean you liked it. It didn’t mean you were okay with it. Sol was yours—at least in your mind. No one else could have him.
Hyugo was just a distraction. A nuisance. Yet, something in the way he smiled and teased made you feel strange, uneasy. He was playing his part to perfection—being the charming idiot who seemed to have everything effortlessly. While Sol stood there, looking annoyed but also strangely comfortable around him, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort creeping up your spine.
You had to stop thinking like this. You needed control.
"Sorry about him letting you take over his responsibility," Sol said, his usual teasing demeanor replaced with an exaggerated puppy pout, his smile ripped from his face as quickly as it came.
"Why did you tell him, Y/n? See, he's so cold to me now." Hyugo's voice turned whiny as he shot a glance at Sol, clearly disappointed that his playful antics weren't having the desired effect. The pout on his face only made him look like a sad kitten, and for a moment, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
God, you’re such a mess, Y/n. You mentally scolded yourself, but it didn’t change the fact that the whole situation was starting to feel like a personal disaster.
Sol was still stoic, the ever-watchful protector in his own way, but his eyes flicked toward you momentarily. The slightest shift in his gaze sent a warm rush through you.
"Sol..." you began softly, almost shyly. You didn’t want to be too obvious, but the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Please talk to Hyugo... Whatever it is, I want to thank him for letting me meet you finally. I mean, in the process."
There it was. The one thing that had been gnawing at you for so long. You weren’t asking for much—just that Sol would acknowledge the effort Hyugo had made to bring you together, even if it was clumsy and awkward.
Hyugo, catching the tone of your voice, nudged Sol in the ribs, prompting a low groan of discomfort from the taller male. He reached up to rub Hyugo's head in a way that seemed both affectionate and exasperated, like an older brother humoring a younger one.
"Yay! Thanks for fixing our pretty friendship, Y/n!" Hyugo’s voice was light, and his smile returned as he waved to you, looking genuinely pleased with himself.
You couldn't help but smile back, the corners of your mouth curving up in something like a real, genuine smile. It’s just a smile. Just a passing moment of kindness, you told yourself.
And then everything went to hell.
"Fuck, shitty Crowe," you muttered under your breath. You felt a heavy pressure on your chest as you turned to see him standing there, looming like a shadow that had followed you from the past.
"Aren’t you coming…?" Crowe’s voice carried with a mix of awkwardness . His presence was an unwelcome interruption to your fragile little bubble of hope. "Oh! Is these your friends? I see… I’m sorry if I bothered you." He said it so casually, as if he didn’t realize the effect his presence had on you.
You locked eyes with him, your gaze sharp and accusatory. Don’t make a scene. Don’t make this worse. But the words that came out of your mouth were anything but calm.
"Which part of the line... will you not?" Your voice was tense, the words biting at the air like venom.
Everyone in the group seemed to fall into an uncomfortable silence. You could feel their eyes on you, unsure of how to react. Geo stood there like a distant figure in the background, arms crossed, a slightly irritated expression on his face, while Brittney, Deryl, and Jess exchanged looks full of concern.
You felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of their attention, and you just wanted to escape. You can’t keep running, Y/n. You can’t keep hiding.
But it wasn’t just Crowe that you wanted to avoid. It was everything. The constant nagging fear, the guilt eating at your insides. You excused yourself, muttering under your breath.
"Y/n!"
Sol’s voice stopped you dead in your tracks, his tone softer than you expected. He rushed forward, concern laced in his words.
You turned to him, your heart leaping in your chest. There was something about the way Sol looked at you now, like he wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he cared enough to make sure you were alright. The chaos of the moment didn’t matter. What mattered was Sol’s gentle hand on your shoulder, the way his eyes locked with yours as if asking for permission to step closer.
You smiled at him innocently, brightly—genuinely happy for the first time in days. The way Sol rushed to you, the care in his every step, was everything you had been craving.
Hyugo, clearly noticing the shift in the air, started talking to his brother, who was still looking incredibly displeased with him. The sound of their conversation faded into the background as your world narrowed down to just you and Sol.
For a moment, everything else—Crowe, your inner demons, the tension with Hyugo—seemed like it didn’t matter.
Because Sol was there. And for once, you weren’t alone.
"Anyway! Do you have any plans, Y/n? We're planning to go to the rooftop today and eat lunch there. You wanna tag along with us?" Hyugo's voice broke through the moment, casual and carefree.
You blinked, torn between the overwhelming thoughts racing through your mind. Rooftop. It sounded like an escape, away from the chaos. Away from the suffocating noise of the cafeteria. Definitely not the cafeteria, you thought.
"...Sol, definitely not the cafeteria... right?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual but a tinge of excitement slipping through.
Sol shivered at the mention of the cafeteria, and Hyugo gave a small, nervous chuckle, clearly aware of the discomfort you both felt.
"I get it," you continued, your voice almost too smooth as you spoke. "The noise there is... discomforting. It makes me feel overwhelmed, and causes panic and anxiety... Is it like that for you too?" You didn’t mean for your words to sound the way they did—seductive, almost as if you were trying to show him that you two were alike. Definitely not faking it, you told yourself, though the tone you used felt too real. Too much.
Sol paused, his gaze shifting to you. The concern in his eyes deepened, and he nodded. He looked almost guilty, like he was worried for you. "Yeah... it is," he admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hyugo, scratching his head in the background, glanced at the two of you with a knowing look. He leaned over to Sol, whispering something under his breath, but you were close enough to hear.
"You two are soulmates or something? How the hell are you both so similar like this?" Hyugo's words were teasing, but the implication made your heart beat faster.
Sol's face turned a deep shade of red, his lips pressing into a thin line as he fell silent. He glanced at you for a moment, clearly flustered but still trying to keep his composure.
You smiled at him, the expression on your face twisted in something darker than it should’ve been, but Sol didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy trying to fight the blush creeping up his neck.
Your smile deepened, but Sol was too lost in his own thoughts to see the crazed gleam in your eyes. He didn’t know how much you really cared. How much you needed him.
Hyugo walked over to his usual spot, taking his seat on the bench you had grown so fond of watching from a distance. Your eyes followed him, but it wasn’t long before Sol appeared, holding a large, wrapped box in his hands—something that immediately caught your attention. You couldn’t help but glance at the box, your curiosity piqued.
Sol, sensing your gaze, turned to look at you, and for a brief moment, your eyes locked. You didn’t break the connection, your expression softening in a way that only Sol would notice. You quickly moved to sit beside him, a little too eagerly, but you didn’t care. You had waited for this moment, and now it was here.
Sol glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and the faintest curve appeared at the corner of his lips, a subtle but knowing smile. It was small, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. You pointed at the box nestled in his hands, your voice laced with quiet curiosity.
"Did you pack three bento boxes again?" you asked, the word ‘again’ slipping out before you could stop it. Sol didn’t seem to notice, too focused on the task at hand as he unwrapped the cloth.
"Could say that," he replied casually, his voice warm but detached as he opened the box. Inside, there were indeed three meticulously packed bento boxes. Sol passed one to Hyugo, and then another for himself, leaving the third.
Hyugo accepted the box with a grateful smile, thanking Sol before pulling out his chopsticks. As he opened the container, he let out a small gasp of delight, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
"Oh! The otopushes are so cute!" Hyugo exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
You didn’t let him finish, jumping in with your own enthusiastic response. "Ahhh!! They're adorable!" Your voice was louder than it probably should have been, but you couldn’t contain your excitement. You were practically bouncing in place as you leaned over, almost falling into Sol’s lap in your eagerness to get a closer look at the little decorated foods.
Sol let out a yelp, caught off guard by your sudden movement, but you didn’t care. The otopushes were so cute, and you couldn’t help but giggle at how perfect they looked. You practically cooed at them, your voice a mixture of excitement and affection.
"Ahhh!!! So cute!!!" you giggled, completely enamored by the detail Sol had put into each box.
Sol’s face flushed slightly, his surprise fading as he watched you. Hyugo just chuckled, watching the scene unfold with a knowing grin. He didn’t say much, letting the moment play out, but his eyes were amused, glancing between you and Sol as he happily dug into his meal.
Meanwhile, you couldn’t stop smiling, your heart swelling with a strange mix of happiness and obsession. This moment, sitting beside Sol, was everything you wanted. The warmth of his presence, the quiet connection in the little things like sharing a meal together, it was everything. You let your gaze linger on him a bit longer than you should have, lost in the simple joy of being near him.
Hyugo walked over to his usual spot, taking his seat on the bench you had grown so fond of watching from a distance. Your eyes followed him, but it wasn’t long before Sol appeared, holding a large, wrapped box in his hands—something that immediately caught your attention. You couldn’t help but glance at the box, your curiosity piqued.
Sol, sensing your gaze, turned to look at you, and for a brief moment, your eyes locked. You didn’t break the connection, your expression softening in a way that only Sol would notice. You quickly moved to sit beside him, a little too eagerly, but you didn’t care. You had waited for this moment, and now it was here.
Sol glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and the faintest curve appeared at the corner of his lips, a subtle but knowing smile. It was small, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. You pointed at the box nestled in his hands, your voice laced with quiet curiosity.
"Did you pack three bento boxes again?" you asked, the word ‘again’ slipping out before you could stop it. Sol didn’t seem to notice, too focused on the task at hand as he unwrapped the cloth.
"Could say that," he replied casually, his voice warm but detached as he opened the box. Inside, there were indeed three meticulously packed bento boxes—each a masterpiece in its own right. Sol passed one to Hyugo, and then another for himself, leaving the third—always for you.
Your heart fluttered.
Hyugo accepted the box with a grateful smile, thanking Sol before pulling out his chopsticks. As he opened the container, he let out a small gasp of delight, his eyes lighting up with excitement.
"Oh! The otopushes are so cute!" Hyugo exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine admiration.
You didn’t let him finish, jumping in with your own enthusiastic response. "Ahhh!! They're adorable!" Your voice was louder than it probably should have been, but you couldn’t contain your excitement. You were practically bouncing in place as you leaned over, almost falling into Sol’s lap in your eagerness to get a closer look at the little decorated foods.
Sol let out a yelp, caught off guard by your sudden movement, but you didn’t care. The otopushes were so cute, and you couldn’t help but giggle at how perfect they looked. You practically cooed at them, your voice a mixture of excitement and affection.
"Ahhh!!! So cute!!!" you giggled, completely enamored by the detail Sol had put into each box.
Sol’s face flushed slightly, his surprise fading as he watched you. Hyugo just chuckled, watching the scene unfold with a knowing grin. He didn’t say much, letting the moment play out, but his eyes were amused, glancing between you and Sol as he happily dug into his meal.
But you knew, deep down, this was just the beginning. And no matter how many times you found yourself in these little moments with Sol, you would always crave more. More of him. More of this closeness. More of everything. And nothing, not even your own twisted thoughts, could stop you from wanting it all.
You glanced at Sol's lunch as he opened it, noting how simple it was—a ham and cheese sandwich, neatly wrapped, but nothing too special. It made your heart ache a little. How could he not treat himself to something more? You had seen his attention to detail in the bento boxes he made for others, and yet, when it came to his own lunch, it seemed like he didn’t care as much. It was almost as if he didn’t value himself enough to do something nice.
You wanted to cook for him, to make him something special. Something as beautiful as what he put into the lunches for others. Why didn't he do that for himself?
Sol’s voice broke your thoughts.
“Did you eat today?” he asked, his voice unusually gentle.
You shook your head. “No…”
Sol’s eyes widened in surprise, and Hyugo, still mid-bite, stopped chewing, his eyes flicking between you and Sol. The sudden shift in the atmosphere wasn’t lost on you. There was a brief silence before Sol made a quick decision. Without saying anything more, he grabbed the third bento box from the cloth and placed it gently onto your lap.
You stared at the box, surprised. "Sol... it’s okay. Why do you have an extra one?"
“I thought Hyugo would finish it… plus, I didn’t like it,” he answered, his voice grumpy but soft. He looked away, clearly not wanting to explain further. His face was cute, though, flushed slightly as he tried to brush it off like it was no big deal.
But you could tell. Sol didn’t want to talk about it, but the effort he made, even in such a small way, made you feel warm. It was almost like he was giving you a piece of himself in that box.
You gently pushed it back towards him, shaking your head. “It’s okay, really…”
But Hyugo, looking a little tired himself and definitely more than a little frustrated, sighed loudly.
“For fuck sake—just eat from the same box, will ya?” he muttered, barely looking up from his meal as he poked at the food in his own bento.
Sol hesitated for a moment, his fingers gripping the fork and spoon a little too tightly, as if unsure of what to do next. The silence between you felt almost suffocating, but you could sense the tension building in the air. You decided to tease him, just to see how far you could push his patience.
You shook your head, declining the fork with a small smile. "I don't need that," you said, your voice playful, almost teasing.
Sol blinked, taken aback. "You want a spoon then? Or you could use chopsticks if you'd prefer," he offered, trying to keep his cool.
You didn’t respond to his suggestion. Instead, you looked directly into his eyes, leaning in just slightly as if to draw him closer. Your eyes were heavy-lidded, the playful innocence you tried to convey just enough to make him second-guess everything.
"Nothing of sorts," you replied cryptically, but with an intensity in your gaze that sent a shiver down his spine.
Sol raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. "Then what do you want?" he asked, his voice quiet, his patience running thin.
You didn’t break eye contact. In fact, you only leaned in closer, a soft but mischievous smile tugging at your lips. Your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of your intention.
you said, your voice trembling with something you couldn’t quite place. "I want you to feed me."
Sol’s breath hitched. His eyes widened, the red hue of embarrassment creeping across his face at your unexpected suggestion. You could see him freeze, his body stiffening as he processed your words. He glanced at Hyugo, who was sitting beside him, but you knew Sol’s attention was solely on you now.
With puppy eyes, you repeated, "Are you going to deny me, Sol?"
You didn’t care that Hyugo was right there. You were completely focused on Sol, testing him, wanting to see how far you could push. You wanted to make him squirm, to watch his reactions to every word that came from your mouth.
Hyugo, however, was no fool. He gave you a pointed side-eye, clearly unimpressed with your antics. "Really? Right in front of my bento box?" he muttered under his breath, his judgmental stare only adding fuel to the fire. "Come on, not the time or place."
You ignored him entirely, your gaze still locked on Sol, waiting for his response. You needed to see his reaction, to make him feel something for you, anything at all.
Sol looked back at you, his expression a mix of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite decipher. He was silent for a few moments, and you could tell he was struggling to come up with a response. His hesitation made you even more determined. You wanted to see him squirm, to watch him struggle with your words.
Hyugo, still eyeing you both, broke the silence with a scoff. "Are you gonna keep staring at them like that, or...?"
Sol glared at Hyugo, clearly irritated. "S-Shut up, Hyugo," he muttered, his voice quiet but sharp. "I’ll feed them."
At his words, your heart skipped a beat. There it was. He had agreed, albeit reluctantly. You almost couldn’t believe it. You sat there, waiting, as Sol took the spoon from the bento box a little too harshly, as if his hands were trembling with uncertainty. He scooped up some rice, along with a piece of sausage, and held it out to you, waiting for you to open your mouth.
You stared at the spoon for a moment, confused. Was he actually going to do it? You had thought he would refuse, that he might push you away, but here he was, offering you food.
Sol’s gaze never wavered from yours, his face flushed with embarrassment and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His silence was almost maddening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break it.
Finally, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, you leaned forward and opened your mouth. Sol hesitated for a moment longer, as if testing to see if you were serious, but then he gently placed the spoon into your mouth.
For a brief moment, everything felt surreal. It wasn’t about the food, not really. It was about the intimacy of the gesture, the closeness, the way your relationship with Sol seemed to shift with each passing second.
Hyugo, still sitting beside you both, stared at the two of you with an unimpressed expression, clearly over the scene you had created. But you didn’t care.
The bite of food melted on your tongue, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. It was delicious, but that wasn’t what had your heart racing. It was the fact that Sol, Sol, was feeding you. You wanted to scream, to shout your happiness to the world, but you kept it all in, a bubbling excitement threatening to spill out of you.
You took a moment to savor the flavor, but internally, it was like fireworks had gone off in your chest. You wanted to explode with happiness, but instead, you simply giggled. The sound escaped from you before you could stop it, a quiet, almost delirious sound of pure joy.
Inside, however, it was a different story. Your mind was screaming at you, your heart pounding in your chest like a runaway drum. Sol, Sol, Sol, I can’t believe this is happening!!! You wanted to jump up and scream it, but instead, you kicked your feet under the table in an almost childlike display of happiness.
Sol, of course, was completely oblivious to your inner chaos. He watched you for a moment, blinking in confusion. Your reaction was not what he expected, and it made him blush even harder. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly unsure of how to respond to your gleeful energy.
"This is so good!" you exclaimed, your voice practically sparkling with delight as you savored another bite. You couldn’t hold back your joy—it was as if every flavor came alive just for you.
Hyugo, who was absolutely stuffing his face with his bento box, looked at you with puffed-out cheeks like a hamster caught mid-feast. "I KNOW, RIGHT?!" he shouted through a mouthful of food, his enthusiasm infectious.
You chuckled at his energy, finding it oddly endearing. It made you glance back at Sol, who was eating quietly beside you. His calmness always stood out, but in this moment, it just made you feel more drawn to him.
"Sol," you said, calling his name softly. He turned to you, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet curiosity.
"You’d make such a great household husband," you teased, your tone light but your words brimming with affection.
Sol’s eyes widened at your declaration, the calm composure he usually maintained instantly crumbling. His cheeks turned a vibrant shade of red, and he quickly averted his gaze from you.
"Y-You really think so?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded with a smile, finding his reaction absolutely adorable. Sol seemed at a loss for words, his face growing even redder as he clutched his chopsticks tighter. He glanced down at his food, his mouth opening and closing as if he was trying to say something but couldn’t find the words.
And then, in a voice so soft you almost missed it, you heard him mumble, "Do you... want to get married to me?"
Your heart froze. Did he just—?
Before you could even process or respond, Hyugo swooped in like a wrecking ball, loudly exclaiming, "OH, LOOK AT THAT! THE WIND IS PICKING UP! DON’T MIND ME!" He clapped his hands together and let out a nervous laugh, cutting through the tension like a knife.
Hyugo’s interruption was so sudden and dramatic that it managed to defuse the moment, at least on the surface. Sol groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, clearly mortified. "Hyugo," he muttered through gritted teeth, "shut up."
But you weren’t letting it go. Not in your heart, at least.
Inside, you were a storm of emotions, your heart screaming with uncontainable joy. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! The thought of Sol even considering marriage with you—his quiet, hesitant words—set your soul ablaze. You wanted to jump, to scream, to kiss him right then and there.
But outwardly, you kept your cool, only letting a small, soft smile curl on your lips. You didn’t want to make Sol feel awkward or embarrassed. He already looked like a beetroot—his face flushed so red it was almost glowing.
You giggled softly and focused on your bento, savoring every bite with newfound delight. It wasn’t just the food that made you happy—it was the thought of Sol, his shy demeanor, his quiet kindness, his gentle heart.
Hyugo, sensing the charged atmosphere, leaned back and continued devouring his food with an exaggerated nonchalance
Meanwhile, Sol stayed silent, his gaze fixated on his lap as he fiddled with his SPOON.
Hyugo leaned back on the bench with a dramatic flourish, his arms spread wide as if making a grand announcement. “Let me tell you something, Y/n,” he began, his voice loud and playful, “Sol here? He’s not just a pretty face, no, no, no! He’s a complete package. The guy can cook, clean, organize, you name it! Total husband material! You’d think he was trained for this or something. Honestly, if I were into dudes, I’d have already proposed!”
You blinked at him, taken aback by his sheer enthusiasm. Hyugo’s grin widened, clearly enjoying himself as he continued his sales pitch. “Need someone to whip up gourmet-level meals? Sol’s your guy. Want your apartment to look spotless and smell like fresh lavender? Sol’s already on it. I mean, the man even folds his laundry so neatly it looks like art. ART!”
Sol let out a groan, covering his face with one hand. "Hyugo, stop it."
“Stop what?” Hyugo said innocently, clasping his hands together. “I’m just stating facts! You’re like the dream husband everyone wants, and I’m just letting Y/n know how much of a catch you are! You should be thanking me!”
“Thanking you for what?” Sol snapped, his tone sharp but his lips curving into an amused smile despite himself. “For making me sound like your personal butler? No thanks.”
Hyugo pouted, crossing his arms. “That’s not what I’m saying at all! It’s a compliment, you ungrateful perfectionist!” He jabbed a finger in Sol’s direction, his cheeks puffed in mock indignation.
Sol finally broke into a soft laugh, his irritation melting away. His eyes sparkled with that rare warmth, and the corners of his lips lifted into the gentlest of smiles. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Thanks for your glowing review, Hyugo.”
Their banter felt so natural, so effortless, like a glimpse into the depth of their friendship. It warmed your heart to see them like this—to see Sol smile like that, carefree and genuine. His laughter was soft, but it echoed in your mind, filling you with a quiet, radiant joy.
Your gaze lingered on him, watching how the sunlight hit his face, how his expression softened when he looked at Hyugo. You loved him—deeply, irrevocably. The realization hit you again, as powerful as the first time. You wanted this light in your life. You wanted him.
Sol had gone unusually quiet, his gaze distant as if lost in a maze of his own thoughts. You tilted your head, curiosity tugging at you. Something was off.
"Sol," you called softly, your voice breaking through his reverie. "You okay there?"
His body jolted slightly, like he'd been startled back into reality. "Oh! Yeah, I'm fine, Y/n." He forced a small smile, but his eyes betrayed him—there was something unsettled swimming beneath the surface. "Perfectly fine." He repeated the words, but this time there was an unmissable hesitation.
You narrowed your eyes at him, concern creeping in. "Are you sure? You seem... distracted."
He cleared his throat abruptly, sitting up straighter as if to compose himself. For a moment, he seemed ready to speak, but instead, he mumbled something under his breath. The words were faint, but they lingered in the air just enough for you to catch: "...like him..."
You leaned in slightly, brows furrowing. "What was that?"
He avoided your gaze for a second before finally turning to you, his expression guarded but laced with something else—an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "That person," he began carefully, his voice quieter than usual. "The one with braids."
Braids? It took you a second, but then it clicked. Crowe. Why would Sol be asking about him? The thought made you tense.
"Crowe... Ichabod? What about him?" you asked cautiously. You didn’t miss the flicker of something in Sol’s eyes at the mention of Crowe’s name—a fleeting darkness that made the air around him feel heavier.
He took a breath, his voice steady but low. "Yeah. Him." His tone carried a weight that made you sit up straighter. "Can I ask you something?"
Your confusion deepened, but you nodded. "Go ahead," you said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. The touch seemed to catch him off guard; his body stiffened for a moment before relaxing under your hand.
He hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. His lips parted, and the question slipped out, almost too quiet to hear: "Do you... like him?"
The question struck you like a thunderclap. Your mind reeled. Why was he asking this? Why did it matter to him? The intensity in his gaze, the slight clench of his jaw—it wasn’t just idle curiosity. It was something deeper. Something raw.
"I..." You faltered for a moment, searching for words.
Seeing your daze, you turned your head to Sol. His expression was dark, a shadow falling over his features, but his eyes gleamed unnaturally bright against the gloom. He said nothing, his gaze locked on the ground as if avoiding yours entirely.
"You don't have to say," he muttered, voice low and strained. His grip on the bento box in his lap tightened, the edges digging into his palms, and you noticed his fingers turning pale from the pressure.
Is he… jealous? The thought ignited something in you, a twisted kind of satisfaction at the possibility, but it was tempered by the sight of him like this—silent, tense, and clearly battling his emotions. Your obsession screamed at you to push it further, to see how much he’d unravel for you, but... you didn’t.
Not this time.
You didn’t want him to suffer under the weight of his feelings, even if they mirrored the toxic depths of your own. There was some sliver of humanity left in you, wasn’t there? Maybe. Or maybe it was simply because seeing Sol unhappy made your chest ache, and all you wanted was to see that gentle smile return.
Because you loved him. You loved him in a way that no one else could. In a way that bordered on madness. But you also wanted him to love you freely, without the pain etched across his face now.
Toxic? Yes. You were fully aware of it. You always had been.
But at least you could choose not to trigger him—at least, not intentionally. Not when you could feel the weight of his unspoken thoughts. He was waiting for an answer, bracing himself for something he clearly didn’t want to hear.
You looked at Sol, who was still gripping his bento box tightly, his knuckles pale. His jaw was set, and his eyes burned with an intensity that pinned you in place. This was not a side of him you saw often. Sol, with his quiet strength, always seemed above emotions like jealousy. But here he was—hissing softly under his breath, his lips barely moving as if he were mumbling something to himself.
He thought you still liked Crowe, didn’t he?
You let out a small sigh, leaning back slightly to gather your thoughts. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap, and you glanced at Sol again. His gaze was fixated on the ground, but his attention was wholly on you. The air felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension.
"Sol," you began softly, "about Crowe…"
That got his attention. His head tilted just enough for his eyes to flick toward you, the glint in them sharp, cautious. You pressed on, voice steady but quiet.
"During the first semester… there was this incident." You hesitated, feeling the memories resurface. "Crowe saved me. I don’t mean in some big, dramatic way, but he was there when I needed someone. And for a while… I liked him. A lot."
Sol’s eyes narrowed, his lips curving downward as he let out a quiet, almost inaudible hiss. The sound made your heart clench—not out of fear, but because you hated seeing him this way. Still, you pushed forward.
"I liked him because he was nice," you admitted, your voice calm but tinged with something heavier. Sol’s head dipped slightly, his bangs falling over his face, and you saw his hands tremble just a bit.
You took a breath, letting the words pour out before he could spiral further. "But you know what? I hate nice people."
That startled him. His head snapped up, his eyes widening just enough to show his surprise. You gave him a small, bittersweet smile, feeling your chest tighten as you spoke.
"I hate nice people because… if they so much as say hello to me, it stays on my mind. If they return my texts, my heart races. The day they call me? I’d probably replay that conversation in my head for days. But I know—deep down—I know it’s just them being nice. Nothing more."
Sol’s lips parted as if to say something, but he stayed silent, his gaze locked onto yours. There was something raw in his expression now, something vulnerable.
"And Crowe?" you continued, your smile growing faint, almost brittle. "He’s the same. He’s kind to everyone. He sees the good in people, always. That’s just who he is. And you know what? If the truth is cruel, then kindness is a lie. Because lies are meant for kindness."
You stopped, swallowing hard as you felt the sting of unshed tears. Sol’s gaze softened, though his body remained tense. He wasn’t interrupting, wasn’t looking away. He was listening.
"I gave up," you admitted, your voice quieter now. "I gave up on wanting things like that. Someone who’s just nice to me because it’s what they do? It’s not enough. I wanted someone to love me. Not out of pity or kindness. But because they saw something in me—something worth loving. And if they did? If they loved me… I’d give everything to them."
Sol’s breath hitched audibly at that. You didn’t look at him, afraid that meeting his eyes would unravel you completely. Instead, you stared at your hands, voice trembling as you finished.
"No matter how… strange the love might be," you said faintly, "I’d love them back. Because they found something in me. Because they wanted happiness… with me."
You paused, letting the silence stretch between you both for a moment. When you finally looked up, Sol was staring at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes glistening with an intensity that made your heart ache.
"So, to answer your question, Sol…" you said softly, meeting his gaze head-on. "No. I don’t like Crowe. Not anymore. We even had a fight yesterday, and honestly? I’m done with it. I’m done with him."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Sol’s shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension in his posture easing, though his expression remained serious. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line instead.
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as the weight of everything you just said hung in the air. The truth had tumbled out so effortlessly, yet it felt heavy, like you’d cracked open a part of yourself you hadn’t meant to. Sol was still staring at you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… they stayed on you, unwavering, as if he was waiting for something.
"It’s so shitty, isn’t it?" you muttered, your voice low but trembling with emotion. "How people like me… how we think. It’s exhausting. I hate how my mind works—getting attached so easily, overthinking every little thing. Crowe just smiles or says hi, and suddenly it’s like I’ve written a whole future in my head. Like I matter to him. Like I’m… special."
You scoffed, running a hand through your hair. "But it’s not real. It never is. And then I get angry at myself for even hoping it could be. It’s stupid, you know? Wanting to mean something to someone who probably doesn’t even remember I exist half the time."
Sol flinched, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. His hands rested on his knees, gripping his pants tightly as if grounding himself. Hyugo, on the other hand, looked away awkwardly, the tension thick enough to make even him fidget.
"And the worst part?" you continued, your voice rising just slightly before falling into a strained whisper. "It’s like… I know better. I know that people like Crowe aren’t bad, that they’re just being themselves. But it still feels like shit. It feels like a cruel joke. Because I can’t stop myself from wanting to matter to someone like that. And every time I realize I don’t? It’s like I lose another piece of myself."
You finally looked up at Sol, your eyes locking onto his. His expression was softer now, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His gaze held a storm of emotions—anger, sadness, and something else that made your heart twist.
"I hate how pathetic this all sounds," you admitted, your voice cracking. "But it’s the truth. And the truth is cruel."
The silence that followed was deafening. Even Hyugo, who always had something to say, stayed quiet. Sol finally moved, shifting slightly closer to you. His hand hovered near yours, hesitating for a moment before his fingers brushed against yours lightly, grounding you in the moment.
"You’re not pathetic," Sol said, his voice low but firm. "Don’t ever call yourself that."
His words were simple, but the weight behind them made your chest tighten. He looked at you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe, his crimson-and-orange eyes burning into yours like they could see every hidden part of you.
"You just… want to be seen," he added, his tone softer now, almost tender. "That’s not pathetic, Y/n. That’s human."
".....When will you let me see you...?" You asked quietly, Sol didn't catch it.
You shifted in your seat, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. The mood had gotten heavy, and you were desperate for some levity. "So, Sol," you began, your tone light and teasing, "surely you must like someone, right? Spill it!"
Sol raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling into that mischievous smirk you knew all too well—the one that appeared when he thought he had the upper hand. It was the same smirk he gave you when he thought you were fast asleep, his arms wrapped around you tighter than they needed to be. It made your chest flutter in ways you couldn’t admit out loud.
He leaned in slightly, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Why? You interested?"
Your eyes widened, your entire face heating up as you puffed out your cheeks in frustration. "W-What?! No! That’s not what I—ugh! Sol!" You stammered, flailing your hands as you tried to recover, but the damage was done.
The grin on his face widened, and for a brief moment, he chuckled—a rare, soft sound that made your heart skip a beat. His teasing facade cracked just a little as he looked at you with those piercing eyes, the playful glint fading into something warmer, softer. "So cute," he murmured, almost too quietly for you to catch.
Almost.
You did catch it, though, and your brain immediately short-circuited. Your chest tightened, and your legs wobbled as if your body couldn’t handle the sheer force of him. You could feel the heat radiating off your face, your heart pounding like it was trying to escape your ribcage.
Did he just—? Did Sol—?
Your vision swam for a moment, and before you knew it, you were swaying. "Whoa, Y/n!" Sol’s voice snapped you back as he reached out, catching you before you could fully tip over. His hands were firm and steady on your shoulders, his eyes wide with genuine concern. "Are you okay?"
Hyugo had stopped mid-bite, his hamster cheeks full of rice as he looked at you, clearly worried. "Y/n, you’re as red as a tomato! Do we need to call someone?"
"I-I’M FINE!" you squeaked, quickly sitting upright as you waved your hands frantically to dispel their concern. "Seriously, I’m okay!" But your face betrayed you, still hot and crimson as you avoided Sol’s gaze.
Sol narrowed his eyes at you, skeptical but letting it slide—for now. "You sure? You looked like you were about to faint." His voice was soft again, the teasing edge gone, replaced with something closer to worry.
"I’m fine!" you repeated, louder this time. Then, in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over the situation "Your cooking is good!"
Hyugo gave a knowing nod, stuffing another bite into his own mouth. "I know, right? Sol’s cooking is unbeatable!"
You smiled at Hyugo before turning your attention back to Sol, who was still holding the spoon, his face carefully neutral despite the redness creeping up his neck. "You’d make a great househusband, Sol," you teased, your tone light but sincere. "Seriously, whoever ends up with you is gonna be so lucky."
Sol’s eyes widened at your words, his grip on the spoon faltering slightly. "You… really think so?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted his gaze.
You nodded earnestly. "Of course! You’re amazing, Sol."
For a moment, he was silent, his face an even deeper shade of red as he seemed to grapple with something. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he mumbled under his breath, "It's for you..I.."
Before you could fully process his words, Hyugo loudly cleared his throat, his eyes narrowing at Sol like he was trying to keep him from saying anything else. "I know right!"
Sol shot him a glare but complied, scooping up another bite and holding it out to you. You leaned forward eagerly, biting down on the spoon and savoring the taste. Inside, your heart was doing somersaults, screaming, AHHHHHHHHHHH SOL SOL SOLLL!!!
You kicked your feet under the table, your cheeks hurting from how wide you were smiling. Sol, despite his earlier embarrassment, couldn’t help but smile back at you, his expression softening once more.
This was perfect.
You leaned back, taking a break from the spoonful of food you’d just been fed, your mind racing with curiosity. "So… is this what you two do? You just feed each other like this every day?" you asked, playing it innocent, though you were secretly enjoying the chaos you were stirring.
Sol raised an eyebrow, looking slightly irritated but amused. "Hyu—" he paused, glancing at Hyugo, who was currently munching on his food like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. "Hyugo forgets his lunch sometimes," Sol explained, "Then I end up sharing mine with him."
Hyugo’s face instantly puffed up in indignation, pouting like a child caught in the act. "Hey! I don’t forget my lunch," he snapped, his voice muffled by the rice in his mouth. "It’s just... I’m busy! Plus, I can always count on Sol to feed me."
"Whatever, Sol," Hyugo muttered, crossing his arms as he slouched back. "I’m just looking for inspiration. You wouldn’t understand."
You giggled, watching the playful banter unfold. There was something about the dynamic between the two of them that made you feel warm inside. "Speaking of inspiration," you turned to Sol, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Where do you get the inspiration for these bento art pieces? They’re incredible. Do you just, like, think of it off the top of your head?"
Hyugo perked up, looking at you as if you’d asked the most obvious question. "Oh, you didn’t know?" he said, a sly smile spreading across his face. "Of course you know! Sol’s like the art guy in our class. He’s always been into making everything a piece of art—even his cooking. That’s why he learned to cook so well. He doesn’t just want to feed people, he wants them to experience it, you know?"
Sol’s face softened for a moment at Hyugo’s words, a small, fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked almost shy when he responded. "I guess... I like cute things."
You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. "Cute things? Like… what kind of cute things?" you asked, curious.
"Like," Hyugo chimed in with a smirk, "cute food, cute animals, cute people... you name it. Sol’s a sucker for anything that’s adorable. Like the way he stares at that stuffed horse plushie all the time—"
At that, you paused, eyes widening. "Wait, what? You have a stuffed horse?" You knew it.
Sol's face immediately turned bright red, and he let out an exasperated sigh. "No! I do not have a stuffed horse." He crossed his arms tightly, glaring at you and Hyugo. "And I’m not answering that."
You grinned, fully entertained. "Aww, come on, Sol. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not tell me the name of your precious horse plush. What’s it called?"
"I said no," Sol growled, looking away with a flushed face. He looked so cute when he was flustered, and you couldn’t resist teasing him further.
The conversation took a turn for the darker after that. You, Sol, and Hyugo sat quietly, watching as a group of high-class individuals walked by. Sol was the first to break the silence, his eyes narrowed in distaste. He muttered under his breath, "Tch, high-class mugs."
You didn’t reply to Sol’s remark. Instead, you focused on the scene before you. There was something about the way they carried themselves—so poised, so perfect—that made everything feel distant. A cold knot settled in your chest.
Hyugo then, told abut learned about Hierarchy, High class.
Hyugo noticed the shift in your demeanor and turned to you, his usual warmth gone, replaced with concern. "Hey, you okay?" he asked gently.
You didn’t respond immediately. Your thoughts drifted, and you suddenly recalled the dream—the one that haunted you for years. Four years ago. You couldn’t shake the feeling it was all connected somehow.
Hyugo seemed to sense your unease. He raised an eyebrow, his voice quieter. "Let me guess... It's something you can't avoid?" he asked, almost like he already knew the answer.
You exhaled slowly, your thoughts heavy. "I honestly don't know... My father never really explained why we were in debt," you murmured. "I was just desperate not to lose our home... three jobs, giving out personal information... Everything was hard, and we weren’t getting enough money." You trailed off, feeling the weight of it all again.
Silence fell between you, the heavy atmosphere surrounding you like a fog. It felt like there was something more you couldn’t escape, something always lurking in the back of your mind. Something you had to do, but you couldn’t figure out how.
After a moment, you looked up, meeting Hyugo’s concerned gaze. "My father owns a farm down south," you said, trying to sound casual. "Not much—just horses, cows, maybe some wheat."
Hyugo’s eyes lit up at that. "Horses? Sol would love that place!" he said, his smile bright and eager. "Hey, you should take me and Sol sometime! We could check it out!"
You nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I’ll count on it."
Hyugo leaned back, still looking thoughtful. "You’ve been away from home for a long time... don’t you miss it?" he asked, genuinely curious.
You shook your head slowly. "Not really," you said, the words feeling strange even as they left your lips. It wasn’t that you didn’t miss the familiarity of home, but the things you’d left behind felt like a distant memory now.
Hyugo smiled softly, a look of understanding in his eyes. "You remind me of them," he said, almost to himself.
"Who?" you asked, confused.
Hyugo looked a little flustered. "Ah, nothing, nothing!" He quickly recovered with a smile. "I was rambling, forget about it."
You gave him a curious glance but didn’t press him further.
You felt a chill run down your spine as you noticed Sol standing behind you, casting a glance at Hyugo. It wasn’t just any look; it was a glare. A look full of irritation and... jealousy? You couldn’t help but smirk under your breath. "God, for real," you mumbled, feeling amused. "His jealousy is off the charts..."
You couldn’t resist letting out a quiet giggle. It was nice knowing that Sol cared, even if his emotions were all over the place. It was just another reminder that you had control—well, a little.
Hyugo, unaware of the silent tension between you and Sol, waved his hands at both of you, his usual cheerfulness cutting through the mood. "Come on, you two, let’s get going!" he said, already moving towards the stairs.
You and Sol exchanged a brief look before both of you nodded and followed him.
you walked down the stairs, a sense of unease lingered in the air. The wobbly steps beneath you made each movement feel uncertain. You caught a glimpse of Sol’s gaze, and for a moment, he looked at you like he was weighing something. His expression darkened just slightly.
You almost didn’t notice the step beneath you, and before you could steady yourself, your foot slipped, sending you off balance. You gasped in surprise, but just as quickly, a hand gripped your waist and another caught you by the back.
Sol’s voice sounded beside your ear, his surprise evident. "Y/n!" he called, his body pressing against yours to steady you. His chest was right against your back, and the warmth from his body wrapped around you like a comfort, even as his hand gripped your waist a little tighter, keeping you from falling completely.
You winced slightly as your foot throbbed in pain, but you didn’t want to let go of the moment. His touch felt so steady, so protective. "Ouch..." you whimpered softly, a hint of vulnerability slipping into your voice.
Sol’s face softened as he leaned down, his breath grazing your neck as he whispered, "Be careful, Y/n..." The concern in his voice melted your heart, and you almost forgot about the pain in your foot, focused instead on how close he was to you.
You felt his grip tighten, pulling you even closer against him, and you couldn’t help but sigh, your heart racing. You made sure to let yourself fall just a little more into him, your body practically melting against his. His hand never left your waist, and the contact sent shivers down your spine.
Hyugo’s voice suddenly broke the moment, his tone annoyed. "Fuck this school," he muttered, glancing back at you two, clearly fed up with the situation.
Sol’s grip didn’t falter. "It's forbidden for you to come here," he said sharply, his voice laced with an authority that almost made you feel like it was a command. Hyugo let out a dramatic laugh and darted down the stairs, running ahead. "We're troublemakers."
Sol glanced at you, his face still slightly anxious. "Let’s get you down the stairs," he said, his hand continuing to rest on your waist. He helped you walk, his touch so gentle but firm, making you feel both cared for and... completely loved.
You acted a little more helpless than you needed to, making sure your steps were slow, and your foot hurt just enough for him to keep holding you. Each time he adjusted his grip, you felt your heart flutter. His hand was warm against your skin, and it didn’t leave your waist—not once. Every time he touched you, you felt like you could melt into him. It was hard not to feel a little love-sick with the way he held you so closely, the way he seemed so intent on making sure you were okay, even if it was just walking down a set of stairs.
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snuffysis · 2 days ago
Text
TW/CW; Dad tells daughter she was hot as a kid (if you don't wanna read that then skip like the first 5 sentences in paragraph 14)
The last parts were rushed and a little lazy bc I gave up.
I was in the car with my dad and three brothers, I was the passenger princess, like always, while my brothers were in the backseats and dad was driving. "We're going to be up here for a full week, baby." Dad said and put a hand on my thigh, he always said that it was his way of showing affection. "Yeah, that means no crying like a little bitch." Michael said from the middle seat, he was leaning back and staring up at the roof of the car. "Hey-!" I responded and pouted, causing our dad to glare at him in the rearview mirror. "Leave your sister alone." Dad said in his deep voice, I always found it soothing and used to make him read all my bedtime stories. "Why does she even have to come? This is more of a guy thing." My other brother, Dylan, said, his slight Australian accent slipping out. "Because your mom is on a business trip, I don't feel like paying for a babysitter, and she's only seventeen." Dad responded, causing me to chuckle softly. "I'm eighteen, my birthday was last week, remember?" I teased, my dad always accidentally said I was a year younger than I was for a few weeks after my birthday. "Yeah, dad, we're eighteen." My twin brother, Kyle, spoke in an annoyed tone, he hated when our dad accidentally said we were younger than we just turned. "Right.. I'm sorry kiddos, I just got used to saying you were seventeen." Dad responded and rubbed my thigh. "It's ok, dad!" I said, smiling at him while Kyle just rolled his eyes with a small smile on his face as he looked at me. We sat in silence for a while when I decided to play some music. "Diggy! Diggy! Diggy!" The crowd cheered in the song. "This guy? Seriously?" Michael asked with a disguised tone, he absolutely HATED Diggy Graves because I listened to him constantly. "Think I'm seein' ghosts again, in my home again, all alone again, I rot.. Thoughts in my head, in my head, won't stop.." I mumbled along to the song. "Better off dead, let the gun go pop." Kyle said, giving me a small smile. "Shut up." Michael said, groaning in irritation. "Why you screamin' ladies?" Dylan joined in. "You know Diggy don't die! Even if I wanted to, probably do it with a knife!" The three of us sang, smiling and laughing a bit. "Dad! Tell these brats to shut up!" Michael complained. "They're just having fun, Mike." Dad responded, a small smile on his face as he looked at me. "I've been twisted in the head, ever since I could write. Ever since I learned to walk, I started running from life. I'm tryna haunt my way to fame, call me poltergeist." We sang, watching as Michael got more pissed. The rest of the car ride was us torturing Michael with songs he hated. "We're here." Dad said as he parked the car and got out. "Finally.." I mumbled, getting out and immediately walking into the forest. "Where are you going?" Kyle asked as he followed me. "I have to piss. Stay there." I walked behind a tree and pulled my pants and panties down before popping a squat and pissing on the leaves below. Kyle walked away only to return with toilet paper which he handed me. "You could've at least stayed behind the tree." I said, taking the toilet paper and using a bit to wipe. "Oh please, we're twins, it's like I'm looking at a female version of myself." Kyle responded, crossing his arms and leaning against a tree that was behind him. I rolled my eyes and stood up, fixing clothes before burying the toilet paper I used. Kyle took the roll and led me back to the car. We got our stuff and walked into the clearing in the woods where our dad and brothers were already setting up the big tent. "I'll set ours up." Kyle said and took the tent from me. Typically during camping trips we'd have one tent for two people but since Mom was on a business trip Dylan and Michael agreed to sleep in the big tent with dad while Kyle and I wanted to keep our smaller two person tent. I watched as both tents got set up, Kyle never let me help even though we shared the tent and dad wouldn't let me help with his because he doesn't believe a woman should work… and Dylan and Michael thought I'd mess up or break something.
I snuck off to gather some rocks and sticks for a fire pit, putting them in a grocery store bag that I knew would come in handy. I walked back to the campsite where Kyle immediately spotted me. "Kitty. Come." He demanded and snapped his fingers, pointing at the ground in front of him. "I'm not a dog." I responded, rolling my eyes as I handed him the bag since it was hurting my hand. "You ran off like one." Kyle responded and began setting up the fire pit. "Don't run off like that again." Dylan said, he emerged from the forest as well, he was carrying a bloody rabbit body. I looked at him confused before realizing it was sunset. "I must've lost track of time.. I'm really sorry.." I said, lowering my head. "Just don't do that again.." Michael said, hugging me from behind, his arms around my waist. "I-I won't." I said, gently rubbing Michael's arms, unsure of what else to do. "Good girl.." Michael responded, pressing a kiss to my head. I smiled but Michael let go and cleared his throat while walking away. I pouted a bit, it was a rare occurrence for Michael to show affection and every time he pulled away was sad. My dad ran over and squeezed me before I could react. "Don't run away again!" Dad sorta yelled as he held me. "I was worried something bad would happen to you.. take Kyle next time.." He said and let go, making me look up at him. Before I could say anything he pressed a kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering longer than they should. "Ok, dad.." I smiled and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead. Dad gave me one more squeeze before walking over to Dylan. I smiled and walked over to Kyle who stood up, done with the fire pit. "Need something?" Kyle asked, reaching a hand up to my cheek and caressing it with his thumb. "No, I just wanted to come hug you." I said before wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing close against him so I could hug him super tight. Kyle moved his hands to my waist and gently hugged me, his hands loosely hanging, grazing my ass. "I love you.." Kyle whispered before kissing the side of my head. I smiled and relaxed in his arms, feeling an odd bulge in his pants. "Your hunting knife is pressing against me, y'know.." I said quietly, oblivious to what it actually was. "Oh.. uh.. yeah.. sorry sis.." Kyle said but he only held me tighter. "I love you too, brother." I said which made him press his knife against me harder. "I love you so much, sis.." He managed to get out, moving his hips slightly. "Are you ok?" I asked, confused. "Mhm.. just.. standing uncomfortable.." He responded, hesitantly letting me go.
I gave Kyle a quick cheek kiss before walking away, not noticing the bulge in his pants. I walked over to Michael who was hiding behind a tree, playing with his lighter. "Whatcha doin'?" I asked even though it was obvious. "Are you blind?" Michael responded before pulling me behind the tree and holding me, except I wasn't facing him. "You're a big softie." I teased, getting a small chuckle in response. "At least I'm not pushing you on the ground and pinning you there like I do everyone at school." He teased in response before placing a kiss on my neck. "I love you, big brother." I said, something hard pressed against me again, only this time it was against my ass. "I love you too, lil sis.." He responded, his arms wrapped around my waist and he rocked his hips. "What are you doing..?" I asked, a strange warm feeling in my most intimate part. "I'm just being a good big brother.." He responded, rocking his hips harder, causing me to whimper softly. I stood there, not moving, I didn't know what to do, I didn't even know if this was alright, but he's my big brother so it must be ok, right? "Kids! Come here!" Dad hollered, causing Michael to stop and groan before dragging me with him back to the tents. Kyle and Dylan were already there, dad had blood all over his hands, pants, and shirt along with some rabbit fur. "So, kiddos, I need you to all gather firewood in pairs while I clean up, remember, we'll be out here for a week and it might rain so we need a lot." Dad said, I could've sworn his gaze went to my small tits for a split second. Michael had a devilish grin as he wrapped an arm around me. "I'll take Kitty, she needs someone big and strong to help her, after all.." He said, looking at me, I watched his gaze drift down my body but before I could say anything, dad spoke. "No. She's going with Kyle. You'll most likely leave her in the forest as one of your pranks and then she'll actually get lost." Dad said, his tone stern, leaving no room for Michael to argue.
Kyle and I walked into the woods, I picked up the wood and handed it to him so he could carry it since he was stronger than me. "This is nice.. just you and me.." Kyle said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Mhm! Super fun!" I responded before walking a little ahead and bending down to pick up another piece of firewood, unaware he had the perfect view of my ass in my leggings, because the stretched a little too much he could see a little bit of my pretty pink panties before I stood back up. Kyle paused for a moment before walking over, his cheeks slightly pink. "I think we have enough, it's getting cold and it's almost dark.." He said, I just nodded and carried the piece of wood I was holding back to the tents, looking back at him occasionally. He seemed to be walking a little slower than usual but I assumed it was just because of all the wood. Our dad was cooking the rabbit with the wood I got earlier. "We're back." I said, walking over to dad and putting the piece of wood down and kissing his head. "Hey, princess." Dad responded and looked up, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. I smiled and walked to the entrance of my tent and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. "Boo." Dylan's voice sounded behind me, his hands grabbed my waist. "Whatcha doin'?" I asked, turning my head to look at him. "Just checking on my little sister." Dylan replied and leaned in, gently kissing my lips. I kissed back, he's my brother so of course he wouldn't do anything bad to me.
Dylan eventually pulled away and went to help our dad with something while I stepped inside the tent and pulled my shirt off. I pulled my sports bra off, releasing my small tits and tossing the fabric on the ground. I pulled my pants and panties off, setting them with my bra and shirt before slipping a nightgown on and walking out to my dad and brothers, the four of them were illuminated by the fire light. "Already in your nightgown?" Michael asked, looking me up and down. "Yeah, I'm going to bed after I eat." I said, sitting in one of the camping chairs. "Your nightgown is a little short, isn't it?" Dylan pointed out, pointing to the nightgown that only covered down to the middle of my thighs. "Yeah, but I don't feel like changing." I responded, crossing my legs. My dad smiled slightly and handed me a bowl. "Here, hun." He said, smiling at me. "Oh, thanks dad." I responded and took a bite, he'd made rabbit stew, Dylan's favorite, no wonder he ran off to kill one earlier. Kyle was being surprisingly quiet, scrolling on his phone. We talked and ate, Kyle was still being unusually quiet before he got up and went to the tent. I continued chatting with the others as we ate before setting my empty bowl down and walking into the tent as well. I walked over to my sleeping bag and laid down, glancing at Kyle who had his back turned to me. "Goodnight, Kyle." I said, turning over and closing my eyes. "Goodnight, Kitty.." Kyle responded, his voice low, barely above a whisper. I smiled a bit and fell asleep surprisingly fast. I woke up to my face in my pillow, unable to move as something slid in and out of my pussy, my virginity being taken without my consent. I looked at Kyle's sleeping bag from the corner of my eye but I didn't see him, until my assailant intertwined his fingers with mine, I recognized that black nail polish, it was Kyle's hand. My mind raced, what was happening? Why was my own twin brother doing this? My thoughts continued until suddenly his cock was removed, that's when I felt cum leaking from my pussy. I panicked but couldn't speak for some reason. "I'm so sorry.. I love you so much.." Kyle whispered and got up, moving over to his sleeping bag.
I must've passed out because the next thing I knew I woke up to the birds chirping the next morning. "You must've had loads of fun.." Michael's voice came from behind me, his fingers running through my slick folds. "N-no.. I-I didn't.." I tried to explain what had happened but Michael just chuckled and fingered Kyle's cum back inside of me. "Don't act innocent now, sis." Michael said as I moaned and whimpered. "Dad..!" I tried to call out, my voice hoarse. "Dad took Kyle and Dylan out fishing." Michael said, curling his fingers inside of me. "Mmph.." I groaned and tried to push his hand away but it was no use. "Stop fighting it." Michael said and withdrew his fingers before forcing his cock in my pussy, it stretched me more than Kyle's. "No.." I murmured as he began pounding my cunt, causing me to moan and whine. "Fuck.. you're my cock so good.." Michael groaned, the sound of skin hitting skin filled the tent along with my moans and pleas for him to stop. "You were made to be a cocksleeve.. my cocksleeve.." Michael growled in my ear, his hands grabbed my hips and lifted my lower half. I moaned louder, the movement he made making his cock hit a little deeper. "You're so pretty, moaning while I rape you." Michael said, his hips stuttering as he came, a gutteral groan escaping his lips. "Fuck.." He panted, his cock buried inside of my pussy. "You're such a little whore, kiddo.." He said, pressing kisses on my neck. I cried, my world practically shattered, my oldest brother and twin brother both raped me in less than twenty-four hours. Both of them came in my cunt, there was no way I wouldn't get pregnant. Michael kept saying things to degrade and praise me, each one made me feel worse about letting them rape me. Michael eventually pulled out, fixed his clothes, and left. I got up and used my dirty clothes to try and clean up the cum but it was too deep inside for me to completely clean. I took my nightgown off and slipped on sweatpants and a sweatshirt on over some underwear and one of my bras.
I sat by the fire pit and stared at the ashes in it, zoned out as my mind replayed what happened with Kyle and Michael. I zoned out a little too long since I suddenly felt some grabbing my shoulders, massaging them. "You ok?" Dylan asked as snapped back into reality. "Mhm.." I responded, lying to him, how would he believe me that both of our brothers raped me in this trip? "Wanna go for a walk?" Dylan asked, pressing a kiss to the back of my head. I nodded eagerly, wanting to get far away from Kyle and Michael at least temporarily. Dylan grabbed my hand and we walked into the forest, I could feel Kyle and Michael's cum coating my panties as it continued to leak out of me. We talked and he even made me laugh and smile as we walked, we talked about how amazing our mom is, how pretty she is, even joked about her not being a traditional wife since she worked too much, couldn't cook, she was always too busy to clean, etc. We walked for a while before Dylan pushed me against a tree and pulled my sweatpants and underwear down. "What are you doing!?" I asked, trying to push myself off of the bark as he unzipped his jeans. "Shh.. it's ok.." Dylan said as he pushed the tip of his dick into my ass, no lubricant or anything. "N-no-!" I shouted but he didn't thrust, instead there was a warm stream of liquid filling me. "Shh.. it's ok, Kitty.. you're ok.." Dylan whispered in my ear as he pulled out before putting a plug in me, holding his piss. "All better, little sis. It wasn't that bad." He said, leaning over and kissing my cheek. I was shocked and confused, I expected him to rape me, not piss in me. Dylan seemed to notice the cum dripping into my underwear and ran his cock through my cum-slick folds, making me feel as it got hard. "Slight change in plans, your big brother's gonna help make sure you don't use your fingers again." Dylan said, he somehow thought the cum was all mine, all from me masturbating. "It's not-" I was cut off by a small gasp escaping my lips as the plug was pulled out only for it to be replaced by his cock, slick with our brothers cum. Dylan stretched me out so much I thought I might tear like a woman giving birth. I moaned and cried out as he brutally raped me, begging him to stop before I felt myself clenching around his cock, my cunt getting wet, I was… enjoying this. My mind went blank as I focused on the feeling, it felt so good despite hurting so bad, my clit ached with the need to be touched. "Good fucking girl.." Dylan cooed in my ear as he reached in front of me and rubbed my clit, it felt so good, I didn't want him to stop. I pushed back against him, my cries stopped, replaced by whore-ish moaned and encouragement. "Oh fuck.. like that.. please.." I moaned out, my hands moving up to grope my small tits through my sweatshirt and bra. My mind was full of nothing but the intense pleasure my brother provided. "Fuck.. mom and dad neglected my needs for far too long.. now that I have you, I'm not letting go.." Dylan spoke as his hips stuttered. I felt myself cum, squirting onto the ground as Dylan's cum mixed with his piss from moments ago.
Dylan plugged me up and we went back to the tents, I had a slight limp so we agreed to say that I'd twisted my ankle if anyone asked. Michael and dad were cutting something bloody up while Kyle was playing on his phone. Dylan and I snuck a quick kiss before walking over to the fire pit and sitting down. The mix of cum and piss being plugged didn't feel too nice but I just shrugged it off. "Welcome back, princess." Dad said, giving me a small smile that actually made my heart skip a beat for some reason. I smiled back and yawned softly, between the walk, Michael, and Dylan I was pretty tired. "Tired already?" Dad questioned, setting his knife down. "Just a little.. Dylan and I went on a pretty long walk." I responded, Dylan nodded in agreement as he yawned, although he also went fishing earlier. "Go take a nap, you could even lay in my sleeping bag if you'd like." Dad suggested, it was obvious he was talking to me, not Dylan. "Oh, ok, thanks dad." I responded, smiling. "I have to go to the bathroom first." I said and got up, walking to dads tent and grabbing the toilet paper before walking into the trees. I removed my sweatpants and underwear and squatted, taking the plug out of me and pushing my brothers cum and Dylan's piss out. I wiped myself clean as well as the toy and put my clothes back on. I went into dads tent and slipped the toy back in Dylan's bag then laid in my dads sleeping bag and fell asleep.
"Kitty.. hey.. food's done.." Kyle said as he shook me awake. "Dad wanted me to come get you so you could eat.." He smiled a bit and kissed my forehead. "Mmph.. ok.." I said and slowly got up. Kyle led me to the fire pit where dad handed me a bowl of food. I sat beside him and smiled, taking a bite. "I was thinking, your brothers could go out hunting tomorrow and you and I could have a daddy daughter day, how does that sound?" My dad asked, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "That sounds amazing, dad." I smiled and kissed his cheek. "We'll go up to the river, I know you love swimming." He said, kissing my head. "Alright." I responded and continued eating. Dad turned to my brothers and started talking to them, making sure they were prepared for going out without him. "Dad, you taught us all how to hunt when we each turned 8. I'm 25, Dylan's 22, and Kyle's 18. We've got this." Michael said, his tone confident and pretty cocky. "Yeah, we're good with guns and knives." Kyle added, smiling sinisterly, that comment sent chills down my spine as if it was a threat to me. I finished eating and put my bowl down. "I'm gonna go to bed, make sure I'm well rested." I smiled at dad and kissed his cheek again. "Alright, sweetie." Dad responded and hugged me before letting me go to my tent. I changed into shorts and a t-shirt as well as clean underwear before laying down and falling asleep.
The next morning I woke up to birds chirping again and looked around, my vision slightly blurred with sleep. I noticed Kyle on his phone and followed his other arm to see him stroking his cock, his hand moving up and down. "Morning.. I'm gonna change.." I sat up and grabbed some of my clothes before leaving the tent, not letting him give an explanation or anything. I walked into the treeline again and stripped before slipping into my red bikini, the only bathing suit I had brought. I put on a white button-up shirt made out of towel-like fabric and matching shorts before walking back to the tent and putting my t-shirt and shorts with my dirty clothes, that's when I noticed the underwear that had Kyle and Michael's cum missing. I looked over at Kyle who was stroking his cock with them and trying to check me out. I turned around and walked out, disgusted by him. Dad was sitting by the fire pit with some coffee so I walked over and sat on his lap. "I love you, dad." I said, wrapping my arms around his neck as I hugged him. "I love you too, kiddo." He responded, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my cheek. I smiled and rested my head on his chest. "We'll leave in just a minute, love." Dad said, taking a sip of his coffee. "Ok." I happily hugged him, relaxing in his arms.
Dad made sure my brothers were ready before we headed off to the river since it was a decent day anyways. I took my shirt and shorts off and got into the water, looking back at my dad whose eyes seemed like they were on my ass for a brief moment before he pulled his shirt off and stepped in the water as well. I walked further in the water until the cold water was up to my neck. My dad followed but it didn't go as high since he was taller than me. "You look pretty in red, kiddo." Dad said, hugging me from behind, his hands on my tummy. "Thanks, dad, you bought this for me when I was like 16, remember?" I responded, smiling up at him. "Oh.. I remember.." He replied, his grip on me getting tighter, pulling me flush against him. I gently rubbed his arms, enjoying the feeling of his warm embrace. Dad picked me up and set me on a smooth rock. "I want to help you if you'll let me, princess." He said, pushing my thighs open a bit. "But- but dad.." I said, trying to push my legs back together. "Just let me make you feel good, sweetie.." Dad said, pulling the fabric of my bathing suit bottoms to the side and giving my clit a gentle lick. "Mm.. dad.. no.. this is wrong.." I protested but didn't push him away, his tongue just felt so nice. He gently kissed my clit and sucked it softly before moving his tongue down to my entrance, teasing it. "Mm.. d-dad.. dad.. ah.. no.." I protested, squirming slightly. "Mm.. princess.. say 'dada' again.." Dad groaned against my pussy, his tongue pushing inside. "D-dada.." I moaned softly, hips bucking forward. He groaned against me and pumped his tongue in and out of me. "Oh god.. dada.. no.. this is so wrong.." I moaned, my hips grinding against his face as I came on his tongue.
My dad licked up my cum and pulled his swim trunks off. "Dad? What are you doing?" I asked, closing my legs. "You're going to feel every inch of the cock that made you." Dad replied, forcing my thighs open and pulling the fabric of my bathing suit bottoms to the side again "D-dad-! N-no-!" I tried to get away but he forced his cock deep inside of me, setting a rough pace that made me scream and cry. "Dad! No! Stop! This isn't right! Please! Stop! You're hurting me!" I yelled, trying to push him off but I was too weak. "I'm hurting you? Oh please. You've hurt me for years. Not letting me fuck your cunt. Being so fucking innocent. Always announcing your period. You're a fucking tease." Dad said, pounding into me way too hard. I screamed louder, my tears streaming down my cheeks as my pussy bled from his aggressive thrusts. Dad groaned and watched as his cock got bloody as I cried harder. "Fuck.. so good.. keep crying.. you're so tight.." He groaned as he violated me, his own daughter. I gave up on fighting and just laid down, legs spread wide as he fucked me like some hooker. He slapped my tiny breasts with my bikini top on, making them jiggle. "Dada.. oh fuck.. dada.." I moaned, my cries dying down as I enjoyed the feeling of my dad fucking me. "Fuck.. kiddo.. that's it.. clench around the cock that made you.." Dad said as his hips stuttered and he buried his cock in my pussy, ropes of his hot, thick cum filling me.
My dad and I rested, catching our breath and sitting in the water before he sat on the smooth rock he set me on earlier. "I'm sorry, kiddo, I didn't mean—" I cut my dad off, pulling on my dad's swimming trunks. "I-I wanna.. explore.. I've never seen a guy naked and I wanna.. touch.. a-a.. umm.. a-a thing.." I blushed slightly, looking at the rock. "It's called a penis, a dick, or a cock, not a 'thing'." Dad responded, lifting his hips and pulling his swimming trunks down, his cock hardening before my eyes. I gently grabbed it, my fingers wrapped around his cock and I moved my hand up and down. "Mm.. good girl.. just like that, kiddo.." Dad groaned, his head falling back as he fought the urge to help me. "Th-that's good..?" I asked, moving my hand a little faster, more confidently. "So good, princess.. so good.." He assured me, putting a hand on my cheek. I smiled and looked at his cock, stroking a little faster. "Kiddo, could you use your mouth a bit..?" Dad asked, his thumb gently pulling my bottom lip down slightly. I nodded slightly and leaned in, licking the tip as my hand continued to work his shaft. "That's it.. keep going, princess.." He groaned, a hand moving to my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. I slightly stopped moving my hand, moving my tongue down his shaft slightly, causing him to groan again. "Wh-what about these..?" I asked, pulling away and moving my other hand to gently grab his balls. "Oh god.. kiddo.. you're really good at exploring.. just keep touching.." He responded, head falling back again. I leaned in and gently sucked on one of them, causing him to tighten his grip on my hair.
I licked up dad's shaft, a hand massaging his balls as I gently took the tip in my mouth and started sucking. Dad groaned and slightly guided my head up and down, unable to hold himself back for much longer. "God.. kiddo.. you've always been so hot.. all those little dresses and skirts your mom put you in.. those skimpy kids bathing suits.. fuck.. your mom let me bathe you a few times and you were just so hot.. I wish I did this sooner.." He said as he clearly thought about those scenes. I was disgusted and went to pull away when he pushed my head down, his large cock making me gag as he moved my head. "Fuck.." He groaned, using my mouth like a fleshlight while I struggled to breathe. I scratched at his thighs, tried to pull away, everything I could think of but I was too weak. My vision blurred as I blacked out, the only thing I could remember was his cock down my throat before waking up to Dylan raping my ass. I moaned and looked at him, vision still blurred. "Shh! You'll get us caught.." Dylan said and covered my mouth. I moaned against his palm and that's when I realized we were in the forest, the tents just a few yards away. The sun wasn't up very high, it was barely sunrise. "I just had to.. you liked it last time.." He whispered, pounding my ass. I nodded, my moans muffled by his hand. My eyes rolled back as I came, gripping the leaves below me. Dylan groaned and buried himself in me as he came and moved his hand from my mouth. "I love you, little sis." Dylan said, panting. "I love you too.." I replied, smiling at him. "So, you like anal. You're really a whore." Michael's voice came from behind Dylan who quickly pulled out and turned to face our older brother. "Don't worry, I won't tell dad… as long as I get to… have a little fun." Michael smirked at me, I was laying there with Dylan's cum leaking out of my ass, naked and vulnerable. "O-ok.." I said, causing Dylan to look at me. "Ok!? Kitty, seriously!?" Dylan looked shocked that I'd agreed to Michael's words.
Michael stepped closer and rubbed his boot against my cunt, my cum and arousal fluid making a little string connecting to his boot. "Fucking whore.." Michael groaned and pulled his sweatpants and boxers down, his already hard cock springing free. I blushed slightly and made sure my legs were spread as much as possible. "Good girl.." Michael said as he lined himself up and carefully pushed in, letting out a long groan as I whimpered softly. "There you go.. just take his cock, little sis.." Dylan whispered, gently running his fingers through my hair, he was trying to help comfort me despite raping me moments ago. I looked at Michael as I moaned, his hips moving slowly to let me adjust, as if he hadn't raped me before. "Fucking slut.." Michael groaned as he snapped, a hand clamping over my mouth as he thrust into me like my feelings didn't matter. "You're so fucking tight.. damn whore.." He said, I could feel his cock ramming against my cervix. I moaned and screamed against his hand, the sounds muffled by it, my walls clenched around his cock as I enjoyed the feeling of being pounded into. "He doesn't actually think you're a whore.. he loves you.. so much.." Dylan reassured me, his fingers brushing through my tangled hair. I felt myself cum on my big brother's cock, my body trembling slightly. "Oh fuck.. that's it.. mark your territory.." Michael groaned and filled my cunt with his cum. "You did so well.." Dylan said, kissing my cheek as he lifted me into his arms. Michael pulled out and let Dylan hold me. "Kyle's gonna wake up any minute.. I have to get you back to bed.." Dylan said as he began carrying me towards the tents. Michael followed and helped clean me up, wiping my puffy pussy lips with a rag. "Mmph.. what the fuck..?" Kyle's voice sounded beside us, I closed my legs and turned my head, looking into my twins eyes. "Dad! Come here!" Kyle yelled slightly, watching Dylan and Michael quickly try to cover me up as our dad entered. "Wha– Michael. Dylan. What the hell are you doing to your sister?" He asked, looking at the three of us. "We were.." Dylan started but trailed off. "We uhh.." Michael looked down, guilt in his eyes. I opened my legs shyly and hesitantly rubbed my clit, my dad looked shocked but the bulge in his pants was obvious, Kyle was glancing away, trying to get subtle glimpses, Dylan and Michael both looked conflicted, on one hand the two were aroused but on the other hand they didn't want to do anything in front of our dad.
"P-please..?" I said in a soft tone, still rubbing my clit as they watched. The four of them looked around at each other and seemed to realize something and without another word they grabbed me and led me into the larger tent only to push me onto my hands and knees. "At least you were kind enough to say 'please' this time.." Michael said, pushing my head down against the tent floor. Kyle pulled out his knife and stepped closer, gliding the cold blade along my side, slightly cutting into my skin. Dad walked over and stood by my head, looking down at my body while Dylan grabbed my hips and pressed his cock against my ass again. "Watch this.." He said to the others as he pushed in, my little cunt drooling as he thrust into my ass. "I knew she was a pathetic fucking whore!" Michael said, smacking my ass with one of his hands, causing me to yelp. Dad kneeled down and rubbed my back. "That's it.. take your brother's cock in your ass, princess.." Dad said, his touch was gentle and comforting although I didn't need it, Dylan felt so good like this. I moaned and whimpered as Dylan got more aggressive with Michael's encouragement. Kyle began carving their names into my side with his knife, I felt each cut.
I felt rope after rope of thick hot cum fill me up, sometimes in my ass, sometimes in my cunt as they each had their way with me. I was covered in cum, piss, blood, pen ink, cuts, bruises, scratches, and bite marks by the time we were done for the day. Only to be used over and over again until the trip was finally over…
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varpusvaras · 20 hours ago
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As someone not from an English-speaking country, who did not have to read that many foreign classics in school, I'm desperately trying to figure out what would be good readings of some English/American classics Jason would've read so I'm not parroting total bullshit while writing. Anyway here's also a listing of the classics from my country that I have read:
Seven brothers escape law and want to live as bachelors but eventually learn to be proper citizens. At least one house is burned before the ending
Harships and political commentary for the times when voting became an equal right. The book ends when a bear kills the main character out of nowhere
A perfectly normal young man from a little village who is unnaturally good at everything takes part in Olympics and wins everything, has a kid, and then shoots himself to space with a cannon
Almost 800 pages of weirdly accurate detailed depiction of Ancient Egypt written by a guy who had never been to Egypt
A woman becomes a werewolf
A teenager is sent to help out with his relative's farm over the summer like two hours away from where he lives. Boinks a girl in the forest at the end. None of the tv-adaptations are accurate to the book in a way that only ever bothers me
Moomins.
Anyway I'm going to probably make Jason read at least one of these for shits and giggles.
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